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“Mr. Schlachweiler is employed in a large establishment in Slatersville, Ohio,” said Ivy, with dignity. “He regards baseball as his profession, and he cannot do anything that would affect his pitching arm.”

Pa Keller put on the tremolo stop and brought a misty
look into his eyes.

“Ivy, you’ll do one last thing for your old father, won’t you?”

“Maybe,” answered Ivy, coolly.

“Don’t make that fellow any promises. Now wait a minute! Let me get through. I won’t put any crimp in your plans. I won’t speak to Schlachweiler. Promise you won’t do anything rash until the ball season’s over. Then we’ll wait just one month, see? Till along about November. Then if you feel like you want to see him—-“

“But how—-“

“Hold on. You mustn’t write to him, or see him, or let him write to you during that time, see? Then, if you feel the way you do now, I’ll take you to Slatersville to see him. Now that’s fair, ain’t it? Only don’t let him know you’re coming.”

” M-m-m-yes,” said Ivy.

“Shake hands on it.” She did. Then she left the room with a rush, headed in the direction of her own bedroom. Pa Keller treated himself to a prodigious wink and went out to the vegetable garden in search of Mother.

The team went out on the road, lost five games, won two, and came home in fourth place. For a week they lounged around the Parker Hotel and held up the street corners downtown, took many farewell drinks, then, slowly, by ones and twos, they left for the packing houses, freight depots, and gents’ furnishing stores from whence they came.

October came in with a blaze of sumac and oak leaves. Ivy stayed home and learned to make veal loaf and apple pies. The worry lines around Pa Keller’s face began to deepen. Ivy said that she didn’t believe that she cared to go back to Miss Shont’s select school for young ladies.

October thirty-first came.

“We’ll take the eight-fifteen to-morrow,” said her father to Ivy.

“All right,” said Ivy.

“Do you know where he works?” asked he.

“No,” answered Ivy.

“That’ll be all right. I took the trouble to look him up last August.”

The short November afternoon was drawing to its close (as our best talent would put it) when Ivy and her father walked along the streets of Slatersville. (I can’t tell you what streets, because I don’t know.) Pa Keller brought up before a narrow little shoe shop.

“Here we are,” he said, and ushered Ivy in. A short, stout, proprietary figure approached them smiling a mercantile smile.

“What can I do for you?” he inquired.

Ivy’s eyes searched the shop for a tall, golden-haired form in a soiled baseball suit.

“We’d like to see a gentleman named Schlachweiler–Rudolph Schlachweiler,” said Pa Keller.

“Anything very special?” inquired the proprietor. “He’s–rather busy just now. Wouldn’t anybody else do? Of course, if—-“

“No,” growled Keller.

The boss turned. “Hi! Schlachweiler!” he bawled toward the rear of the dim little shop.

“Yessir,” answered a muffled voice.

“Front!” yelled the boss, and withdrew to a safe listening distance.

A vaguely troubled look lurked in the depths of Ivy’s eyes. From behind the partition of the rear of the shop emerged a tall figure. It was none other than our hero. He was in his shirt- sleeves, and he struggled into his coat as he came forward, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, hurriedly, and swallowing.

I have said that the shop was dim. Ivy and her father stood at one side, their backs to the light. Rudie came forward, rubbing his hands together in the manner of clerks.

“Something in shoes?” he politely inquired. Then he saw.

“Ivy!–ah–Miss Keller!” he exclaimed. Then, awkwardly: “Well, how-do, Mr. Keller. I certainly am glad to see you both. How’s the old town? What are you doing in Slatersville?”

“Why–Ivy—-” began Pa Keller, blunderingly.

But Ivy clutched his arm with a warning hand. The vaguely troubled look in her eyes had become wildly so.

“Schlachweiler!” shouted the voice of the boss. “Customers!” and he waved a hand in the direction of the fitting benches.