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Page 78
The Pitcher revealed a vestee, adjusted with gold pins.
The red car moved as smoothly as if nothing had happened.
Next was made the momentous discovery that each wore a shirt with the
identical lavender stripe.
"Initials!" said Bean, pulling up the sleeve of his coat and rotating
his fore-arm under the Pitcher's approving glance.
"Got mine tattooed the same way," said the Pitcher, pulling up the
sleeve of his coat in turn.
They discussed shirts.
"Funny thing," said Bean. "Chap down in the office with me, worth about
a hundred million if he's worth a cent, wears separate cuffs; fastens
'em on with those nickel jiggers."
"Had a fellow on the team last year did the same thing," said the
Pitcher. "He's back to the bush now, though. The hick used to wear a
made-up neck tie, too, till the other lads kidded him out of it."
"You must get a lot of those Silases, one time and another," said Bean
sympathetically. He was wondering; the fellow had referred at least
indirectly to his calling.
"In the box, to-day?" he asked, feeling brazen.
The Pitcher nodded.
"You certainly pitched some air-tight ball last time I saw you. Say,
I'll tell you something. If I ever have a kid, you know what's going to
happen? Nothing used but his left hand from the cradle up; and, for toys
one league ball and a light bat. That's all."
"Right way," said the Pitcher approvingly.
"I'm only afraid the managers will get wise to him and not let him
finish out his college course," said Bean. "I don't know, though. I'll
be in the business myself by that time; may sign him on myself."
"Like it?" asked the Pitcher, interestedly.
"_Like_ it! Say, what else is there? _Like_ it! I'm only keeping on down
there in the Street till I put a certain deal through; then nothing but
old Base B. Ball for mine! You'll see. I'll pick up one the big clubs
somewhere if _money'll_ do it!"
"Well, it's the one branch of the business where you don't have to treat
your arm like a sick baby," said the Pitcher. "Say, you want to come
inside a while?"
To Bean's amazement the car had stopped before the players' entrance. He
had supposed himself miles back in the country. Did he want to go inside
for a while! He was out of the car as quickly as Nap could have achieved
it.
"What did you say your name was?" asked the Pitcher.
He was in a long room lined with lockers. He recognized several players
lounging there. A big man with a hard face, half in a uniform, was
singing, "Though Silver Threads Are 'Mong the Gold, I Love You Just the
Same." These men were requested to shake hands with the Pitcher's
friend, Mr. Bean. They were also told informally that his new check suit
was some suit.
"I'll soon have one coming off the same piece," said the Pitcher.
They went through a little door and out upon the grounds. A few players
were idling there, only two of the pitchers being in uniform. The vast
empty stands and bleachers seemed to confer privacy upon an informal and
friendly gathering.
Several more players shook hands with the Pitcher's friend, Mr. Bean,
and the circumstance of his presence was explained.
"I found your twist-paw out in the brush with nothing but a bum trolley
car between him and a long walk," said Bean jauntily.
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