“Not long. Say fifteen minutes. He’s probably here in town. I’ll ask his son. He’s over there in the stand.” Dick wasn’t at all certain that Morris had arrived, but he risked it. The contractor hesitated and finally nodded surlily. “All right. I’ll give you till three o’clock. Then I’m goin’ in here, an’ if anyone tries to stop me——” “I understand. Thank you. Tim, pass the gentleman inside until we settle this.” “I’ll wait here,” said the contractor grimly. Dick hurried across to the stand and searched for Morris. Presently he found him, with Louise at his side, halfway up the slope. “Is your father in town, Morris?” he asked anxiously after he had greeted Louise. “I don’t know. What’s wanted, Dick?” Dick explained hurriedly and Morris whistled. “He may be at his office or he may be on his way out to the Point. He doesn’t usually stay in town on Saturday afternoons in summer. I’ll see if I can find him, though. Only thing is, it’ll take me a long time to hobble over to his office.” “I can do it quicker, I guess. Or, hold on! I know! I’ll get Gordon to go. I’ll be back presently.” Dick hurried down to the diamond and summoned Gordon from first base. Practice was still going on, but in a desultory way, for most eyes had been turned toward the gate. As quickly as he could Dick explained what had happened. “He will do it for you if he will for anyone,” ended Dick. “See if he won’t call off the workmen until after the game or until Monday, Gordon. Morris says he may be at his office. If he isn’t he’s gone home to the Point. Try the telephone in that case. And try to get back here by three. That chap won’t wait much longer.” Gordon nodded and sped toward the gate just as the Lesterville team came onto the field. He was in his playing clothes, but there was no time to change them and he didn’t, as a matter of fact, give much thought to them. It was five blocks to Mr. Brent’s office in the bank building, and two of the blocks were long ones. Gordon did the distance in five minutes and leaped up the marble stairway to find a clerk just locking the outer door of the office. “Mr. Brent?” he gasped. “Gone home,” replied the clerk, looking curiously at Gordon’s attire and perspiring countenance. “He left about five minutes ago. You might catch him before he gets the trolley.” Gordon raced off again and fortune was with him. Only a block down F Street he descried Mr. Brent in front of him walking briskly toward the car line and tapping the pavement with his cane. Gordon overtook him just over the Main Street crossing. Morris’ father turned at the boy’s breathless hail. “Ah, that you, Merrick? How do you do! Want to see me?” “Yes, sir, please!” gasped Gordon. “Mr. Brent, they’re trying to get into the field, sir, to start work on it this afternoon. And we’re playing Lesterville and there’s a big crowd there, sir——” “You mean that Mullin is starting work there? Well, that’s all right, my boy. I told him to.”