“You are more modest than my son, then,” said Mr. Bennett, and there was a twinkle in his eye as he spoke. “Every time John comes here he has a lot of ideas that he is sure will better anything we have here at present. However, I have just been in this line for the last thirty years or so, and so, of course, have lots to learn.”
“Aw, cut it out, Dad,” grumbled the younger Bennett. “As far as I can find out, you’ve never tried any of the things I’ve proposed, and so how do you know how good or bad they are?”
“Well, the only objection to your plans was that they would generally have meant building a new factory to carry them out. Otherwise I have no fault to find with them,” returned Mr. Bennett.
After a little further talk, Mr. Bennett insisted that the boys come home to his house for luncheon. Needless to say, they had no very strong objections to this, and were easily persuaded.
The proprietor’s home was a large, comfortable mansion, and the good cheer offered within carried out the impression received without. There was an abundance of good fare, and the young fellows rose from the table at last with a satisfied air.
Mr. Bennett had quite a long talk with Bert during the progress of the meal, and seemed very much interested in him. It turned out that Mr. Bennett was quite a baseball enthusiast himself, so he entered heartily into Bert’s enthusiasm over the game.
“I used to be quite some player myself when I was your age,” he told Bert, “only I used to play a different position. I usually played catcher, and was on my team at H——. In those days we never bothered with catcher’s mitts, however, and we catchers worked with bare hands. Once I was catching in this manner, and a ball caught my thumb and half tore it off. I was so excited at the time, though, that I never noticed it, until one of my teammates noticed blood on the ball and called my attention to it. After that, when my thumb healed, you may be sure I caught with a glove. You can see the scar still,” and he showed the boys the scar of what had evidently been a nasty wound.
“Well, boys,” he said, at the conclusion of this narrative, “what do you say if we go on back to the factory and make that test of young Wilson’s speed. I am very much interested, I assure you.”
Of course there were no objections raised to this, and after a pleasant walk they arrived again at the factory. They proceeded directly to the testing room, and Bert shed his coat and vest.
“Come ahead, Dick; you catch for me until I warm up, will you?” he said, and Dick ran to the requisite distance and donned a catcher’s mitt that he had brought along for the purpose. Bert pitched him a few easy balls, and then began to work up a little speed. As he shot them to Dick with ever-increasing pace, Mr. Bennett’s face lighted up with interest, and finally he said, “Say, just let me try catching a few, will you, Trent? It’s a long time since I’ve had a catcher’s mitt on, but I’d like to take a try at it just for the fun of the thing.”