The group seated themselves on the steps and Mr. York, observing Sam closely, said: “I’ve seen you somewhere before, haven’t I, Mr. Gray?”
“Craig is the name,” corrected Mr. Scovill. Sam, surprised, shook his head doubtfully.
“I don’t think so,” he replied. “I live in Amesville, Ohio.”
“Amesville! Of course! Thought I wasn’t mistaken.” Mr. York smiled in satisfaction. “I’ll tell you where I saw you, Mr. Craig, and how. It was about three months ago. I stopped off at Amesville to see a friend of mine, John Holden. Perhaps you know him?”
Sam shook his head.
“Well, he’s a newcomer in Amesville; practising law; a nice chap. You ought to meet him. When you go home drop into his office some day and tell him John York said you were to be friends. You’ll like him and he will like you.”
Sam murmured rather embarrassed thanks.
“It happened to be a Saturday and Johnny and I, having nothing better to do, jumped on a car and went out to see the high school team play ball with some visiting nine; forget who the other chaps were. Johnny used to play shortstop when I was catching for Warner College, and we’re both fans. So we went out and saw that game. It was a good one, too. You were catching for the Amesville team, Craig.” Mr. York paused for corroboration and Sam nodded.
“You fellows won. You had a pitcher who had grey matter under his cap. Had a lot on the ball, too. What was his name?”
“Pollock, sir.”