It was nearly dark when Wayne reached “Carhurst” and June had supper ready and waiting. Sam was ready and waiting, too, but he forgot his hunger long enough to make a fuss over his master. Wayne narrated his experiences of the day while they plied busy knives and forks and then June brought the chronicle of his life down to date. But the most interesting item of information to Wayne was June’s announcement that one of the tomato plants had buds on it, and nothing would do but that Wayne had to jump up from “table” and rush forth in the twilight and see for himself. The garden was showing promise by that time, although nothing was more than a few inches high.
Wayne was up early the next morning so as to do a half-hour’s gardening before he left for town. He had long since made the discovery that eradicating grass from a meadow is not a simple matter of removing the turf, for the grass was always threatening to choke his seedlings utterly, and it was only by watching and working that he was able to keep it down. When he wasn’t weeding he was poking up the dirt with a pointed stick in lieu of trowel. June called this “coaxin’ ’em,” and opined that “if they flowers don’ act pretty, Mas’ Wayne, ’twon’ be no fault o’ yourn!” But it was the tomato plants that interested June most, and he was forever estimating the crop to be picked later on from the six rather spindling plants that they had bought at the grocer’s. He declared that each one ought to yield fifteen “big, red, ripe, juicy tomatuses,” and that if they consumed only six a day the supply would provide for them only two weeks. It was June’s firm and oft reiterated conviction that they should have planted just three times as many! Tomatoes were a weakness with June.
But two days later he found something besides the prospective tomato crop to interest his idle hours. At Wayne’s invitation he met the latter at the freight house one afternoon and accompanied him out to the Y. M. C. A. field to watch the doings. But just looking on never suited June very well and it wasn’t a quarter of an hour before he was on speaking terms with everyone there. The fellows enjoyed hearing his soft dialect and did their best to draw him out, punctuating his remarks with laughter. June was speedily established on the bench, and from just sitting idly there to presiding over the bats and the fortunes of the players was but a short step.
“Jus’ you let me choose you a bat, Mister Cap’n. I goin’ put a conjur on this yere stick o’ wood, sir, an’ you-all’s goin’ to everlastin’ly lam that yere ball, yes, sir!”
As it happened Joe Taylor did “everlastingly lam the ball,” sending it over left fielder’s head, and June’s reputation as a prophet, as well as his status as Keeper of the Bats, was firmly established. He was back again the next day, good-natured and smiling and anxious to serve, and was welcomed like a long-lost friend. June was never “fresh,” no matter how many opportunities were presented, nor would he accept the footing of equality that was offered him. He picked up the bat hurled aside by the man streaking to first and dropped it neatly in its place in front of the bench, soon knew which bat each player liked best and was ready with it, saw that the water pail was kept filled and, in brief, filled the office of general factotum so well that the question arose of how they had ever got along without him!
It was Jim Wheelock who suggested June’s adoption as official club mascot. “No wonder we don’t win more’n half our games,” drawled Jim. “We’ve never had a mascot. Here’s our chance, fellows. That darkey was just created to be a mascot. You can see it written all over him. Here’s where our luck changes.”
“We’ll stake him to a uniform,” suggested Joe Taylor, “and take him over to Ludlow Saturday. Guess we’ll have style if nothing else!”
June was complacent, even proud. “Fetch along your uniform, Mister Cap’n,” he said. “Only don’ you put no stripes on it, please, sir.” When, however, June learned that he was required to take train with the fellows at two o’clock he was dubious. “Don’ know about that, gen’lemen. You see, I got a mighty ’portant position at the hotel an’ I dunno will my boss let me off.”
“We’ll ask him to, June,” replied Taylor. “He’s a regular baseball fan himself and never misses a home game, I guess. He won’t kick. You leave it to us.”
“Yes, sir, jus’ as you says. I surely would love to ’company you-all. I reckon Mas’ Wayne won’ have no objection.”