"So he's a little homesick, is he?" he said lamely. "N-o-o," said the Great Big Man, "not just that; it's--it's all the fellows I miss." The Butcher was silent. He, too, began to understand that feeling; only he, in his battling pride, resisted fiercely the weakness. "You've got an uncle somewhere, haven't you, youngster?" he said gently. "Doesn't he look after you in vacation-time?" "I don't miss _him_," replied the Big Man, shaking his head. Then he pulled himself together and said apologetically: "It's just being left behind that makes me such a damned cry-baby." "Youngster," said the Butcher, sternly, "your language is _at_-rocious. Such words do not sound well in the mouth of a suckling of your size." "I didn't mean to," said the Big Man, blushing. "You must leave something to grow up for, young man," said the Butcher, profoundly. "Now tell me about that uncle of yours. I don't fancy his silhouette." The Great Big Man, thus encouraged, poured out his lonely starved little heart, while the Butcher listened sympathetically, feeling a certain comfort in sitting with his arm around a little fellow-being. Not that he was sensible of giving much comfort; his comments, he felt, were certainly inadequate; nor did he measure in any way up to the situation. "Now it's better, eh, Big Man?" he said at last when the little fellow had stopped. "Does you sort of good to talk things out." "Oh, yes; thank you, Butcher." "All right, then, youngster." "All right. I say, you--you don't ever feel that way, do you--homesick, I mean?" "Not much." "You've got a home, haven't you?" "Quite too much, young one. If they fire me, I'll keep away from there. Strike out for myself." "Of course, then, it's different." "Young one," said the Butcher, suddenly, "that's not quite honest. If I have to clear out of here, it will cut me up _con_-siderable." "Honest?" "A fact. I didn't know it before; but it will cut me up to strike out and leave all this behind. I want another chance; and do you know why?" "Why?" "I'd like to make friends. Oh, I haven't got any real friends, youngster; you needn't shake your head. It's my fault. I know it. You're the first mortal soul who cared what became of me. All the rest are thinking of the team." "Now, Butcher----" "Lord! don't think I'm crying out!" said the Butcher, in instant alarm. "It's all been up to me. Truth is, I've been too darned proud. But I'd like to get another whack at it." "Perhaps you will, Butcher." "No, no, there's no reason why I should." The Butcher sat solemnly a moment, flinging pebbles down into the dark tennis courts. Suddenly he said: "Look here, Big Man, I'm going to give you some good advice." "All right, Butcher."