"There is nothing to talk about," he contended, irritated by the persistency of the manager's wife.
"They're already saying things," she responded, leaning forward. "They're a saying that you've done something crooked—that you've thrown ball games——"
"Oh," ejaculated Miss Taber. "They wouldn't dare!"
"I'd like to have someone say that to me," McCarthy said, flushing with anger.
"Hold on, mother," interrupted Clancy. "I'm managing this team——Let up on him. Where do you hear that kind of talk?"
"I heard it in the stands," she argued earnestly. "They were saying you knew all about it. If you deny it they'll tell another story and if you keep quiet they'll think its a confession. Tell them what you are and where you came from, boy."
Her voice was pleading and her interest in his welfare was too real not to affect him.
"I'm sorry, Mother Clancy," he said gratefully, unconsciously adopting the term he had heard Betty Tabor use. "There is nothing I can tell them—or anyone—now."
"It's sorry I am, Jimmy," she responded sadly. "If it's anything ye can tell me come to me."
"I see I have another adopted son," remarked Clancy teasingly as he winked at Miss Tabor. "Ellen mothers them all, as soon as she learns their first names—even the Swede."