“Don’t remember me?” cried the other incredulously. “Great Scott! Have I changed so much? I know I’m threatened with premature baldness, but still it can’t be that in such a short time you’ve forgotten Walt Hetner.” “Hetner?” said Locke, frowning and shaking his head in a puzzled way. “I don’t have the slightest recollection of you.” “Cæsar’s ghost! I knew you at Princeton. We were college mates.” “Princeton?” said Lefty. “Yes, I was at Princeton, I believe.” “You pitched for the varsity nine. Your old man didn’t like it, and was pretty sore. I’ve heard lately that you’ve gone into professional baseball. Don’t get a chance to see many games myself nowadays, but the report is that you’re _some pitcher_ for the Blue Stockings.” “I have been pitching for them,” admitted Locke slowly. “Sorry I don’t remember you.” His pride hurt, Hetner sank back into his seat, and Lefty passed on. The rebuffed man turned to his companion, who was an old acquaintance he had met on the train. “Well, wouldn’t that frost you some, Wilson?” he exclaimed, his face flushed. “Why, I knew that fellow at college as well as I know you, and he’s the last man I’d expect to hand out anything of that sort.” “Do you think he didn’t recognize you, Doctor?” “Recognize me? Of course he did. That’s what makes me hot. I don’t know why he should play the cad. It’s beyond me. Perhaps he’s ashamed of the fact that he’s playing professional baseball under a fake name.” “Still,” said Wilson, “he might be decent, at least.” Lefty came to a seat in which a slender, pallid, sad-eyed young man sat alone. “I beg your pardon, stranger,” he said; “is this seat taken?” The young man started a bit, glanced up, and smiled faintly. “No, it isn’t taken, pal,” he answered. “But how the dickens did you happen to know my name?” “Your name?” said Lefty, sinking down, a puzzled frown plowing a deep furrow between his eyes. “Yes. You called me Stranger. That’s my monacker――Robert Stranger; Bob for short.” “Oh, I get you,” said Lefty, failing to return the young man’s engaging smile. “It was just by chance that I called you that.” “Well, for a moment I thought you knew me. It’s mighty lonesome taking this jaunt without anybody to chin to, and I’m glad you came along. Traveling alone yourself?” “In a way I am,” answered Lefty, betraying a willingness to talk to this chance acquaintance which would have surprised his antagonized friends in the special car. “I’m a ball player, but I ducked to get away from the rest of the bunch. They’re on this train.” “Oh, a ball player!” murmured Mr. Stranger. “Professional? Big League?” “The Blue Stockings.” “They’re some,” beamed the man by the car window. “Of course I hear plenty of baseball talk. Can’t help it. But I never did take to the game much. It may sound like bunk to you, but I never saw a real game in my life.” “Really?” said Lefty, in an expressionless way. “That is rather odd.”