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Copyrighted by the Star Company.
(Synopsis of Preceding Chapters.)
T HE second week In Beptembei finds the
Panthers and the Boars nearing the end
of a bitter struggle for tne baseball
championship. Both teams are about to start
a four-game series which will probably decide
the question of supremacy. On the eve of this
series the heaviest hitter and speediest base-
runner of the lleais is crippled and out of the
game for the season. This a< idcnt Is kept a
secret, known oniy to the Bear players, as the
announcement of this calamity would give tne
Panthers' manager additional advantage in
knowing how Inst to use hie pitchers. Pro
fessional gamblers get hold of the news of the
misfortune In advance and wager heavily
against the Bears who have up to this lime
been favorites.
In the first game of the series the Bears are
badly beaten and their weakness at third base
and pinch hitting la revealed to all. Manager
Clancy of the B. ars sitting in the writing room
of ihe hotel where his players are slopping is
facing a discouraging situation. Betty, the
club secretary's daughter, is with him writing
to a friend the exciting events of the days
game.
Just at this moment a well-built, sandy-haired
young man enters the hotel lobby and address
ing a group of Bear players asks lor .Mana
ger Clancy. Adonis Williams, the star pitcher
of the Bears, insults the young stranger who
In turn threatens to "kick him on the shins’’
and dares him to fight when he gets him in
the clubhouse.
Betty overhears the argument and directs the
stranger to Manager Clancy.
The stranger talks to Clancy about Ills club's
weakness and offers himself as the player who
ran fill tne gap on Ins team, but refuses,
further Information about himself. Clancy
turns the mysterious stranger ov.r to the
secretary and figuring the stranger relucant
about giving his right name, calls him "Jimmy
McCarthy."
McCarthy shows up well In practise before
the game and prov*s he can hit the ball. With
the score 3 to 1 against the Bears in the
seventh Inning, and two Bear runners on the
bases. McCarthy is put in as a pinch hitter
and brings In both runners tlelng tbe score.
McCarthy scores the winning run In the
eleventh Inning.
The Bears gain confidence and finish the series
with the Panthers winning three out of the
four games. Clancy dubs the new player
"Kohlnoor" when the reporters ask him what
to call the new "find"
"Kohlnoor"' McCarthy makes a fast friend In
the great fighting short stop of the team.
Swanson, when he fulfills his threat to ' hick
on tho shins and fight" Adonis Williams, the
pitcher of the team, who Insulted him on his
first appearance at the hotel. Swanson pro-
ventB a possible fight calling Williams bluff
and tells him he thinks McCarthy could whip
him.
(Continued from Last Sunday)
CHAPTER HI.
Hope for the Bears.
T HE suggestion raised a laugh, anti
eased the situation. The battle light
In McCarthy's face changed to a smile.
''I'll forego the kick." he said. “1 had to
make good after what I told you in the hotel.
I'm perfectly willing to let it drop and be
friends."
He extended his hand frankly, but Williams
still scowling, did not take it.
-Never mind the being friends part of it."
he said. “But if you don't want trouble, just
lay away from me after this.'
“Here, young fellow.” said Clancy, who had
arrived at the club house in time to see the
finish of the altercation; ‘Til do all the fight
ing for this club Understand?”
“Yes," replied McCarthy, slowly, without
attempting to explain.
“What do yo u think of my gamecock. Bill?”
asked Swanson, enthusiastically. "Adonis in
sulted him in tlie hotel last night and the kid
promised to kick him on the shins. He was
just making good. He offered to shake hands
and call it all off, but Adonis wouldn’t do It.
He’s my roommate from now on. I'll have to
taka him to keep him from fighting every
one."
The giant's remark caused another laugh as
his record for lights during his earlier career
as a ball player had given him a reputation
which obviated ail necessity ot fighting.
