Before he had been three days in Ashland Elgin maneuvered an introduction to Miss Molly Wendell, a charming young person with a penchant for baseball, and obtained permission to call. Within a fortnight he had availed himself three times of that permission, and they were on very friendly terms, indeed.
This evening he arrayed himself with especial care, and sallied forth about half past seven, alone, from the hotel. Miss Wendell lived in the best residential section of town; but, as he made his way thither, Elgin was not so occupied with thoughts of the pleasure in store for him as to be blinded to the feminine charms of any chance passers-by. That was not his way.
Having bestowed appreciative and very open glances on several attractive factory girls hurrying along the main street, the cub pitcher struck into a quieter thoroughfare which led toward his destination. He had almost reached High Street when a rickety, swaying hack, looking as if it might have seen its best days in some Northern city a decade ago, passed him and came to a stop in front of the corner house.
Before the negro driver had time to open the door the horse—a big, raw-boned animal—took it into his head to back. Quite undisturbed and rather amused at the coon’s flow of language, Elgin watched the ancient vehicle tilt dangerously until it seemed as if another moment would see it topple over. Then he came opposite the door, glanced curiously into the hack, and the next instant became transformed.
With a single leap he reached the horse’s head, gripping the bit with muscular fingers and dragging the animal forward a step or two.
“Get down here and hold the beast, uncle!” he ordered. “You’re a nice one to take people out behind a dangerous animal like this. Hustle, now!”
The colored man hurriedly descended, muttering something about “interferin’ w’ite trash,” and sulkily obeyed. Elgin sprang to the door, hat in hand, and held it open.
“It’s all right now, sir,” he said deferentially. “Just take my arm, if you please, and let me help you out.”
An elderly man, white-haired, frail-looking, and dressed in a clergyman’s suit of black, obeyed tremblingly. He was followed much more swiftly by a young girl, a glimpse of whose lovely face had been the cause of that sudden transformation in Bert Elgin.
She barely touched the pitcher’s arm as she leaped from the cab, the color bright in her cheeks, a glint of anger in her wonderful eyes.