On the day following that of the runaway, Esther Dale resumed her position as a personally conducted tourist, and departed from San Francisco, leaving Alaric to feel that he had lost the first real friend he had ever known. Her influence remained with him, however, and as he thought of her words and example, his determination to enter upon some different form of life became indelibly fixed.
That very day he drove again to the park, this time with only his groom for company, and went directly to the place where the game of baseball had been in progress the afternoon before. As he hoped, another was about to begin, though there were not quite enough players to make two full nines. Hearing one of the boys say this, and discovering an acquaintance among them, Alaric jumped from his cart, and going up to him, asked to be allowed to fill one of the vacant positions.
Reg Barker was freckle-faced and red-headed, clad in flannels, with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and was adjusting a catcher's mask to his face when Alaric approached. As the latter made known his desire, Reg Barker, who was extremely jealous of the other's wealth and fame as a traveller, regarded him for a moment with amazement, and then burst into a shout of laughter.
"Hi, fellows!" he called, "here's a good one—best I ever heard! Here's Allie Todd, kid gloves and all, wants to play first base. What do you say—shall we give him a show?"
"Yes," shouted one; "No," cried another, as the boys crowded about the two, gazing at Alaric curiously as though he belonged to some different species.
"We might make him Captain of the nine," called out one boy, who had just gone to the bat.
"No, he'd do better as umpire," suggested Reg Barker. "Don't you see he's dressed for it? I don't know, though; I'm afraid that would come under the head of cruelty to children, and we'd have the society down on us."
As Alaric, with a crimson face and a choking in his throat, sought in vain for some outlet of escape from the tormentors who surrounded him, and at the same time longed with a bitter longing for the power to annihilate them, a lad somewhat older than the others forced his way through the throng and demanded to know what was the row. He was Dave Carncross, the pitcher, and one of the best amateur players of his age on the coast.
"It's Miss Allie Todd," explained Reg Barker, "and her ladyship is offering to show us how to play ball."
"Shut up, Red Top," commanded the new-comer, threateningly. "When I want any of your chaff I'll let you know." Then turning to Alaric, he said, pleasantly, "Now, young un, tell me all about it yourself."