“It’s on account of Orren Fairchilds, one of the mine owners,” Gardiner answered. “Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”
“Yes, I have. But I didn’t know he was one of the owners. I thought he was the superintendent.”
“He’s both. He also happens to be one of the greatest baseball enthusiasts in the country. Before he went into mining, he played on one of the big-league teams, and he’s still a crank over the game. He got together the most promising of the young fellows in the mine and practically taught them the game from start to finish—spent months coaching each man separately and the whole nine together. He hardly ate or slept during that time, and, as a result, he’s got a crowd that he boasts can lick anything in the country outside the big leagues.”
“He must be all to the good,” Dick said, smiling. “He’s a man after my own heart, and I shall be much interested in meeting him to-night.”
“You have an appointment?” queried Gardiner.
“No; a card of introduction from a mutual friend,” Merriwell returned. “We are anxious to go through the mine to-morrow, if possible.”
“You’d better be at his house before seven to-night, then,” Gardiner said. “He has dinner at half-past six, and the minute he’s through he goes up to the diamond he’s laid out near the mine, where the boys practice until dark.”
“Much obliged for the advice,” Dick smiled. “I’ll be there on the dot; for our only reason for coming to Forest Hills was to see the mine.”