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“It’s shure strange, Miss Madge,” said Pat in conclusion, shaking his gray head. “I’ve played hundreds of knockers, an’ released them, too. Knockers always get it in the end, but they go on foolin’ me and workin’ me just the same as if I was a youngster with my first team. They’re part an’ parcel of the game.”

“Do you like these men off the field–outside of baseball, I mean?”

“No, I shure don’t, an’ I never seen one yet that wasn’t the same off the field as he was on.”

“Thank you, Pat. I think I understand now. And–oh, yes, there’s another thing I want to ask you. What’s the matter with Billie Sheldon? Uncle George said he was falling off in his game. Then I’ve read the papers. Billie started out well in the spring.”

“Didn’t he? I was sure thinkin’ I had a find in Billie. Well, he’s lost his nerve. He’s in a bad slump. It’s worried me for days. I’m goin’ to release Billie. The team needs a shake-up. That’s where Billie gets the worst of it, for he’s really the makin’ of a star; but he’s slumped, an’ now knockin’ has made him let down. There, Miss Madge, that’s an example of what I’ve just been tellin’ you. An’ you can see that a manager has his troubles. These hulkin’ athletes are a lot of spoiled babies an’ I often get sick of my job.”

That afternoon Miss Ellston was in a brown study all the way out to the baseball park. She arrived rather earlier than usual to find the grand- stand empty. The Denver team had just come upon the field, and the Kansas City players were practising batting at the left of the diamond. Madge walked down the aisle of the grand stand and out along the reporters’ boxes. She asked one of the youngsters on the field to tell Mr. Sheldon that she would like to speak with him a moment.

Billie eagerly hurried from the players’ bench with a look of surprise and expectancy on his sun- tanned face. Madge experienced for the first time a sudden sense of shyness at his coming. His lithe form and his nimble step somehow gave her a pleasure that seemed old yet was new. When he neared her, and, lifting his cap, spoke her name, the shade of gloom in his eyes and lines of trouble on his face dispelled her confusion.

“Billie, Pat tells me he’s given you ten days’ notice,” she said.

“It’s true.”

“What’s wrong with you, Billie?”

“Oh, I’ve struck a bad streak–can’t hit or throw.”

“Are you a quitter?”

“No, I’m not,” he answered quickly, flushing a dark red.

“You started off this spring with a rush. You played brilliantly and for a while led the team in batting. Uncle George thought so well of you. Then came this spell of bad form. But, Billie, it’s only a slump; you can brace.”

“I don’t know,” he replied, despondently. “Awhile back I got my mind off the game. Then –people who don’t like me have taken advantage of my slump to—-“

“To knock,” interrupted Miss Ellston.

“I’m not saying that,” he said, looking away from her.

“But I’m saying it. See here, Billie Sheldon, my uncle owns this team and Pat Donahue is manager. I think they both like me a little. Now I don’t want to see you lose your place. Perhaps—-“

“Madge, that’s fine of you–but I think–I guess it’d be best for me to leave Kansas City.”

“Why? “

“You know,” he said huskily. “I’ve lost my head–I’m in love–I can’t think of baseball– I’m crazy about you.”

Miss Ellston’s sweet face grew rosy, clear to the tips of her ears.

“Billie Sheldon,” she replied, spiritedly. “You’re talking nonsense. Even if you were were that way, it’d be no reason to play poor ball. Don’t throw the game, as Pat would say. Make a brace! Get up on your toes! Tear things! Rip the boards off the fence! Don’t quit!”