The majority of the Bears had accepted Mc
Carthy as one of their own kind afler that,
aud Swanson adopted 1;ini. Witti Swanson
he seemed at home, but the others found him
a trifle shy and retiring. He was friendly
with all excepting Williams and Pardridge.
who resented his occupation of third base
while pretending to be pleased. Yet with the
exception of Swanson and Kennedy he made
no close friends. The admiration of the rough,
big-hearted Swede shortstop for the recruit
approached adoration and he was loud und
insistent in voicing his praises of McCarthy.
“Class to that boy, on and off," he said.
“Best little roommate 1 ever had and the
quickest head on him."
“S’elp me.” said Manager Clancy to Secre
tary Taber, as he saw the oddly assorted pair
stroll out together on the second evening
they had known each other. "If I don’t think
McCarthy will tame down that crazy Swede
instead of being ruined by him. He had
Silent out looking at paintings at an art gal-
^ry this morning aud Silent has become a
student of art."
The train which was bearing the Bears
sway from the city of the Panthers drew slow
ly out of the great station, plunged through
& series of tunnel-like arches under the
streets, and rattled out into the suburbs, gath
ering speed for the long night run. Inside the
car the players were settling themselves for
en evening of recreation. Card games were
starting, the chess players were resuming
their six-month-long contest, and McCarthy
sought his berth and sat alone, striving to
read. In the berth just ahead of his seat the
quartette, which had been silent during tho
period of depression and discouragement that
followed Careen's injury, gathered and com
menced to sing.
Every baseball club, whether In major or
minor league, whether from a college or from
a country town, has its quartette. Usually
they are bad, devoting themselves to senti
mental love songs, and they are uncertain and
quavery, although they always rally and fin
ish strong and full on the final chord. The
Bears, however, possessed a quartette with
some musical merit and musical knowledge.
Kennedy, the quiet, big catcher, had a good
baritone voice and it showed training. Nor
ton. who seldom spoke, but always was ready
^to sing, led, and Swanson was the bass, k's
olcAdeep and organ-like, making up In povf •
and richnesa much that it lost in lack of train
ing. Kirkland, the tenor, was weak and un
certain yet, as Swanson remarked “He can't
sing much, but he Is a glutton for punishment.”
When the quartette started to sing, McCarthy
dropped his book and sat gazing out into the
lathering twilight, listening to the strong,
lealthy voices. Lights commenced to flash out
from the farm houses, nestling clown between
the hills, and the haze settled in waving cur
tains over the ponds and the lowlands. Ho
was lonely, homesick at thought of other voices
Mid other scenes and tho joyousness of his
new comrades seemed to depress rather than
to lift his spirits.
Berths were being prepared for the night.
Already in several the weary and the lame
were reclining, reading. Others, worn by the
strain of the day's game, were getting ready
to draw their curtains. The trainer and his
assistant were passing quietly from berth to
berth, working upon aching arms and bruised
muscles, striving to keep their valuable live
stock in condition to continue the struggle.
Tho odor of liniments and drugs floated
through the car, mingling witn the incense of
cigar smoke. The hubbub and the rough play
diminished. At the end of the car the bridge
fiends were playing their interminable game,
forgetful of all else.
The quartette sang on and on, regardless of
the lack of an audience, for no one in the car
appeared to be listening. They sang tawdry
"popular” songs for the most part; songs of
home and mother, of love and death and part
ing, occasionally breaking into a ribald ragtime
ditty, followed by a sickly sentimental ballad.
McCarthy, half reclining upon an elbow, re
mained gazing out of the window at the un
familiar landscape as the train roared through
villages and flashed past stations, watching the
mystic white of the moonlight that now flooded
the night.
Kennedy's voice, without warning, rose
strong and clear almost before the final chord
of the song over which the quartette had been
In travail had died away. Kennedy had a
habit, when he wearied of the songs they sang,
of singing alone some song the others did not
know; some quaint old ballad, or oftener a
song of higher class. For a moment the others
strove vainly to follow; as if hoping to recog
nize the song and join in the melody. Then
silence fell over them as Kennedy's voice rose,
clearer and stronger, as he sang the old words
Df Eileen Aroon.
“Dear were her charms to me.”
His voice was pregnant with feeling.
