Wayne withdrew, wondering how Mr. Milburn ever found time to do anything after getting up at nine o’clock! For a while he occupied one of the extremely comfortable chairs in the hotel lobby and perused a newspaper that someone had discarded there, but the street outside was by this time humming and bustling, the morning was still cool and the temptation to see more of Harrisville was too strong for him. So he went out and joined the stream on the sidewalk and loitered along, looking into fascinating windows and missing little that went on. At a quarter to nine he was some distance from the hotel and so he turned back. But when he had walked as many squares as seemed necessary to bring him to his destination he failed to discover it. It dawned on him then that he had been walking at right angles to the street on which the hotel was situated, and he turned back and hurried along the way he had come. In the end he had to ask his way of a newsboy. Whether that young rascal purposely gave him the wrong direction or whether Wayne misunderstood him, the result was the same. He reached the Congress House at just twenty-five minutes to ten by the big round clock in the lobby and was met with the information that Mr. Milburn had breakfasted a little earlier than usual and had just gone out. The clerk, still yawning delicately, could not even hazard a guess as to the manager’s present whereabouts, and Wayne was turning disappointedly away from the desk when a bell boy came to his assistance.
“Say, Mister, you can find Mr. Milburn at the ball park after half-past ten,” he said. “They practises then every day.”
“Oh, thanks,” answered Wayne. “Which way is the park from here, please?”
“Out Tioga Avenue. Take any blue car going north. The conductor’ll tell you where to get off. But you’ll see it yourself if you watch for it.”
“Is it much of a walk?” Wayne asked.
“No, not more’n a mile and a half. Mr. Milburn walks out there every morning. Go out Prentiss Street till you come to the armory and then turn left and follow the car tracks. You’ll find it.”
“I surely will!” Wayne told himself as he thanked the boy and went out again. “But the next time I’ll know better than to let him get away from me like that. When you start to do anything, I reckon it’s a good plan to keep on doing it.”
As it was still only a quarter to ten, Wayne assured himself that he had plenty of time. But he also assured himself that he wasn’t going to loiter for that reason. If he could intercept Mr. Milburn before he started to work it would, he thought, be better. So he set forth at a good, steady pace, asking his direction every few squares so that he would not again get lost, and presently found the armory and took the turn to the left as instructed. A square farther a blue car buzzed past him bearing the legend “Ball Grounds,” and Wayne knew that he was right. It was, however, a minute or two past the half-hour, when the enclosure came into sight, and Wayne decided that the bell boy had underestimated the distance, possibly from kindly motives.
The park occupied two squares in a part of the city given over to small, thickly clustered dwellings. On one side the railroad tracks ran close to the high board fence and smoke from the engines—accompanied by cinders, as Wayne was to learn later—billowed over onto the field whenever the wind blew in the right—or, more accurately, wrong—direction. The place looked well cared for and the stands, visible above the fence, were of steel and concrete. The ticket windows and main entrances were closed and Wayne went nearly to the next corner before he found a means of ingress. And even then his way was barred by a man who sat beside the small door reading a paper until Wayne had exhibited his letter.
“All right, Jack, help yourself,” replied the man on guard. “He’s in the house, I guess.”