While he was thus engaged he was approached by a young man, whose clothes were of expensive cut and material.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, in a peculiar drawling accent, “but would you kindly get me a volume of Browning! I can’t seem to locate it amid all the maze of books here, and all the clerks seem to be engaged. I presume I am right in assuming that you are employed here?”
“Browning, the ball player!” exclaimed the young man.
Page [25].
“Oh, yes, I work here,” answered Tom, who paid little attention to accent. “But I’ve only been here two days, and I don’t know much about the books yet.”
“Then perhaps you can’t find for me a volume of Browning?”
“I guess I can,” said Tom confidently. “I’ll look in my special catalogue,” and he produced the one Mr. Townsend had arranged for him. “Browning, the baseball player, you mean, don’t you?” he asked, for there was an athlete of that name, who had made quite a reputation for himself in the New England circuit that fall.
“Browning, the ball player!” exclaimed the young man, as if horrified.
“Yes, the one that played short. He’s got the highest batting average——”
“Don’t! Don’t, my dear young man; don’t I beg of you,” spoke the customer, waving his hands. “Baseball is such—such——”