"Dearer her laughter—-free."
Kennedy was singing as if to himself, but as
he sang a voice, strong and fresh, like a clear
bell striking into the music of chimes, joined
his and sang with him the words.
"Dearer her constancy "
The card players suddenly lost interest in
their game, dropped their hands and turned
to see who was singing. Players who had
been reading and those who had been vainly
striving to sleep poked their heads between
curtains of the berths, the better to listen.
On and on through the haunting, half pa
thetic minors of the old song the clear, sweet
tenor and the strong, well modulated voice of
Kennedy carried the listeners. McCarthy,
leaning toward the window and gazing out
upon the moonlight as if under its mystic
spell, sang on in ignorance of Ihe interest his
voice had aroused in the car. Several players
had crowded forward quietly ami were lean
ing over berth backs watching him.
The song ended. For a moment the silence
in the car was so complete that the clicking
of the wheels upon the fish plates sounded
sharply. Then Swanson, with a yell, broke
the spell Hurdling the back of the berth he
descended upon the startled McCarthy, who
seemed dazed and bewildered by the outburst
and the pattering applause that it started.
"Yeh, Bo,” yelled Swanson, giving his dia
mond war cry. “Yeh, Bo, you’re a hear. Hey,
you folks, throw Kilty out of the window and
make room for this redheaded Caruso. Why
didn't you tell me you could sing? The quar
tette is filled at last!”
McCarthy, still appearing confused and em
barrassed by the outburst, was dragged, pro
testing, from his seat, struggling with Swan
son, who was shouting:
"D'Ju hear him? Say, this Bo can sing bet
ter than he can play ball. 1 think he quit
opera to join us.”
Flushed and laughing in his embarrassment,
McCarthy was borne up the aisle and de
posited in the place of honor in the quartette.
Suddenly the scuffling and boisterous laugh
ter ceased, and the players drew aside, apolo
getically, to make way for an eager, bright
eyed girl, whose face was flushed with pleas
ure, hut who advanced toward McCarthy with
out a trace of embarrassment. McCarthy,
glancing at her, recognized the girl who had
directed him to Manager Clancy on the eve
ning of his first appearance in the Bear camp
"1 was coming to say good night to father,"
she said quickly, “and 1 heard you sing. I
want to thank you.”
She extended her hand frankly to McCarthy,
who stood blushing and striving to stammer
some reply.
"Oh, 1 say," he protested. “It was nothing—
I wasn't thinking"
"You sang it beautifully.” she interrupted
"The song is one of my favorites. 1 did not
know Mr. Kennedy knew it.”
“Used to sing it at home,” said Kennedy, as
If indifferent.
"Thank you,” McCarthy stammered, partly
recovering his poise. "It is good of you to like
it 1 seldom sing at all. The song made me
forget where I was."
"You must sing for us,” she said simply.
“The boys will make you. I am certain that
after you feel more at home among us you will
give us that pleasure. Good night—and thank
you again.”
The girl smiled and McCarthy, stuttering
in his effort to reply, managed to mutter
good-night as she passed into the next car.
“It's a pink Kohlnoor now,” said the re
lentless Swanson, as he observed the flushed
face of the recruit. “All fussed up. isn't he?”
“Oh. cut it out,” retorted McCarthy, striv
ing to cover his embarrassment by ball field
'onversational methods “A fellow might be
expected to be a little bit embarrassed with a
'ot of big stiffs like you standing around and
never offering to introduce a fellow."
“I forgot it, Kohlnoor," said Kennedy
quickly. "I forgot you never had met her.
She is Betty Taber. Sec’s daughter, and one
of the best little women in the world. She
usually makes one trip a season with us to
teach us manners.' Even Silent is a gentle
man when she is with the team."
“I'm always a gent, Bo,” declared Swanson
indignantly. “I took a night school course In
etiquette once. Any one that ain’t a gent
when she is around I’ll teach to be a gent—■
and this is the perfessor."
He exhibited a huge, red fist and smote the
cushions of the berth with a convincing thud.
