Other matters called for thought. There were the five big-time crooks who, Tom thought, were preparing something big. Was Tom right? And had they, in following that truck, discovered the scene of that proposed big haul? In such a poor section? It did not seem possible. And yet——
“One thing’s sure,” Jimmie sighed. “We’ve got the goods on Tungsten Tom. He was in on that safe-breaking and I helped to prove it, my little candid camera and I.” He got no little satisfaction from that. It is good to be really doing things. Was he to be in on the whole affair? Would he see them all dragged into the net, one at a time; Black Dolan, Piccalo, and all that ugly five? He hoped so. And yet, he shuddered at the thought.
He looked at his watch, nine o’clock. Time for sport flashes. He snapped on the radio to catch the commentator in the midst of his talk:
“Tomorrow,” came from the radio, “will witness an event of unusual interest in the world of sport. If you have wondered what the city’s richest people look like, the De Metzes, the Marmons, the Morton Armours, and all the rest, be sure to come to the ball game. They will all be there, right down in the box seats. Why? Because the young society baseball pitcher, J. Ogden Durant, is to start for the Bear-cats.”
“Durant!” Jimmie exclaimed to the empty room. “Gee! Oh, gee!”
Just at that moment he wished he had no job. He was a great baseball fan. And never had there been a game he longed so to see. To sit up there and howl himself hoarse for his hero! Ah! That would be life. L-I-F-E spelled in big letters.
He scarcely heard the further comments of the announcer as he went on:
“Perhaps this is the first time in the history of baseball that a millionaire’s son has risen to the rank of a big-leaguer. It surely is the first time one has stood in the pitcher’s box. Give him a hand, ladies and gentlemen. Give him a hand. He deserves it.”
All this time Jimmie sat with his eyes closed, seeing himself in the past, as a rather small boy. A golf course joined The Glen on the west. It was a large and expensive course, patronized, for the most part, by the rich of the near-by city. A patch of woods lined this course on one side. Into the tall grass of this little forest, golf balls often bounced and were lost. On a Saturday the village boys went there in search of balls.
One day Jimmie had pounced upon a ball, a split second before a larger boy had prepared to scoop it up. There had been an argument and a race. To escape his pursuer, Jimmie raced out upon the green. He was just in time to get in the way of a long drive. The golf ball struck him in the very tender portion of his anatomy.