Bunker Bean Part 28

Looking ahead, he became aware that an electric car had suffered an accident. The pa.s.sengers streamed out and gathered around the motorman who was peering under the car. As Paul slowed down and turned aside to pa.s.s, the motorman declared, "She's burned out. Have to wait for the next car to push us."

There were annoyed stirrings in the group. A few pa.s.sengers started for a suburban railway station that could be seen a half-mile distant. Bean looked down upon these delayed people with amused sympathy.

Then, astoundingly, his eye fell upon one of the pa.s.sengers a little aloof from the group about the motorman. He, too, after a last look at the car, seemed to be resolving on that long tramp to the station. He was a sightly young man, tall, heavily built, and dressed in garments that would on any human form have won Bean's instant respect. But on the form of the Greatest Pitcher the World Has Ever Seen--!!

His mind was at once vacant of all the past, of all the future. There was no more a Breede, male or female, no more directors or shares or jails. There was only a big golden Present, subduing, enthralling, limitless!

"Stop car!" hissed Bean. The car halted three feet from the young man on foot.

"Jump in!" gasped Bean.

"Thanks," said the young man; "I'm going the other way."

"Me, too! I was turning around just here."

The young man hesitated, surveying his interlocutor.

"Well," he said, "if it won't be too much trouble?"

"Trouble!" The word was a caress as Bean uttered it. He pushed a door open, clumsy with excitement, and the World's Greatest Pitcher stepped in to sit beside him.

"Grounds?" asked Bean.

"Yes," said the Pitcher, "if it's convenient."

"Polo Grounds," called Bean to Paul. "Hurry and turn around there, someway." He was afraid his guest might reconsider.

But the guest sat contentedly enough, the car was turned, and presently was speeding back toward town. The person in a taxi-cab which made the same turn a moment later was heard to say, "What the devil now?" with no discernible relevance.

"Living out this way?" asked Bean when he was again certain of his voice-control.

"No; only went out to stay over night with some friends. Had to get back this morning. They told me to take that car and change at--"

"Ought to have one these," said Bean, "then you know where you are."

"This runs well," said the Pitcher affably.

"'S little old last year's car," said Bean with skilled ennui.

He was trying to remember--mustn't talk to a ball-player about ball; they're sick of it.

"Got a busy day ahead of me in the Street," he said brightly. "I was only taking a little spin to get my head cleared out. Have to keep your head clear down there!"

"Say, that's some suit you have on," said the Pitcher with frank admiration. "I like that check."

"Do you?" asked Bean, trying not to choke. Then, "Where'd you get yours?

I was noticing that suit the other night; saw you up at Claremont--"

"Couple of pals of mine when I'm in town--"

"That white line against the blue comes out great in the day time. Cut well, too. I see you got one those patent neck-capes that prevents wrinkling below the coat-collar. And extension safety pockets, I suppose?"

"Match pockets, change pockets, pencil pockets, fountain pen pockets, improved secret money pocket, right here; see?" The speaker indicated the last mentioned item. "Flower holder up here under the lapel." He revealed it.

"I have 'em make a vestee," said Bean; "goes on with gold pins; adds dressiness, the man says."

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 s.h.i.+rt 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 s.h.i.+rts.

"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.