"I’ll introduce you properly to-morrow,”
volunteered Kennedy. “Come on and get into
the quartette. We’ll try you out.”
Thus invited McCarthy surrendered more
to conceal his agitation than because he felt
like singing. He did not desire that any of
the players should suspect that ever since the
girl had come to his rescue in the lobby of
the hotel he had been hoping for an oppor
tunity to see her again.
The quartette sang until the bridge players
grew weary of the game and the tired athletes
who preferred sleep to the melody howled Im
precations upon the vocalists.
For a long time after McCarthy climbed into
his berth he remained staring into the dark
ness, striving to recall the outlines of a face
set with a pair of friendly brown eyes that
lighted with a look of eager appreciation. He
reqiembered the little dimples at the corners
of the mouth, and the wealth of soft, brown
hair that framed the oval of her face. He
strove to recall more of her appearance, but
could remember only her eyes and the warm
softness of the hand he had touched as she
thanked him for singing. He blushed hotly
in the darkness at Ihe thought of his own
rather threadbare raiment, and he decided that
he would evade an introduction until he could
secure money from Manager Clancy and re
cover the clothes he had left In an express
office.
He found himself striving to compare her
face with that of another.
“She is not as pretty as Helen is,” he told
himself. “But it's different somehow. Helen
never seemed to feel anything or to under
stand a fellow, and I’m sure Betty—Betty? I
wonder if that is her real name—I’ll sing for
her as often as she will listen.”
And, after a long reviewing of the past
that was proving such a mystery and which
the baseball reporters were striving in vain
to explore, McCarthy muttered: 'Tve made a
fool of myself," and turned over and slept.
CHAPTER IV.
"Kohinoor”Meets Betty.
fJlHE train was speeding along through the
-L upper reaches of a beautiful valley when Mc
Carthy awoke the following morning. His
dreams had been pleasant and filled with ro
mance, in which always the heroine was brown
eyed and brown of hair. He chided himself
for fickleness as he recalled a pair of blue
eyes and a wealth of light, wavy hair, which
for months had occupied the same space in
his dreams and which had played a large
part In his young life's drama.
As he splashed and scraped his face In the
washroom he found himself torn between de
sire to hasten the introduction which Ken
nedy had promised and to avoid meeting the
girl. He glanced down at his worn garments,
wondering whether or not the girl had ob
served them. He went forward. to the din
ing car with sudden determination, having
decided to avoid the introduction and to have
breakfast with Swanson, who had wakened
him from his dreams with the news that the
last call had been made. The dining car was
crowded, and the table at which Swanson was
eating was filled. McCarthy stopped, looked
around for a vacant seat. There seemed to
be only one—and at that table Miss Betty
Taber was breakfasting with Manager Clancy
and his wife.
"Good morning,” said the girl, smiling
brightly. “There is a seat here. My father
had to hurry away. Mr. Clancy will intro
duce us."
Clancy suif^ended his operations with hi9
ham and eggs long enough to say:
“Miss Taber, Mr. McCarthy. Kohinoor,
this is the old lady."
"I heard Mr. McCarthy sing last night,”
said the girl, acknowledging the informal
presentation. “He sings well.”
“So I should guess,” remarked Clancy dryly.
"Swanson has been bellowing his praise of it
until everyone on the train thinks we have
grabbed a grand opera star who can hit 400."
McCarthy, received in this fashion, was at
his ease, and, forgetting his clothing, he joined
in the lively conversation. He found him
self talking with Miss Taber and Mrs. Clancy
and laughing at the quaint half brogue of
the manager's buxom wife as if they had
known each other all their lives. Clancy him
self had little to say. The conversation had
drifted to discussion of the country through
which the train was running and McCarthy
suddenly ceased talking.
"I always have loved this part of the val
ley," said Miss Taber. "When I was a little
girl father brought me on a trip and 1 re
member then picking out a spot on the hills
across the river where, some day, 1 wanted to
live. I never pass it without feeling the old
desire. Have you been through this country
before?"
