"Saints forgive him," she said piously, but with a note of relief. "Sure you'll not be fining the poor boy? Perhaps he needed a drink or two to keep up his courage."
"Nothing like that, mother," he replied seriously. "This was one of the young fellows out with some gamblers drinking wine till past midnight. It looks serious."
"Now, Bill Clancy, you just send for that boy to come right up here and talk it over. Tell him he must behave and explain what it means to all the boys. Then you'll shame him and he'll be a good boy. They're all good boys," she protested earnestly, "only they do try a poor woman."
"I guess that's the best plan, mother," he said. "You trot over into the other room and I'll have him up."
"Which one is it this time, Willie?"
"McCarthy!"
"McCarthy—why, Willie, he wouldn't—there's some mistake. That poor boy wouldn't do such a thing. And him grieving his heart out because Betty Tabor won't treat him well any more. That's what's the trouble, Willie."
"We'll see what it is," said the manager, checking her flow of defense curtly. "I'll have him up. You run into the other room with the sewing and—don't listen."
His telephone call found McCarthy in his room, and the young third baseman promptly ascended to the manager's apartment and entered innocently.
"Good morning, Boss," he said, following the burlesque style of greeting used by the Bears to their manager.