“I wouldn’t wonder if you found him out viewin’ the scenery. There’s something sort of sad and lonesome about him. He acts like he’s lost his last friend on earth. But he’s a handsome feller, Jack.” “Now, Kitty, don’t be sentimental. I thought you was done with the men?” “So I am,” she retorted, flushing almost like a girl. “Stop your joshing. Me day is over, but I can tell the kind that git the girls as well as I ever could. Breakfast will be ready in less than five minutes.” Laughing, Kennedy went out to search for Locke, whom he found on the veranda. Lefty rose at once when Jack appeared. “Good morning,” he said. “You told me to look around, and I’ve been doing so.” “Right-o! You’re an early bird, all right. It’s an appetite you should have for breakfast.” “I haven’t any working clothes,” said the other. “I’ve been trying to think what became of my outfit. Can’t seem to remember.” “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got old clothes enough, and they’ll do when you want ’em, which won’t be to-day. Come in to breakfast.” At the table Lefty was silent, but, whatever else could be said of him, his appetite was healthy enough. He seemed wholly unaware of the occasional glances of interest from the blue eyes of Mrs. Kitty Malone. In every movement he proclaimed himself a person of refinement, and it was only in occasional lapses of speech when he seemed almost trying to remember something, or repeating a lesson that had been learned, that there was the slightest suggestion of anything different. After breakfast Kennedy gave his foreman some instructions, and later he found Locke waiting for him. Old Jack appeared with a soiled baseball and a glove. “I may have to get into the game myself to-day,” he said cheerfully, “and I’m a bit out of practice. As long as you’re not going to work until to-morrow, mebbe you’d throw me a few?” Lefty frowned, but did not refuse. “Pull off your coat,” directed the old manager, as he paced off and marked the regular pitching distance in the yard. “Here’s a flat stone for you to put ’em over. I’ll be the catcher.” If he had prepared a trap, the other walked into it without hesitation. Taking his place on the mark indicated, he caught the ball which Jack tossed him, and squared away. “Take it easy at first,” suggested Kennedy, in full remembrance of the smoking speed with which Lefty Locke had dazzled the best batters in the Big League. “As long as you’re green, you’ll hurt your whip if you start in by wallopin’ ’em.” Lefty complied to the letter, and the old manager’s eyes glittered with the secret triumph he felt as the young man began putting the ball over with perfect control and apparently without effort. Gradually Kennedy urged him to speed up, and the change made no difference. Wherever Jack held his hands behind that flat rock――high, low, behind the inside or the outside corner――Lefty Locke winged the ball straight into them, so that it was scarcely necessary to make the slightest movement to catch it.