"Nothing doing," replied Mr. Watson, tersely. "I have all the material I need."
"I spoke to Mr. Johnson about it," naming one of the owners of the St. Louis team, "and he said to see you."
"Did he tell you to tell me to put you on?"
"No, I wouldn't go so far as to say that," was the hesitating reply.
"And did he say I was to give you a try-out?"
"Well, he—er—said you could if you wanted to."
"Well, I don't want to," declared the manager with decision. "And I want to say that you went too far when you told the clerk here you belonged to my party. I don't know you, and I don't want anything to do with a man who acts that way," and Mr. Watson turned aside.
"Well, I didn't mean any harm," whined Wessel. "The—er—I—er—the clerk must have misunderstood me."
"All right. Let it go at that," was all the answer he received.
"Then you won't give me a chance?"