She was fresh and girlish and unaffected, yet, somehow, she did not give one the impression of crudity and silliness so often shown by a vivacious, blue-eyed blonde. Although very pretty, she was not doll-like, and one who studied her mobile, changeful face would soon discover there, as well as in her voice and manner, unmistakable signs of good breeding and character. Her eyes were unusual; one could not look into their depths without feeling irresistibly attracted toward her. The young man at her side, a well-set-up chap a trifle above medium height, was the only son of Cyrus King. He was not more than twenty-four, and had a somewhat cynical, haughty face, with a pair of flashing dark eyes and petulant mouth. Nevertheless, when he laughed, which he did quite frequently, he was attractive, almost handsome. “Yes, Cope,” he nodded, as the older man brought forth a handkerchief and mopped his perspiring bald head; “it certainly is a good day for the opening, and there’s a cracking crowd out to see it. They’re beginning to overflow the seats. Suppose we have any show at all to win?” “Hey?” cried the chairman of the baseball association. “Any show to win? You bet we have! We’re _goin’_ to win. We’ve got to have this first game at home.” “But we’re up against Bancroft, and I see Jock Hoover has just finished warming up to pitch for them.” “That’ll jest make it all the more interestin’. We’ve got a pitcher, too, I want you to know. I signed him myself, and he’ll make ’em set up and take notice. You jest watch Tom Locke when he goes inter the box.” “I’ve heard something about him. Who is he? And where did you get him?” Running the handkerchief round the sweatband inside his soiled straw hat, Henry Cope winked shrewdly, and covered his shining dome. “Why, didn’t I tell ye his name is Tom Locke? Never mind where I picked him up. He’s got the goods, and he’ll deliver ’em. If he don’t jest naturally make them Bullies break their backs poundin’ empty air to-day, I’ll be the most s’prised man in the county.” “Oh, I hope he _is_ good!” exclaimed the girl. “Everybody in town was disappointed over the way Bancroft beat us last year. They all said we needed one corking good pitcher to put up against Bancroft’s best man.” “We’ve got him,” assured Henry Cope. “We’ve got the very feller in this here Locke. You watch and see.” “There goes the umpire,” said King. “They are going to start the game.” “Excuse me,” said Cope hastily. “I think I’ll git over by our bench, where I can watch Locke work. That’s him――that tall, slim chap goin’ inter the box now. Jest keep your eye on him. So long.” He hurried away as the umpire called “play” and Bancroft’s first batter rose and trotted out from the bench. CHAPTER V A BAD BEGINNING