CHAPTER II MR. BARRY A tall, thin man, who, although somewhat elderly, seemed to walk with all the alertness of youth, was directing his course toward the players. He wore a long, faded, dusty-looking black coat and a derby hat of an equally old appearance. Mr. Rupert Barry, one of the best known and wealthiest citizens of Kingswood, had retired from active business many years before, and, with only a man and wife who acted as housekeepers, resided in a stately mansion which crowned the summit of a hill. Mr. Barry was not partial to visitors. Only a select few had entered his doors. Those who did spoke enthusiastically of a collection of bric-à-brac and paintings which his house contained. None of the present generation remembered having ever seen Mr. Barry in other than his old-fashioned coat and derby hat. It was a standing puzzle whether the coat and hat refused to be worn out, or whether, by some mysterious process, he was able, year in and year out, to procure garments of exactly the same color and texture. Mr. Barry seldom appeared without a dog to keep him company. And these animals, which had succeeded one another up to the present time, generally possessed but little beauty. On this occasion the dog which kept close to the elderly gentleman's heels was a large, shaggy creature of a yellowish hue, with a quarrelsome look in his eye. "Now it's time to get out on the field and pull off some of those pretty stunts, Tom," advised Nat Wingate. "It may make him take down a few of those no-trespassing signs on that lot of his." "That's right," laughed Tom. "It fairly bristles with 'em. 'Trespassers dealt with according to law'; 'Private property'; 'No thoroughfare'; 'Keep out'; 'Any one found depositing ashes or refuse on this lot will be prosecuted.' Have I missed any, Nat?" "Just one," chuckled Wingate, "over on the northeast corner: 'Intruders will be promptly ejected.' It's a wonder he hasn't a few Gatling guns planted around." "And just to think," mused Tom, "he's going to give that field to us!" "Well, I like your cheek," blazed out Nat. "You must think you're the whole show. Do you know what my idea is?" "Guess I will in a minute." "Mr. Barry knows it's such a safe proposition that you fellows will get trimmed all around----" "Oh, get out, you 'Pie-eater'!" howled Tom. "Take a doughnut. It looks like a cipher--meaning nothing for you!" "We can eat up lots of things besides doughnuts," said Nat, sarcastically. "I'm going to trail Mr. Rupert Barry." "So am I." As they walked briskly toward the scene of action the noise and the cracks of the bats seemed to be greater than ever. By this time Mr. Barry had almost reached the high board fence which served as a backstop and score-board. It was at once observed that Dave Brandon had stopped practicing and was coming forward to meet their visitor. Bob Somers, too, was walking in from the outfield.