to bed?" I asked cheerfully.

He scarcely heard me and made no move to take the proffered cigar. All
at once it struck me that the rustic simplicity which had characterized
him had vanished.

"Whit, old fellow, what was wrong today?" I asked, quietly, with my
hand on his arm.

"Mr. Connelly, I want my release, I want to go back to Rickettsville,"
he replied hurriedly.

For the space of a few seconds I did some tall thinking. The situation
suddenly became grave. I saw the pennant for the Worcesters fading,
dimming.

"You want to go home?" I began slowly. "Why, Whit, I can't keep you. I
wouldn't try if you didn't want to stay. But I'll tell you
confidentially, if you leave me at this stage I'm ruined."

"How's that?" he inquired, keenly looking at me.

"Well, I can't win the pennant without you. If I do win it there's a
big bonus for me. I can buy the house I want and get married this fall
if I capture the flag. You've met Milly. You can imagine what your
pitching means to me this year. That's all."

He averted his face and looked out of the window. His big jaw quivered.

"If it's that--why, I'll stay, I reckon," he said huskily.

That moment bound Whit Hurtle and Frank Connelly into a far closer
relation than the one between player and manager. I sat silent for a
while, listening to the drowsy talk of the other players and the rush
and roar of the train as it sped on into the night.

"Thank you, old chap," I replied. "It wouldn't have been like you to
throw me down at this stage. Whit, you're in trouble?"

"Yes."

"Can I help you--in any way?"'

"I reckon not."

"Don't be too sure of that. I'm a pretty wise guy, if I do say it
myself. I might be able to do as much for you as you're going to do
for me."

The sight of his face convinced me that I had taken a wrong tack. It
also showed me how deep Whit's trouble really was. I bade him good
night and went to my berth, where sleep did not soon visit me. A
saucy, sparkling-eyed woman barred Whit Hurtle's baseball career at its
threshold.

Women are just as fatal to ball players as to men in any other walk of
life. I had seen a strong athlete grow palsied just at a scornful
slight. It's a great world, and the women run it. So I lay awake
racking my brains to outwit a pretty disorganizer; and I plotted for
her sake. Married, she would be out of mischief. For Whit's sake, for
Milly's sake, for mine, all of which collectively meant for