“That was lucky,” said Collier. He hesitated, and the pitcher saw his glance flash for a second to the girl in the chair. “This is my daughter,” he went on quickly. “Virginia, this is Mr. Locke, whose pitching you were so enthusiastic about.” Lefty, turning swiftly to acknowledge the introduction, saw that the girl had risen to her feet and was holding out her hand impulsively. “I’m glad indeed to meet you, Mr. Locke,” she said, in a pleasant voice, which held an undercurrent of earnestness in it. “I suppose you get very tired of being told how splendid your pitching is, but I can’t help it this time.” She smiled charmingly. “If you could have any idea how utterly thrilled I was during those last three innings, I’m sure you wouldn’t blame me.” Her eyes, with their long, curling lashes, were really very wonderful, and there was a trace of something in their depths which brought a touch of color glowing under Locke’s healthy tan. “You’re more than kind, Miss Collier,” he returned. “I don’t think any man really minds being told that he’s done well, but in this case I didn’t deserve much credit. You see, Grist held them down for six innings, and when I came in fresh at the seventh we were only one run to the bad. It was still anybody’s game.” “How about yesterday?” asked the girl quickly. “I wasn’t here, but they tell me you won the game in spite of a lot of errors made by your team.” Lefty shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, that was different. I hadn’t pitched before in a week. So I was ready to sail in and massacre them.” Miss Collier shook her head, laughing deliciously. “I’m afraid you’re altogether too modest. After this I’ll have to trust to someone else for the real facts. All right, dad. I suppose it _is_ time we were going. Well, good-by, Mr. Locke. I shall probably see you again. Now that I’m back in town, I don’t mean to miss a game.” Lefty murmured his pleasure in courteous, well-bred terms, shook hands with her father, and, when they had disappeared into the corridor, stood for a second staring after them. When he turned suddenly back to the manager he surprised on that person’s face an expression of distinct annoyance, mingled with disapproval. “Is that all you wanted?” the southpaw asked briefly. “Yes,” retorted Carson, almost snappily. He hesitated for an instant, and then went on abruptly, his lips curling the least bit: “I s’pose after this you’ll go around swelled out of all human form.” There was a decidedly sneering undercurrent in his voice, rasping Locke’s sensibilities, and making it difficult for him to keep from flinging back a sarcastic retort. “Do you?” he murmured, with tantalizing coolness, as he paused for a second in the doorway. “Perhaps I will. After all, you couldn’t blame me very much, you know.”