the stand when a couple o’ girls was showed into a box right clost to us. They was in black from head to foot; pretty as a picture too. But their clo’es was the kind that you don’t see no city-broke dames wearin’ in a ball orchard.
“Come to town just for the day?” says Carey, but they didn’t pay no attention.
Carey come over to me.
“Uncle Zeke died and left ’em three hundred iron men,” he says, “and they’re goin’ to blow it all in one grand good time. I bet they’ll be dancin’ in Dreamland tonight; they’re dressed for it already.”
“The blonde’s a bearcat,” I says.
“Yes,” says Carey, “and you can figure the other one’s the class o’ the pair. That’s the way it always breaks.”
Skull had been shaggin’ in the outfield. Carey spotted him as he was struttin’ back to the bench, and it was all off.
“You lucky stiff!” says Carey.
“What do you mean?” says Skull.
“I guess you know what I mean,” says Carey. “What did you come in for?”
“I’m tired,” says Skull.
“Oh, yes,” says Carey. “I s’pose you didn’t see them dolls lookin’ you over.”
“What dolls?” ast Skull.
“Them two in the box,” says Carey.
Skull give ’em the double-o.
“Who are they?” he says.
“You don’t know who they are?” says Carey. “That’s Lizzie Carnegie and her sister-in-law, and they’s a movin’ van outside with their pocketbooks in it.”
“Well,” says Skull, “that don’t get me nothin’.”
“Don’t get you nothin’ when the richest girl in the country wants to meet you?” says Carey.
“How do you know she wants to meet me?” says Skull.
“Didn’t she call me over and tell me?” says Carey. “She says: ‘Who’s that handsome bird shaggin’ fungoes in the outfield?’ So I told her who you was. Then she ast if you was married and I says you wasn’t. Then she ast how she could get to talk to you, and I told her I’d find out if you was engaged after the game, and if you wasn’t you’d probably be glad to give her a minute’s time. So all as you have to do now is go over there and make the date.”
“Which is Lizzie?” ast Skull.
“The one with the earrings,” says Carey. They both was wearin’ ’em.
Well, sir, Skull started over toward the box.
“He’s liable to get pinched,” I says.
“If he does I’ll fix it,” says Carey.
Skull didn’t get pinched. He got two nice smiles, and Cap had to send me over to drag him away when the game started. And I and Carey came out o’ the clubhouse after the game just in time to see Skull and the pair o’ them hikin’ for the exit.
When we got to mornin’ practice next day, Skull had been let out already.
“I told him he was free to sign wherever he wanted to go,” says Cap. “I told him to get a catcher somewheres and practice till he could pitch one or two strikes per innin’. I told him maybe he could land in the Federal. He says he guessed he would try the Utah League, where the women manages the clubs. He says women almost always gen’ally took a fancy to him.”
“Yes,” says Carey, “most o’ them likes a good-lookin’ fella all the better if he’s a little wild.”
We didn’t see no more o’ Skull till we got in from Cincinnati, the day before the Fourth o’ July. He was standin’ in the station, holdin’ two suit cases.
“Hello there, boy,” says Carey. “Where are you headin’?”
“Just downstate a ways,” he says.
“Joinin’ some club?” says Carey.
“No,” says Skull. “I’m goin’ to get married.”
“Good night!” says Carey. “And who’s the defendant?”
“That there blond girl,” says Skull. “The girl that was out to the park that day with the other girl. Only you had her name wrong. Her name’s Conahan—Mary Conahan. And the other one ain’t her sister-in-law, but just a friend o’ her’n.”
“I must of had ’em mixed up,” says Carey. “Yes,” says Skull, “you mistook ’em for somebody else. But you had one thing right: She’s got the old kale.”
“A lot of it?” says Carey.
“A plenty,” says Skull. “Her old man makes this here Silver Tip beer; maybe you’ve drank it already.”
“And I s’pose you’re goin’ to drive a wagon,” says Carey.
“No,” says Skull. “The old man’s been feelin’ bad for the last year and I’m goin’ to kinda look after the business.”
“And,” I says, “I bet you know just as much about brewin’ beer as you do about pitchin’.”
“Oh, no,” says Skull. “Nowheres near.”
“But you pick things up quick,” says Carey. Skull’s train was gettin’ ready to start.
“Well,” he says, “good luck to you, and tell the boys I hope they win the pennant.”
“No chancet now,” says Carey.
We went over to the gate with him.
“Where to?” says the guy. “Show your ticket!”
“By cracky, I forgot about a ticket.”
“I s’pose you thought the secretary’d tend to that,” says Carey.
“Too late now,” I says. “You’ll have to pay on the train.”
“You won’t have no trouble,” says Carey. “They’s lady conductors on this road.”
We persuaded the gateman to leave him through.
“Now,” says Carey, “let’s I and you get good and drunk.”
“Yes,” I says; “but let’s go to a place where they keep Silver Tip, so’s to help out old Skull.”
“Help him out!” says Carey. “We’re the ones that need help—us smart Alecks!”
Where Do You Get That Noise?
I
The trade was pulled wile the Phillies was here first trip. Without knockin’ nobody, the two fellas we give was worth about as much as a front foot on Main Street, Belgium. And the fella we got had went better this spring than any time since he broke in. So when the news o’ the deal come out I says to Dode, I says:
“What’s the matter with Pat—tradin’ Hawley? What’s he goin’ to do with them two he’s gettin’—make ticket takers out of ’em? What’s the idear?”
“It does look like a bad swap for us,” says Dode. “Hawley’s worth six like them you’re givin’ us, and