The question was entirely natural, but Mc
Carthy reddened as he admitted it was his
first trip.
“And what part of the world do you come
from?" asked Mrs. Clancy.
“I'm from the West," he responded. “Prob
ably that is why I admire this green country
so much.”
"What is your home town?" persisted Mrs.
Clancy.
Miss Taber, scenting an embarrassing situ
ation, strove to change the subject, but Mrs.
Clancy refused to be put off.
“Why is it you are ashamed of your home
and play under another name, boy?” she de
manded.
"Why do you think my name isn't McCar
thy?" he parried.
"The McCarthys aren't a red-headed race.”
she said, her brogue broadening. “Ye have
Irish in ye, but ye're not Irish. Is baseball
such a disgraceful business ye are ashamed
to use your name?”
"Of course not. Mrs. Clancy,” he responded
Indignantly. “It is a good enough business—
but—but—Oh. I can't explain.”
"This mystery business is ; a big drawing
card," remarked Manager Cle^ cy, endeavoring
“Good morning,” said the girl, smiling brightly.
“There is a seat here. My father had to hurry away. Mr. Clancy
will introduce us.”
to ease the situation. “They flock to see him
because each one can make up his own story.
Let him alone, mother. Don’t spoil the gate
receipts."
“Let him alone, is it?” she asked, turning
upon her husband. “ Tis for his own sake
I'm f iking. They’ll be saying you’ve done
sometning bad and wicked and are afraid to
use your own name.”
“What isn't true cannot hurt anyone,” he
replied quickly. “I have not'committed any
crimes.”
“.Mother is a good deal right about it,” re-,
marked Clancy quietly. “A baseball player is
a public person. The fans are likely to say
anything about a player, and the less they
know the more they will invent. If they knew
all about you they probably would forget about
it. but if it is a mystery they’ll try all the
harder to find out, and what they can’t learn
they’ll invent.”
"I believe Mother Clancy is right,” said Miss
Taber, seeing that her effort to turn the con
versation had failed.
“But there really isn’t anything to tell—
anything any one would be interested in. It’s
a private matter,” protested McCarthy.
"Listen, boy,” said the manager's wife. “I’ve
been with the boys these many years. They
are all my boys, even the bad ones, and I
don’t want any of them talked about.”
“There is nothing to talk aDout," he con
tended, irritated by the persistency of the
manager’s wife.
"They’re already saying things,” she re
sponded, leaning forward. “They’re a saying
that you’ve done something crooked—that
you’ve thrown ball games ”
“Oh," ejaculated Miss Taber. “They
wouldn’t dare!”
“I’d like to have some one say that to me,"
McCarthy said, flushing with anger.
“Hold on, mother,” interrupted Clancy. “I’m
managing this team Let up on him. Where
did you hear that kind of talk?"
"1 heard it in the stands,” she argued earn
estly. “They were saying you knew all about
it If you deny it they’ll tell another story and
if you keep quiet they’ll think its a confession.
Tell them what you are and where you came
from, boy."
Her voice was pleading and her interest in
his welfare was too real not to affect him.
“I’m sorry, Mother Clancy,” he said grate
fully. unconsciously adopting the term he had
heard Betty Taber use. “There is nothing I
can tell them—or anyone—now.”
"It’s sorry I am, Jimmy,” she responded
sadly. "If it’s anything ye can tell me come
to me.”
“I see I have another adopted son," remark
ed Clancy teasingly as he winked at Miss
Taber. “Ellen mothers them all, as soon as
she learns their first names—even the Swede."
“’Tis proud I’d be to have a son like Sven,”
she said, defendingly.
The breakfast ended rather quietly and Mc
Carthy returned to his seat in the players’ car
dispirited. In his heart he knew that Mrs.
Clancy had spoken the truth. He knew. too.
that Betty Taber held the same opinion and,
somehow, her opinion of him counted more
than that of all the others.
"If I only could explain,” he kept thinking.
“They have no right to ask,” he argued with
himself. “Why do they suspect a man just
because he refuses to tell them all his private
affairs?”
