A tall, raw-boned youth of twenty-one or two emerged through the open door at that moment. He had the reddest hair Wayne had ever seen on a human being and was fearfully and wonderfully freckled. He was in uniform and held a ball in one hand and a glove in the other. As he almost ran into Wayne he could not help noticing him. “’Lo, Bill!” he said. “Lookin’ for someone?” “Yes, sir, Mr. Milburn.” The red-haired chap jerked the hand holding the ball over his shoulder. “Steve? He’s inside bawling ’em out. That’s why I beat it. If you want to sell him anything or strike him for a pass, kid, take my advice and don’t do it. Let him simmer down. Can you catch?” Wayne nodded. “I’ve got a letter to him,” he said uncertainly and questioningly. “Keep it, Bill, till he recovers,” advised the other. “Come on out and catch a few for me. I got a bum wing this morning for fair.” Doubtfully, Wayne followed the big chap around to the front of the stand. He didn’t like the idea of delaying his interview, but it seemed possible that the red-haired man knew best. The latter pointed to a scarred place in the turf in front of which a stone slab did duty for a plate. “Stand there, Bill. Haven’t got a glove, have you? Well, I’ll just toss ’em. I got to limber up or Steve’ll be riding me, too, in a minute.” He swung an arm up and sped the ball slowly and easily across the trampled grass to Wayne and Wayne tossed it back again. “Guess you’re a player, ain’t you?” asked the big pitcher. “Looking for a job, are you?” “Yes, Mr. Farrel sent me over here to see Mr. Milburn.” “So Chris is at it again, eh?” The red-haired one eyed Wayne with more interest as he waited for the ball to come back. “Where’d he find you, kid?” “Medfield, sir.” “Medfield? Have they got a club there? What league’s that? The Nile Valley?” “It’s just an amateur club,” replied Wayne. “It isn’t in any league.” “Oh, that’s it, eh? Well, say, Chris is catching ’em young, ain’t he? What was you doing when he caught you?” “I played second on the Chenango team and----” “On the _what_?” “On the Chenango team, sir.” “Think of that! You played second base for ’em, eh? Bet you they was the proud bunch!” Wayne coloured. “Maybe you’d better find someone else,” he said stiffly, rolling the ball back and turning away. “Oh, come on, kid!” called the pitcher, with a good-natured laugh. “Have a heart! I wasn’t saying anything, was I? Gee whiz, if you stay around here you’ll get a lot worse ragging than that, believe me! And if you know what’s what, Bill, you’ll take it smiling, ’cause if you don’t they’ll make it worse for you. Just hold a few more now, like a good feller. Dan’ll be out in a minute.” Wayne nodded and spread his hands again. This time the ball came in with a thud that almost staggered him and the pitcher grinned. “Too bad, kid,” he said. “I won’t do it again.” Wayne smiled, too. “You may if you’ll tell me before you do it,” he answered.