“Yup, he’s some player, Tyrus is. Well, say, we’ve got a pretty good little team over our way. Copped the pennant two years running and finished third last season. Had hard luck last season. Weak in the box, too. This year, though, we’re going nicely. Got a twelve-game lead right now and mean to hold it. There won’t be anyone else in it by the last of August. That’s a cinch.” “I hope so, I’m sure,” murmured Wayne politely. “We can’t miss it. We’ve got the pitchers and the fielders and the hitters. Ever hear of Nick Crane?” Wayne shook his head. “Thought maybe you had. Well, Nick’s with us this year. Got him sewed up for three seasons. And, say, that kid can certainly pitch! You ought to have seen him in the game with Damascus last Thursday. Not a hit off him until the eighth, and not a man got beyond second. Then we’ve got Herring--played with Syracuse two years ago--Nye, Cotton, Wainwright, and young Joe Casey. Six mighty good lads. And we’ve got a hitting team, too. Give me a good bunch of pitchers and five men who can hit the pill and I’ll guarantee to finish first two years out of three. We don’t go in for stars much. Can’t afford them, to be honest. What we try to get is a nice, well-rounded team. Do you get me?” “Yes, I think so,” responded Wayne. “But--but I’m afraid I don’t see what this has got to do with me, Mr. Farrel.” “Well, I was coming to that. Takes me some time to get moving, I’m so heavy, you see. Here’s the story.” Mr. Farrel lifted one ponderous leg over the other and dropped his voice to a confidential and husky rumble. “I’ve got a pal lives here. Maybe you know him. H. M. Breen, of the Sterling Spool Company. No? Well, him and me has been pals for a long time, and his daughter was married last night and I came over for the shindig. Today him and me went out and saw you fellows play ball. And, say, we saw a good game, too. I don’t mean it was so blamed scientific--those Toonalta guys made a lot of fool moves: they ought to have sewn that game up in the eighth--but it was fast and interesting. Well, I was just passing the time, you understand, Mr. Sloan. Wasn’t looking for any finds or nothing. Just enjoying a day off. Get me? But ’long about the fourth inning I began to sit up and take notice of the fellow playing second for the Medfield bunch. ‘He ain’t so poor,’ says I. ‘He’s got a nice way of handling himself, he has, and he sure can biff the ball. Course, he needs training, but it looks to me like he had the goods.’ Well, I watched him close and I saw him dip in on a nice double play and push the pellet around for three hits, one of ’em a clean two-bagger, an’ I says to myself, ‘Chris, why don’t you look the young gentleman up and have a talk with him?’ I says, ‘Maybe he’d think well of a chance to get in good company and learn how to play real ball.’ So I inquired around and found you hung out up here a good deal and here I am.” Mr. Farrel smiled jovially, produced a cigar from