He refused invitations to play cards and
picking up a magazine, he tried to read, only
• to find himself revolving the situation over
and over in his head, until in his irritation he
threw down his magazine and joined in a heat
ed argument with Swanson as to whether a
foul tipped ball travels faster after it touches
the bat than it does before being hit.
The train was not due to arrive in the City
of Pilgrims until nearly noon, and the argument
served to pass the time, McCarthy amusing
himself by conjuring up entirely fallacious al
gebraic proof to support his side of the debate,
enjoying the effect of his strange calculations
upon Swanson, who, being unable to cope with
such debating methods, departed to play in the
poker game.
McCarthy was settling Iiimself to resume
reading when Adonis Williams came down the
aisle, and, without invitation, sat down in the
other half of the seat- The men had not
spoken to each other since the encounter in the
clubhouse, and Williams’s act in choosing him
as a seatmate surprised McCarthy. He moved
politely to give Williams more space, and
without speaking waited for the pitcher to re
veal the reason for his movement.
Williams looked at him patronizingly for an
instant, and in a rather sneering tone said:
“Just a friendly little tip, young fellow. Keep
off my preserves and you’ll get along better
with this club.”
“I don’t quite understand you,” replied Mc
Carthy, his eyes narrowing with the anger
aroused by the air of superiority assumed by
the pitcher.
“I was watching you during breakfast,” said
Williams. “Don’t get it into your head that
because you happened to play a couple of good
games of ball you can run this club and do as
you please.”
“Hold on a minute,” retorted McCarthy,
flushing with anger. “If you have any griev
ance against me say so. Don’t beat around
the bush. I don’t know what you are talking
about.”
“I just wauted to tip you off to keep away
from the young woman you ate breakfast
with.”
McCarthy’s eyes flashed angrily, and he
started to rise, but controlled himself with an
effort.
“Only muckers discuss such things,” he said,
coldly.
“Well, we’re going to discuss it," retorted
Williams, who rapidly was losing his temper
and working himself into a rage. "That young
lady is going to be my wife, and I don’t care
to have her associating with every hobo ball
player that joins the team.”
McCarthy clenched his fists and started to
his feet, but gritted his teeth and kept control
of his temper. “You’re to be congratulated—
if it is true," he said slowly, his tone an in
sult. “Men cannot fight over a woman and
not have her name dragged into it. Drop that
part of it and to-night I’ll insult you and give
you a chance to fight.”
“Any time you please,” replied Williams,
rather taken aback. “Privately, I think you're
yellow and won’t dare fight. But don’t for
get. what I said about keeping away.”
He swaggered down the aisle leaving Mc
Carthy angry, helpless and raging because
Williams had placed him in such a position.
He was boiling with inward anger when Swan
son slid down into the' seat with him as the
train entered the suburbs of the Pilgrim City.
‘ Smarter, Bo?” asked Swanson, quickly ob
serving that something was wrong. “1 saw
Williams talking with you. Has he been try
ing to bluff you? Don’t mind him. He has
been as sore as a Charley horse ever since you
joined the team, and he won’t overlook a
chance to start trouble.”
"He has started it ail right,” replied Mc
Carthy, savagely. “We’re going to fight to
night and I’ll”——
“Steady, Bo, steady,” warned Swanson, drop
ping his voice. “That’s his game, is it? He
won’t fight any one. He heard Clancy warn
you not to fight and he is trying to get you in
bad. I know his way."
“I told him I’d fight,” responded McCarthy,
worriedly. "Now i ll have to. I don’t know
anything I’d enjoy better."
"I’d like to second you and make you do it,"
responded the giant. "But it would be playing
into his hands if you punched him. Leave him
to me. I’ll fix his clock.”
Swanson's methods were all his own. The
repairing of Williams’s timepiece took place
in the big auto ’bus that carried the players
from the train to their hotel. Swanson, wise
with long experience in such matters, secured
a seat across the 'bus from Williams, and
when the vehicle rolled onto smoother streets
he addressed the pitcher.
