seemed to fit you better than Jim does." She laughed.

"He is my uncle--my father, almost. You will meet him soon, and then I
will explain how I became McCarthy."

At that instant Manager Clancy and his wife entered abruptly, followed
by Technicalities Feehan. Betty Tabor blushed and struggled to
extricate herself from McCarthy's arms, but he held her close and
announced:

"Betty has just promised to become my wife."

A shower of congratulation followed, and Mrs. Clancy became so excited
she dropped her fancy work and kissed both, then kissed Feehan, and
that surprised reporter dropped his precious manuscript in his
embarrassment.

A few moments after McCarthy left his room to make the call that
resulted in his happiness being established, Swanson was aroused from
his reverie by insistent rapping upon the door, and in response to his
welcoming cry, a tall, slender old man with bristling moustache,
stormed into the apartment.

"Where's that young scoundrel who calls himself McCarthy?" he demanded,
brandishing his cane threateningly.

"Hello, grandpaw," said Swanson. "Who dealt you a hand?"

"You're another one of those rascally ballplayers!" charged the man
violently. "I know you--you've been leading my nephew into all sorts
of wild scrapes, disgracing the family"----

"You Kohinoor's uncle?" howled Swanson joyously as he sprang up and
seized the old gentleman with a bear hug and waltzed him around.
"Welcome to our fair city, uncle. I adopt you right now. Kohinoor is
my chum. How does it seem to be the uncle of a hero?"

"Release me, you scoundrel," puffed the uncle. "Release me or I'll
cane you! Where is he?"

"Truth is, uncle, he's gone skirting," said Swanson, releasing his
victim.

"Gone where?" asked the uncle.

"Skirting--calling on a girl--and between you and me, uncle, he's got
the best chance to win her, and she's worth winning."

"What, another?" demanded the uncle. "Then he hasn't eloped with that
blond niece of that crook, Baldwin?"

"Not on your life," said Swanson, "he's won the best little girl in the
world."

In five minutes they were laughing and chatting like old friends, and
the uncle was boasting of his nephew's prowess at baseball.

"Hang it," he stormed, "I ought to cane him, the young rascal, for
treating me this way. He never let me know he was playing, and I only
got to see one game. But wasn't that a--what do you call it--a corker?"

"Let's go to them," prop