"I have heard of you often, Mr. Baldwin," said McCarthy coolly, although fearful that Baldwin might remember him.
"You're McCarthy, the new third baseman, eh?" asked Baldwin, without offering his hand and merely glancing at the boy. "Saw you play to-day. Too bad you threw that game away."
"I"——McCarthy started to offer defense.
"We must be going, Helen," said Baldwin.
The girl extended her hand carelessly.
"We hope to have the pleasure of seeing you again," she said.
Baldwin, with a curt nod to the player, turned to leave the parlor and McCarthy, seizing the opportunity, said:
"As a favor, Helen, do not reveal my identity. Your uncle did not recognize me as the boy he saw play on the Shasta View team."
"You need not fear," she responded rapidly. "And, Larry, please be sensible. Go home and make it up with Mr. Lawrence—and you may hope. And," she added in a low tone, "beware of that girl."
She hurried after her uncle, who had stopped and turned impatiently, leaving McCarthy staring after her and frowning. After all, he thought bitterly, his uncle was right. All she cared for was the money and not for him. He had quarreled with his uncle, his best friend, who had taken care of him since his childhood and who had made him his heir—on account of her. He was free. Yes, he was free.