“No other place? Why, there must be lots of places! I’ve seen boys playing ball all sorts of places. There’s a back-lot behind my offices, now. I’ve seen them playing there day after day—and making a lot of noise, too. Come now, Merrick, you’re fibbing a little, aren’t you?”
“No, sir, really,” Gordon answered earnestly. “You can’t play a real game of baseball on a small lot, sir. I guess—I guess you’ve never seen one, Mr. Brent.”
“Seen a game of ball? N-no, I suppose not. I thought all you needed was an empty lot or a back-yard, Merrick. You say there isn’t any other place?”
“No, sir. We’re going to lease a piece of ground out toward the Point, but we haven’t got it yet, and, anyway, it isn’t ready for playing on.”
“Too bad,” said Mr. Brent sympathetically. “But, really, Merrick, you ought not to ask me to stop work in order that you can play baseball. That—that’s a little too much, eh?”
“I suppose so, sir,” acknowledged Gordon dejectedly. “Only—we thought—maybe a half a day wouldn’t make much difference——”
“A half a day might make a lot of difference. Minutes count, my boy. You’ll learn that some day. No, no, I can’t interfere with Mullin. It’s his job. If he wants to accommodate you, all right, but you mustn’t expect me to interfere in his affairs, Merrick. Sorry. I’d like to oblige you.”
Gordon stared at the pavement. Mr. Brent coughed, turned away and hesitated. “Well, good-day, Merrick,” he said finally.
“Mr. Brent!” Gordon raised his head, his cheeks rather red. “Mr. Brent, you said once that—that if I ever wanted a favor—you——”
“Hm; yes, I know I did.”