“Lawsy-y-y!” crooned June, hugging himself tightly and rolling his eyes. “Jus’ like quality, Mas’ Wayne! Say, I goin’ to cook a big mess of pork an’ cabbage the very firs’ thing! I ain’ had none of that for a mighty long ol’ time, I’m tellin’ you.” “That’s ‘if’,” reminded Wayne. “Maybe it won’t happen, though.” “Mas’ Wayne,” said June earnestly, “it’s jus’ got to happen, yes, sir! If that yere Mister Manager don’ give you that yere job I goin’ pesker the life out’n him! ’Deed I is, yes, sir! I’m goin’ make him pow’ful mis’able.” “I’m going to do a little ‘peskering’ myself,” responded Wayne grimly. “And I’m going to begin tomorrow morning. Now, though, I’m going to sleep.” In the morning they found a little restaurant within a block of their new lodgings and had breakfast there. It wasn’t a very attractive place, and the tablecloths were likely to be soiled, but the food was satisfactory and the prices well within the limit Wayne had decided on. Also, the proprietor, a little man with a pronounced squint who talked in broken English, took a liking to Sam and neither of the boys had to stint his appetite to provide for the dog. After that first morning Sam trotted at once to the door at the back and stood there with an inquiring gaze and slowly wagging tail until the expected chop bone or other delicacy came his way. After breakfast June and Sam were left to their own devices and Wayne set forth for the ball park. Summer had come to Harrisville in its full intensity now and that long walk through the city and out beyond where there were neither buildings nor trees to mitigate the ferocity of the sun left the boy rather limp. As on the first occasion, Mike held him up at the door, but, recognising him the next instant, passed him through unsuspectingly. Today practice was in full swing when he entered the enclosure. Mr. Milburn was batting grounders to the infield and the portly trainer was knocking up flies. No one paid any attention to Wayne, and he crossed to the bench in the shade of the right base stand and settled himself to watch. Perhaps yesterday’s victory had restored the manager’s good-humour, for he was quite a different despot this morning. He didn’t hesitate to criticise or find fault, but his criticisms were just, and his fault-finding excusable. And he was quite as quick to praise as blame today. The players seemed in a merry mood and jokes and sallies passed from one to another across the diamond. Wayne’s first acquaintance, “Red” Herring, was limbering up his long arm, in company with the rest of the pitchers, at the other side of the field; Linton and Young catching. In deep right field, two painters, seated on a swinging scaffold, were dividing their attention between the sign they were at work on and the practice.