"Why do you think my name isn't McCarthy?" he parried.
"The McCarthys aren't a red-headed race," she said, her brogue broadening. "Ye have Irish in ye, but ye're not Irish. Is baseball such a disgraceful business ye are ashamed to use your name?"
"Of course not, Mrs. Clancy," he responded indignantly. "It is a good enough business—but—but—Oh, I can't explain."
"This mystery business is a big drawing card," remarked Manager Clancy, endeavoring to ease the situation. "They flock to see him because each one can make up his own story. Let him alone, mother. Don't spoil the gate receipts."
"Let him alone, is it?" she asked, turning upon her husband. "'Tis for his own sake I'm speaking. They'll be saying you've done something bad and wicked and are afraid to use your own name."
"What isn't true cannot hurt anyone," he replied quickly. "I have not committed any crimes."
"Mother is a good deal right about it," remarked Clancy quietly. "A baseball player is a public person. The fans are likely to say anything about a player, and the less they know the more they will invent."
"I believe Mother Clancy is right," said Miss Taber, seeing that her effort to turn the conversation had failed.
"But there really isn't anything to tell—anything any one would be interested in. It's a private matter," protested McCarthy.
"Listen, boy," said the manager's wife. "I've been with the boys these many years. They are all my boys, even the bad ones, and I don't want any of them talked about."