"Oh, we don't admit we can't play," laughed Bob. "I think, before very long, your opinion of the club will change."
"I hope so," said Mr. Barry. "My object in sending for you was to enforce upon you—I am going to speak plainly—this principle: there must be no favoritism. Meanwhile I suspend judgment."
The two rose to their feet and bowed.
"You may be sure there'll be no favoritism while I am coach," said Steele, a trifle stiffly. "I hope, Mr. Barry, we shall see you at the next game."
"Very probably." Mr. Barry pressed a button. "Cassius will accompany you to the gate."
Coach Steele and Bob Somers, bidding the millionaire good-evening, were presently joined in the hallway by the servant, already provided with a lantern.
"A little light on a dark night ain't such a bad thing," said Cassius, cheerily, as he led the way outside. "A header down them steep steps wouldn't be calc'lated to do a feller any good."
"No; not even a ball player could stand it," chuckled Bob.
Cassius laughed softly.
"All who play ball ain't ball players," he remarked. "Great sport, though. Nobody 'ud ever think it, but Mr. Barry's one o' the greatest fans out—yes, sir. Never goes to any of the big cities without taking in a game or two. Latin an' ball playin's his hobbies."