That evening Wayne went to the Congress House and inquired for Mr. Milburn. The clerk at the desk pushed a card toward him and he wrote his name on it. Five minutes later a bell boy returned with the message that the manager declined to see him. As Wayne had expected just that, he was not disappointed. Finding a vacant chair against a wall of the lobby, he went on watch. But, although he saw several of the Harrisville players come and go during the succeeding hour, the manager did not appear, and at half-past nine Wayne returned to the new lodgings. June, with Sam curled into a tight bunch on his chest, was stretched on his bed reading an evening paper. June was not a fast reader but he was most thorough, and one newspaper generally lasted him for several days. Wayne made him lay his paper aside for the present and produce what money he had. To it Wayne added his own wealth and they then counted it over. They had to count it thrice for the result was different the first two times. Fifty-five dollars and forty-one cents was what they finally made it. Then Wayne figured on the margin of June’s paper and, after much frowning and muttering, decided that by rigid economy they could live just about five weeks on their capital. “Fifteen cents apiece is enough for breakfast and supper,” said Wayne, “and we can get a good dinner for thirty cents. That comes to one dollar and twenty cents a day, or eight-forty a week. Then two and a half for the room makes it ten-ninety, and ten-ninety goes into fifty-five forty five times and leaves ninety cents over.” “That’s so,” assented June, “but we’d better leave us enough to get home on, Mas’ Wayne.” “We’re home now,” replied Wayne firmly. “Is we?” “We are! We’re going to stay right here, June. If I don’t get on the baseball team I’ll find a job somewhere. And you can do the same.” “Yes, sir, but what’s to hinder me from gettin’ me a job right now?” asked June. Wayne considered. Finally he shook his head. “No,” he answered, “I don’t want you working if I’m not. We’ve got enough to last us five weeks; four, anyway; and when we get toward the end of the money we can begin to look for something to do. If Mr. Milburn gives me a try-out and I make good, why, you won’t have to work.” “Say I won’? How come, Mas’ Wayne?” “You’ll keep house for me, June, and look after Sam. And you can go to school again. We’ll find a couple of rooms where we can get our own meals. How would you like that?” “With a real cook stove, Mas’ Wayne?” “Yes, a real, sure-enough one, June. And we’ll buy a whole outfit of pans and dishes and everything. And there’ll be a pantry with all sorts of things in it: canned soup and flour and sugar and----” “Molasses?” asked June eagerly. “Of course. Everything we want.”