CHAPTER X
ON THE RIVER ROAD
“Hello! boys, what’s wrong here?”
Coach Willoughby looked first at Buster’s glowing and confused face, and then toward Frank’s smiling countenance.
Buster simply pointed to the envelope which had fallen to the floor. As the truth broke upon the mind of the other he laughed heartily.
“Out of their own mouths are the wicked conspirators condemned. See what a nice mess you’ve coaxed me into, George! Here I am apparently unmasked before this fine, mettlesome prize pitcher of yours.”
He turned to Frank, and assumed a little more serious look as he continued:
“My name is Willoughby, only that and nothing more. I am a Princeton graduate, and, as you have seen, I’ve been something of an all-around athlete in my day, too. Recently I have been doing some umpiring in a minor league, and as my wife doesn’t like the idea of seeing my name printed in such a connection I use the one of Pliny Evans Smith. That’s all there is to it boys, I assure you.”
“You’ve done wonders for our team this afternoon, sir, and if we only had the benefit of such advice oftener it would be greatly to our benefit,” declared Frank.
“Thank you for the compliment, my lad. My heart is always with the boys, and I believe I’d stop to witness a good game of ball even though it threatened to cost me a slice of my fortune. And Frank, once upon a time I was a pitcher; even if I did go to the well once too often,” the visitor laughed.
“I wish you had shown me a few more tricks about pitching, Mr. Willoughby,” said Frank.