“He can’t very well run off with the farm, June,” laughed Wayne, “and as long as that’s there I reckon I can always get my money.”
June was passing along the second floor corridor of the Congress House the next morning, laden with a number of empty ice-water pitchers and crooning a song, when a door opened and Mr. Milburn confronted him.
“Boy! Run down and get me a Philadelphia paper. Any one will do. Oh, is that you, January?”
“No, sir, Mister Milburn, I ain’ January yet, sir; I’m jus’ June.”
“Well, all right, June,” chuckled the manager. “Hustle up that paper. I’ve got a dime here that’s looking for a home.”
“Yes, sir, don’ you do nothin’ with it till I returns,” answered June, sprinting for the stairs.
When he came back and knocked on the door and was told to enter Mr. Milburn was seated at a table clipping things from various newspapers and pasting them in a huge scrapbook. “That’s the boy,” he said, “and here’s your dime, June. How did they come to call you June, eh?”
“’Tain’ really June, sir, it’s Junius; Junius Brutus Bartow Tasker is my full name, Mister Milburn.”
“‘Full’ is good! Going out to see my boys play today, Junius Brutus And-so-forth?”
“I can’ get off today, sir, but I got a friend that would like powerful much to see that game.”