as lost in
the gay crowd. But when I went down to the bench I saw her up in my
private box with Milly. It took no second glance to see that Nan Brown
was a bride and glorying in the fact.

Then, in the absorption of the game, I became oblivious to Milly and
Nan; the noisy crowd; the giant fire-crackers and the smoke; to the
presence of Morrisey; to all except the Rube and my team and their
opponents. Fortunately for my hopes, the game opened with
characteristic Worcester dash. Little McCall doubled, Ashwell drew his
base on four wide pitches, and Stringer drove the ball over the
right-field fence--three runs!

Three runs were enough to win that game. Of all the exhibitions of
pitching with which the Rube had favored us, this one was the finest.
It was perhaps not so much his marvelous speed and unhittable curves
that made the game one memorable in the annals of pitching; it was his
perfect control in the placing of balls, in the cutting of corners; in
his absolute implacable mastery of the situation. Buffalo was unable
to find him at all. The game was swift short, decisive, with the score
5 to 0 in our favor. But the score did not tell all of the Rube's work
that morning. He shut out Buffalo without a hit, or a scratch, the
first no-hit, no-run game of the year. He gave no base on balls; not a
Buffalo player got to first base; only one fly went to the outfield.

For once I forgot Milly after a game, and I hurried to find Morrisey,
and carried him off to have dinner with me.

"Your rube is a wonder, and that's a fact," he said to me several
times. "Where on earth did you get him? Connelly, he's my meat. Do
you understand? Can you let me have him right now?"

"No, Morrisey, I've got the pennant to win first. Then I'll sell him."

"How much? Do you hear? How much?" Morrisey hammered the table with
his fist and his eyes gleamed.

Carried away as I was by his vehemence, I was yet able to calculate
shrewdly, and I decided to name a very high price, from which I could
come down and still make a splendid deal.

"How much?" demanded Morrisey.

"Five thousand dollars," I replied, and gulped when I got the words out.

Morrisey never batted an eye.

"Waiter, quick, pen and ink and paper!"

Presently my hand, none too firm, was signing my name to a contract
whereby I was to sell my pitcher for five thousand dollars at the close
of the current season. I never saw a man look so pleased as Morrisey
when