"A true artist, eh?" says Alex, kinda thoughtful. "That makes it all the better! Bring him up for dinner to-morrow night and let me study him. In a week I'll collect that little bet from you and then I'll be ready to take on the next case."
"You certainly stand well with yourself, don't you?" I sneers. "Well, lemme give you a little tip. Don't try to get that bird to give up baseball, because they ain't a Chinaman's chance of that! The only chance you got is to put him over as a ball player, and if you can do that, I can sell electric fans to the Esquimaux!"
"Bring him up to-morrow night," says Alex, grinnin' like a wolf. "This looks like a cinch to me!"
I went to Hector in the clubhouse the next afternoon. He had had a hard day playin' the White Sox—from the bench.
"Where are you goin' to-night?" I asks him.
He flushes up a bit.
"Well, Mac," he says, "I have finally found a joint where they know how to cook 'em without abusin' 'em and I was figurin' on goin' there first, so—"
"Cook what?" I butts in.
"Alligator pears!" he says. "Y'know they is a lot of nourishment in them babies when they're properly prepared and—"
"You'll be around at that beanery to-morrow night!" I shuts him off. "To-night you're comin' up and have dinner with me."