“Angry? Who says I’m angry? I’m not angry. You can’t make me angry.” Mr. Milburn scowled alarmingly. “Anyway, wouldn’t a bunch of boneheads like those over there make anyone angry? I’d like to see anyone keep sweet-tempered with that bunch of ivory-domed, flat-footed, slab-sided cripples on his hands. There isn’t a ball player in the lot! Not a single, solitary one! They don’t know ball from beans, and they don’t want to! Angry! Great Scott——”
“Well, don’t you want to hire a ball player, then, sir?” asked Wayne innocently.
“Hire a——” Mr. Milburn sputtered and waved impotent hands about his head. Then: “Get out!” he bawled.
Wayne went. There didn’t seem anything to be gained by driving the manager to new heights of frenzy. The last he saw of Steve Milburn that much-tried man was legging it across the field as fast as his feet would carry him. Wayne smiled. “I’m glad I’m not one of those fellows,” he thought as he turned to the gate.
Mike, who had moved his chair into the shade and was dozing over his newspaper, looked up sleepily and nodded as Wayne passed through the fence. Outside, the smile faded from the boy’s face. The humour had quite gone from the situation now. He had failed and there was nothing to do but go back to Medfield. The thought didn’t please him. To be sure, he had prepared Jim Mason and the others for his return by a prediction that he wouldn’t make good, but it came to him now that he hadn’t believed in that prediction, that, deep down inside of him, he had all along expected to succeed. No, returning to Medfield didn’t appeal to him a bit.
Presently, as he walked along in the full glare of a merciless noonday sun, anger ousted dejection. Steve Milburn had no right to turn him down like that. The club’s scout had guaranteed him a try-out and the manager ought to give it to him. Wayne told himself that several times, and the more often he said it, the more convinced he became of the truth of it, until, having reached the armory corner and turned toward the Bemis House, he was in a condition of perspiration and indignation. Sight of the Congress House crystallised the indignation into resolution. He had a right to a fair trial and he would have it. He would have it if he stayed in Harrisville all summer!
From that verdict to reckoning up his money and comparing the amount to the requirements of a prolonged sojourn in the city was a short step. He had a little over ten dollars left, or would have when he had paid for his room at the hotel, and ten dollars would not, he reflected, keep two hungry boys and a dog from starvation very long. Then he remembered June’s savings and cheered up again. Using June’s money was something he didn’t like to do, something he wouldn’t do under ordinary circumstances, but this was no ordinary crisis. Wayne felt that justice and honour were involved. He was standing up for his rights. June’s money should be used, if necessary, for the Cause!
He wondered whether it might not be well to apply to the law for assistance, but he abandoned that idea quickly. Lawyers were, as he had always heard, expensive helpers. And, besides, what was the good of a try-out if nothing came of it? And if he antagonised Mr. Milburn too much nothing would come of it. All the manager needed to do was to give him the try-out and say that he didn’t suit. Next Wayne thought of the owner of the club, Mr. John J. Badger. Or was it John K.? He might seek Mr. Badger and put the situation up to him. But then, that, too, would increase the manager’s ire and probably accomplish harm rather than good. No, what was to be done must be done tactfully, if firmly, he decided. He must persuade Mr. Milburn to give him the try-out of his own free will. Only, how?
He was still confronted by that “How” when he reached the Bemis House and found June and Sam dozing in a tilted-back chair under the striped awning in front. Wayne dragged a chair alongside and, defeating Sam’s attempts to crawl into his arms, narrated the story of the morning’s encounter—and defeat. June was incredulous, outraged, indignant. He insisted that Wayne should revenge himself instantly on Mr. Milburn and the Harrisville Baseball Club by shaking the dust of the place from their feet and leaving manager and team to get along without his services. But Wayne said no to that.