"I should worry if there is!" said Mr. Birdseye. "Who else is there in this town that can talk their own language with those boys like I can? I'll bet you they're so blamed sick and tired of talking with ignorant, uneducated people that don't know a thing about baseball, they'll jump at a chance to associate with a man that's really on to every angle of the game--inside ball and averages and standings and all that. Human nature is just the same in a twenty-thousand-a-year big leaguer as it is in anybody else, if you know how to go at him. And if I didn't know human nature from the ground up, would I be where I am as a travelling salesman? Answer me that." "I guess you're right, J. Henry," agreed Mr. Fluellen. "Gee, I wish I could be along with you," he added wistfully. Mr. Birdseye shook his head in earnest discount of any such vain cravings upon Mr. Fluellen's part. If there had been the remotest prospect of having Mr. Fluellen for a companion to share in this glory, he wouldn't have told anything about it to Mr. Fluellen in the first place. "Anyhow, I reckon my wife wouldn't hear to it," said Mr. Fluellen hopelessly. "She's funny that way." "No, it wouldn't do for you to be along either, Pink Egg," said Mr. Birdseye compassionately but with all firmness. "You don't know the real science of baseball the same as I do. They wouldn't care to talk to anybody that was even the least bit off on the fine points. I was just thinking--I'll be able to give 'em some tips about how to size up the situation here--not that they need it particularly." "J. Henry, you wouldn't tip 'em off to the weak spots in the Anneburg team?" Loyalty to local ideals sharpened Mr. Fluellen's voice with anxiety. "Certainly not, Pink Egg, certainly not," reassured Mr. Birdseye. "What do you think I am? Not that they need to be told anything. They'll wipe up the ground with our bunch of morning glories anyway--best we can hope for is that we don't get skunked and that the score is kind of low. But I'll certainly put 'em wise to that soft place back of centre field, where the grass is high. That's only true sportsmanship, that's only fair." "Yes," assented Mr. Fluellen, "I reckon that's no more than fair. Well, as I said before, J. Henry, I certainly wish I was going to be with you." * * * * * The great day came and was auspiciously sunshiny from its dawning onward. Contrary to the custom of trains in certain interior sections of our common country, the train upon which so much depended slid into Barstow Junction at eleven-twenty, exactly on time. On the platform of the little box station, awaiting it, stood our Mr. Birdseye, impatiently enduring the company of a combination agent-telegrapher-ticketseller, who wore pink sleeve-garters with rosettes on them and a watch charm carved from a peach kernel to represent a monkey with its tail curved over its back.