“Saying: ‘Coming, P. Hazelton,’” interrupted Locke. “Of course, it never occurred to you that there might be two Hazeltons. I have never denied that my name is Hazelton, but I have denied repeatedly that it is Paul Hazelton. It is Philip. Four years ago I pitched a few games for the Princeton varsity in my junior year, but was obliged to give it up because of the opposition of my father, a clergyman, who, having had a friend killed in the game, has a perfect horror of it. “My younger brother, Paul, having caught the fever, has incurred the displeasure of our strait-laced father to the extent of being refused further financial assistance in completing his college career. Paul told me of this, and, at the same time, of a splendid offer he had received to pitch professionally on a bush-league team. He had this year made a record for himself with his college team, but it looked as if he would be forced to play for money in order to pay his way through college. “One year――spent mainly in waiting for clients――as a lawyer in a small city had not placed me in position to help him, but finally I was struck with the idea of filling that baseball opening in his place. Belonging to an athletic club, I had kept in good condition, having continued to pitch occasionally after graduating from college. In ten or twelve weeks of summer baseball, at the salary offered, I could earn enough to pay my brother’s expenses at Princeton for the coming year. “If the man who had made the offer were to learn that it was a brother of the famous Princeton pitcher who responded, instead of the pitcher himself, he might be inclined to cut down the amount he had flourished as such an alluring bait, and hence it was decided not to take him into our confidence. Mr. Cope, I humbly crave your pardon.” “Oh, thunder!” exclaimed the delighted grocer. “Don’t mention it! Lordy! Lordy! Ain’t it funny!” There were some persons present, however, to whom the humor of the situation made no appeal whatever. The Kingsbridge pitcher continued: “As the given name of both my brother and myself begins with P, the mistake of the photographer who handed out one of my pictures when Mr. King’s obliging friend called for a photograph of Paul Hazelton is readily understood. In order to settle this controversy for all time, I thought best to wire my brother to come on, and it was to meet him here in Bancroft that I left Kingsbridge this morning. Gentlemen, let me introduce Paul Hazelton.” The youthful stranger who had arrived in company with the bell boy bowed and smiled. “I’m it,” he said. “But, to judge by his record in this league, when it comes to pitching, I’m an ‘also ran’ compared with Phil.”