"Inside play, there?" said Breede.
"Inside, nothing!" retorted Bean arrogantly. "Matty couldn't get back to
second and they _had_ to run. If that Silas up there hadn't gone foamy
in the fighting-top and tried to hit that policeman over by the fence
with the ball, where'd your inside play been? D'you think the Pirates
are trying to help 'em play inside ball? Inside, nothing!"
Again Breede looked respectful, and the flapper listened, lustrous-eyed.
The finish was close. With two men out in the last half of the ninth and
two strikes called on the batter, a none too certain single brought in
the winning run. The clinging trio shrieked--then dazedly fell apart.
Life had gone from the magic. The vast crowd also fell apart to units,
flooding to the narrow gates.
Outside Breede looked at Bean as if, faintly puzzled, he was trying to
recall the fellow's face. One could fancy him saying, "Prob'ly some chap
works in m' office."
Father and daughter entered the car. Bean raised his dented hat. Breede
was oblivious; the flapper permitted herself a severe double nod. The
motor chugged violently. Bean, moving on a few steps, turned. The
flapper was looking back. She stared an instant then most astonishingly
smiled, a smile that seemed almost vocal with many glad words. Bean felt
himself smile weakly in response.
He walked a long way before he took a car, his eyes on the pavement, his
mind filled with a vision.
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