McCarthy, summoned to the telephone, talked for a few moments and, as the poker game broke up, he called Swanson aside and said: "You'll have to go alone to-night. I've got to make a call." "Who is she?" asked Swanson insinuatingly. "Barney Baldwin's niece--and at his house." "Run on, Kohinoor," said the big shortstop. "I'll take Kennedy with me and if I'm not mistaken you'll find out more than I will." CHAPTER XVI _McCarthy Makes a Call_ It was a little past seven o'clock, when McCarthy, arrayed in what Swanson referred to as his "joy rags," which had been rescued from impound in an express office after his first renewal of prosperity, came out of the hotel. He was undecided, wavering as to whether or not it was wise for him to keep the appointment to call on Helen Baldwin. They had met during his college career, and, after a courtship that was a whirlwind of impetuosity on his side, she had agreed to marry him. He recalled now, with rather bitter recollections of his own blindness, her seemingly careless curiosity regarding the extent of the Lawrence wealth and his own expectations. He had told her how, when his father had died, Jim Lawrence had taken him to rear as his own child and heir. The boy had grown older and broadened with his short experience in the world outside the protecting circle that had been round him in preparatory school and in college, and he determined to write that night to his guardian the letter he had so long delayed and to apologize and admit that he had been headstrong and foolish. During the long ride uptown to the city residence of the Baldwins he had time to think clearly. He knew that Barney Baldwin was wealthy, but he was unprepared for the magnificence of the garish house, set down amid wide lawns in the most exclusive part of the River Drive section. Helen Baldwin entered the room in a few moments, and McCarthy gazed at her in admiring surprise. She came forward with both hands outstretched, smiling, a strangely transformed girl from the cold, half-scornful one with whom he had parted only a short time before. "I wanted to see you so much, Larry," she said. "I have been so blue and depressed since I--since we--since we last met. Why didn't you call?" "I only reached the city last night," he replied as he took a seat beside her on a divan. "And--well, Helen, I hardly thought you would wish to see me." "You foolish boy," she chided. "Don't you know yet that you must never take a girl at her word? Of course, I was annoyed to find you playing baseball with a professional team, but I didn't mean we never were to meet again." "I thought your ultimatum settled all that," he answered, ill at ease. "It was rather a shock to find that you cared more for what I was than for what I am."