“Where?” came the next inquiry.
“In Bentville, where I used to live.”
“Oh. Have a good team?”
“Pretty fair.”
“Where’d you play?”
“I used to pitch.” There was a pause and then, emboldened by what had happened, Joe went on. “I don’t suppose there’s a vacancy in your nine, is there?” and he laughed half whimsically.
“No, hardly, that is, not in the box,” said Darrell slowly. “Sam has his faults, but he’s the best pitcher we’ve had in a long time and I guess we’ll keep him. There, that’s fixed,” he went on, tapping the bolt to see that it was firmly in place. “Now I can go on, I guess. I’m a thousand times obliged to you. I don’t know what I’d have done only for you. After this I’m going to carry a light, and some spare bolts.”
He handed Joe back the wrench and took the lamp off the dashboard.
“I’ll give you a bolt in place of this the next time I see you,” the manager went on, as he held the lamp out to our hero.
“Oh, it isn’t necessary. I don’t need it for my wheel. It was just one of some odds and ends that I carry with me.”