"Great powers!" was Larry's exclamation. "You are not going to print anything about this disgraceful business in The Leaf, are you?"
"Why, certainly, Mr. Boyne. I have a lovely article written up. We only want the action of the club to round it off, give it completeness as it were, and there you are."
"Oh, that would be very bad!" cried Larry. "I don't mind your saying in the paper that Mr. Burton has been obliged to leave the club, and that we have supplied his place by placing Mr. Albert Heaton at short stop, Mr. William Sprague being unable to play, on account of having sprained his thumb while practicing with the club. But don't let us disgrace the town and the club by making public Ben Burton's treachery!"
A new light seemed to dawn on the reporter's mind, and he sucked his pencil reflectively. Finally, he brightened up and said, "Well, you must go and see Mr. Downey. He was reckoning that we would have a first-class story out of this. I have no authority in the premises. I am only an humble scribbler, a mere local-items, so to speak. But a word from you to the editor-in-chief, Mr. Boyne, will have its effect. Yes, it will have its effect. But that is a lovely story spoiled, Mr. Boyne."
Mr. Downey, when sought in the office of The Leaf, was deeply chagrined to learn that the members of the base ball club were unwilling that anything should appear in next morning's paper regarding the unfortunate affair in which Ben Burton was involved. News was news, he said, and, what was more, news was very scarce at this season of the year. Harvesting was not wholly completed. No shooting matches had been yet arranged, and there was a frightful dullness throughout the county. His hated rival, The Dean County Banner, would be almost certain to get hold of the affair, and, as The Banner was a semi-weekly, instead of a daily, like The Leaf, he would have time to work it up into that dime novel sensation to which The Banner was so addicted. And the editor of The Leaf curled his lip with fine contempt for his rival.
But the arguments of the young men overwhelmed the generous mind of the editor, who, on condition that similar persuasion should be brought to bear on the editor of The Banner, consigned to the waste-basket, but with a pang, the highly-seasoned narrative which his reporter had prepared.
The substitution of Albert Heaton for the derelict Ben Burton was not effected without a struggle. His mother, firm in her conviction that base ball was not an aristocratic game, held out against the arguments of her husband and her son, until Judge Howell, accidentally meeting her on the street, one day, craftily won her over by informing her that he wished that he had a son big enough to play base ball. He was sure that the honor and the glory of defeating the crack base ball club of the State would now fall to the Catalpa nine. It would be a great day for Catalpa when this happened.
The good lady surrendered. What Judge Howell thought and said seemed to her like law and gospel, social and moral. Albert joyfully received consent to play with the nine—"just for this once."