"When shall I move the gold mine?" Clancy's voice was dangerously quiet.
"To-morrow, if you like."
Clancy sat gazing at his visitor as if undecided as to whether he should explode in wrath, laugh at some joke too deep for him, or believe the slender youth was in earnest.
"Say, kid," he said slowly after studying the youth for a moment, "I admire your nerve, anyhow. If you have half the confidence on a ball field that you have off it, you'll be a wonder. Where did you ever play ball?"
A troubled expression came over the boy's face.
"Mr. Clancy," he said, quietly, "if you take me you'll have to do it without asking questions. I can play ball, and it's up to me to make good at something. All I ask is a chance to prove to you I can play. It will not cost you a cent to find out."
"Done anything?" Clancy asked, sharply.
"Criminal? No," responded the boy, flushing.
"Ever signed a professional contract?"
"No."