The Pitcher nodded.
"You certainly pitched some air-tight ball last time I saw you. Say,
I'll tell you something. If I ever have a kid, you know what's going to
happen? Nothing used but his left hand from the cradle up; and, for toys
one league ball and a light bat. That's all."
"Right way," said the Pitcher approvingly.
"I'm only afraid the managers will get wise to him and not let him
finish out his college course," said Bean. "I don't know, though. I'll
be in the business myself by that time; may sign him on myself."
"Like it?" asked the Pitcher, interestedly.
"_Like_ it! Say, what else is there? _Like_ it! I'm only keeping on down
there in the Street till I put a certain deal through; then nothing but
old Base B. Ball for mine! You'll see. I'll pick up one the big clubs
somewhere if _money'll_ do it!"
"Well, it's the one branch of the business where you don't have to treat
your arm like a sick baby," said the Pitcher. "Say, you want to come
inside a while?"
To Bean's amazement the car had stopped before the players' entrance. He
had supposed himself miles back in the country. Did he want to go inside
for a while! He was out of the car as quickly as Nap could have achieved
it.
"What did you say your name was?" asked the Pitcher.
He was in a long room lined with lockers. He recognized several players
lounging there. A big man with a hard face, half in a uniform, was
singing, "Though Silver Threads Are 'Mong the Gold, I Love You Just the
Same.
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