Wayne didn’t consider it worth while to waste his time telling the man that his name wasn’t Jack; which was just as well since Mike always called everyone Jack—except Mr. Milburn and one or two of the more important team members—and it wasn’t at all likely that he would have given serious consideration to the correction. Wayne passed through and found himself squarely behind first base, with a wide expanse of not very flourishing turf stretching away to the distant fences which were everywhere adorned with colourful advertisements of everything from smoking tobacco to suspenders. Beside him on his right was an open door leading into a structure built under one of the stands and which he presumed held the dressing quarters. At his left was another stand with a similar building beneath it. Over the door of the latter was the word “Visitors.”
A tall, raw-boned youth of twenty-one or two emerged through the open door at that moment. He had the reddest hair Wayne had ever seen on a human being and was fearfully and wonderfully freckled. He was in uniform and held a ball in one hand and a glove in the other. As he almost ran into Wayne he could not help noticing him.
“’Lo, Bill!” he said. “Lookin’ for someone?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Milburn.”
The red-haired chap jerked the hand holding the ball over his shoulder. “Steve? He’s inside bawling ’em out. That’s why I beat it. If you want to sell him anything or strike him for a pass, kid, take my advice and don’t do it. Let him simmer down. Can you catch?”
Wayne nodded. “I’ve got a letter to him,” he said uncertainly and questioningly.
“Keep it, Bill, till he recovers,” advised the other. “Come on out and catch a few for me. I got a bum wing this morning for fair.”
Doubtfully, Wayne followed the big chap around to the front of the stand. He didn’t like the idea of delaying his interview, but it seemed possible that the red-haired man knew best. The latter pointed to a scarred place in the turf in front of which a stone slab did duty for a plate. “Stand there, Bill. Haven’t got a glove, have you? Well, I’ll just toss ’em. I got to limber up or Steve’ll be riding me, too, in a minute.” He swung an arm up and sped the ball slowly and easily across the trampled grass to Wayne and Wayne tossed it back again.
“Guess you’re a player, ain’t you?” asked the big pitcher. “Looking for a job, are you?”