"The paper also said that you might switch Pardridge from third base to the outfield if you could find a hard-hitting infielder." "Possibly the paper also said that if I found the diamond I'd move my gold mine to make room for it." Clancy restrained himself from further comment, feeling uncertain because of the quiet confidence of his visitor. There was a pause, the veteran manager studying his caller and the slender youth sat smiling as if expecting Clancy to resume the conversation. "Well?" said Clancy, glancing at his half-finished letter as if to hint that his time was entirely too valuable to be wasted discussing academic impossibilities with entire strangers. "Well," replied the visitor, smiling, "I'm it." "You're what?" asked the astonished manager. "The third baseman who can hit." "When shall I move the gold mine?" Clancy's voice was dangerously quiet. "To-morrow, if you like." Clancy sat gazing at his visitor as if undecided as to whether he should explode in wrath, laugh at some joke too deep for him, or believe the slender youth was in earnest. "Say, kid," he said slowly after studying the youth for a moment, "I admire your nerve, anyhow. If you have half the confidence on a ball field that you have off it, you'll be a wonder. Where did you ever play ball?" A troubled expression came over the boy's face. "Mr. Clancy," he said, quietly, "if you take me you'll have to do it without asking questions. I can play ball, and it's up to me to make good at something. All I ask is a chance to prove to you I can play. It will not cost you a cent to find out." "Done anything?" Clancy asked, sharply. "Criminal? No," responded the boy, flushing. "Ever signed a professional contract?" "No." Clancy studied him as if trying to decide what to do. Then, raising his voice, he called: "Oh, Sec. Come here a minute." A tall man, his hair gray, his face wearing a frown of perpetual worry, came from the hotel lobby. "Mr. Tabor," said Clancy, without rising, "this is Mr. Jimmie McCarthy, who is to have a try-out with us at third base. Room him with the players. You aren't stopping anywhere else, are you?" The last question was directed to the surprised youth. "No--I'm broke," answered the youth, flushing quickly. "I'll fix you up in a moment," said the secretary in friendly tones as he shook hands with the youth. "Wait until I finish settling up with the baggage man." The secretary hastened from the room, and the boy turned impulsively to the manager. "Mr. Clancy," he said in a tone of gratitude, "I want to thank you--I don't know how. I was broke--ball playing is about all I'm good at. How did you know I didn't want to use my own name?" "I figured you might want to forget it for a time, anyhow," said Clancy. "McCarthy is a good name and it fits your eyes."