“Hey, Adonis,” he said in tones Manager
Clancy could not fail to hear, “trying to take
out your grouch on Kohinoor, eh? You lay off
him or count me in on anything that comes
off."
“That sneak been tattling and crying for
help, eh?" sneered Williams. “I wasn’t going
to hurt him.”
“You’re right, you’re not.” retorted Swanson.
“He didn’t tell me. I saw you trying to start
something with him, and I’ve seen you do it
to too many other kids not to know what you
\yere up to.”
“Who’s talking fight?” demanded Clancy
sharply, turning to scan the players until his
eyes rested upon Williams's flushed and angry
face.
“Nobody is going to fight," said Swanson
easily. “Adonis has been trying to bully Kohi
noor and stir him up. I guess he thought ha
could put over his bluff because you told Kohi
noor not to fight-”
“Adonis, you cut that stuff out or I’ll take
a hand in it myself,” said Clancy, whose ability
and willingness to fight had earned him a rep
utation during his playing days. “You’ve had
a grouch for a week or more. As for you,
rvohinoor, don’t think you can fight your way
through this league. The first thing you have
to do is to learn to stand punishment and keep
your temper.”
“No fresh prison pup can swell up and try to
cut into my affairs," muttered Williams, sullen
under the rebuke.
McCarthy sprang up to avenge the fresh in
sult, but before he could act or speak he was
forestalled.
“Oh,” said Clancy sharply. “So you’re the
fellow who has been making that kind of talk?
I’ve been trying to find out where it came
from. One more bit of that kind of conversa
tion will cost you a bunch of salary.”
“I’ve heard it everywhere,” muttered Will
iams taken aback by the sudden defense of
the recruit by the manager.
“Well, dQn’t hear any more of it,” snapped
Clancy, and McCarthy, feeling he had emerged
with the honors, discreetly maintained silence.
In the game that afternoon McCarthy suf
fered his first reverse. His error early in the
game permitted the Pilgrims to gain the lead,
and in the seventh inning, after the Bears had!
fought their way back to a tied score, Mt»
Carthy attempted to score fron) first base on a
hit which was fumbled for an instant in the
outfield, and was caught at tbe plate, compel
ling the Bears to play eleven innings in orde«
to beat the Pilgrims. Although Manager
Clancy said nothing of his failure to accomplish
either play, McCarthy was downhearted- Th*
fact that Clancy had said "Good boy—nice try,’
when he was caught at the plate was not suffi
cient salve for the fact that some of the play
ers seemed disgusted with his work. He
slipped away to his room early, and it wa#
growing late when Swanson, after a val*
search for him, came in a nd found him read
ing.
“What started Adonis after you this morn
ing?" asked Swanson, as he hurled garments
around the room and wrought disaster to thi ,
order of his trunk as he hunted pajamas.
"Guess he was just trying to start somr-
thing.” responded McCarthy, still reading.
“Girl?” inquired Swanson.
“What makes you think that?”
"He was mad when he saw you at break
fast with Betty. He’s jealous of everyone
who talks to her."
“She’s a dandy girl,” said McCarthy, gener
ously. “I don’t much blame a fellow for -being
jealous when he is engaged to a girl like that ”
“Engaged to Betty Tabor? That stiff’’”
ejaculated Swanson. “Say, did he spring >
line of talk like that on you? Why, he ha,
been crazy about her for three years, but she
knows what he is, and she won’t talk to him
any more than to be polite;"
“I thought it was odd,” commented McCar
thy, his heart becoming strangely lighter.
“Don’t make^ any mistake, though," added
Swanson earnestly, as he turned out the lights
“You’ve stirred up a had enemy. He won't
fight you openly; but keep an eye on him
Swanson’s warning fell upon deaf ears. Mo
Carthy’s attack of blues was cured, and he fell '
asleep to the music of street car wheels that
seemed to say; “She isn’t engaged, she isn't
engaged,” as they rolled past the hotel.
(To Be Continued Next Sunday}