The elderly gentleman leaned forward in the saddle and eagerly inquired:
"Bless me, is that true? I swear you don't look at all gloomy, Harrison. Who is he? Where is he? And you think he can pitch winning ball for Cristobal?"
"Yes, sir. Brewster has seen him play at home. He is one of your born pitchers. He is a wonder."
"What do you mean by saying we can't keep him?" demanded the major.
"He is working for me—on the silver roll," vouchsafed Naughton, with a hopeless kind of sigh. "He hasn't been able to find anything better to do. But I can't hold him, of course. He is a first-class man in every way. He is likely to quit almost any day and drift over to Culebra or Ancon, where he will be sure to land a position on the gold roll, as foreman, clerk, or time-keeper. And then he will be pitching for our hated rivals."
"Um-m, he will, will he?" and Major Glendinning fairly bristled. "I am not letting any good men get away from my department. Show him to me."
Naughton nodded in the direction of Walter, who was deep in a discussion of signals with his catcher. Then the "powder man," with Harrison as fluent ally, paid tribute to the manly qualities of the young pitcher, nor were their motives wholly selfish. The major listened attentively, chewing his gray mustache, and now and then glancing at Walter with keen appraisement. At length he exclaimed:
"You chaps know how to get on my blind side. I have had my eye on a cheerful young loafer in the Cristobal commissary who is not earning his salary. If he should—er—resign, there might be a vacancy. I like Goodwin's looks. Fetch him over here, if you please."