“Sloan?” inquired Mr. Milburn. “He’s a white boy, then?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sloan, eh? Look here, that isn’t the kid that Farrel sent to me for a try-out, is it? A dark-haired chap with——”
“Yes, sir, that’s Mas’ Wayne. How come you-all ain’ given him that yere try-out yet, sir?”
“Because he’s an infielder, June, and we don’t need infielders. I told him that days ago, but he’s still hanging around, I see.”
“Yes, sir, we’re waitin’.”
“Well, I’m afraid waiting won’t do him any good, June. You’d better tell him so. I like the kid’s perseverance, but he’s wasting his time. If he was a couple of years older and could play a little I’d give him a chance.”
“Yes, sir, an’ I reckon he’s goin’ be a couple years older if you-all don’ hurry up!” June’s grin robbed the statement of offence. “Mister Milburn, please, sir, can I tell you somethin’?”
“Go ahead, June.”
“Well, sir, Mas’ Wayne’s surely one fine ball player,” said June earnestly, “an’ you-all ain’ actin’ sensible if you don’ grab him, sir.”