John Furrier looking angle. How are you? Welcome to the cube. Thank you. It's not a cube though. It's a it's a circle It's a conceptual cube and that's that our brand name But you know we love to be on the ground and talking to the smart people so thanks for joining us historic place It's wonderful Lot of history here. Okay, so it's my partner Dave Vellante. This is the cube or flagship telecast So tell us what's going on with you and and what's new? Okay, good. I can tell you a little bit about HP sustainability efforts. Okay, since you're here in front of Bill and Dave's office Maybe I'll start there. Absolutely. So our efforts into environmental sustainability aren't new So we didn't just get it into this field or this initiative because it's fashionable or trendy actually, we had the foresight of to a very forward-thinking founders Bill and Dave who believed a long time ago that it was not just about making a profit but also about making a contribution and giving back and in 1958 when Bill and Dave established the first corporate objectives for the organization. They listed corporate citizenship as One of the eight corporate objectives right alongside market leadership and profitability despite what Milton Friedman said here here Did he say something different? Yeah, he trashed You know giving back to the communities personally feel that that's is I'm with Bill and Dave So yeah, I think you can do both. Yeah. Why not? It's good for business They said that profit was a means to an end right? It wasn't the ultimate and it was a means to an end So that you can contribute you can do both and they were astute business people obviously because it's grown to what? 126 billion over 72 years but I think it's important to know that it's really been part of our legacy and part of our DNA so Obviously that doesn't mean we're wrestling our laurels We'll keep raising the bar on sustainability and we try to drive it not only into our product portfolio because we'd like to Say that we have the most energy efficient portfolio in the industry, which is very important I think you saw some of those examples today But also we drive it into our operations both our footprint our facilities and our real estate as well as into our supply chain Which is huge which is 60 billion dollars 68 billion dollars Keeps going up. Oh, maybe I maybe a 60 ish. It's huge. Well. He was 50 Teleon is bragging about 50 billion the next time we have anything is a day that's up to 60 So I wouldn't be surprised if it's pushing 70. It's huge we have 700 production suppliers in that supply chain and numbers over 300,000 people and In that supply chain, that's not just that that's outside of you know, of course, that's an extension of ourselves Right, so making sure that they adhere to a high level of social and environmental Standards in the supply chain is very important and so back in 19 now 2002 I think we set up the we we established a social and environmental supply chain standard that in 2003 became the standard in the EICC are you familiar with the electronic industry citizenship coalition? And that's the standard everybody in the supply chain adheres to today So we're very instrumental in helping to shape this right so you quantify that you report on that Yeah, for the past three years we've a lot of transparency and visibility so three years ago We asked we published first-ever list of all our suppliers top-tier suppliers And that got quite a lot of stir and controversy because people said that's you know confidential information can proprietary information Why would you want to publish it? And we said no it's important because it's an extension of ourselves so we publish the list of all our suppliers We've done that every year since it's right in our global citizenship report and then three years ago We actually asked them to our first-tier suppliers which represent like 80% of our supply chain We asked them to Publish and report on their carbon emissions so their global footprint or the carbon footprint Which they did and as you can imagine the first year was a little bit that didn't quite understand what we were asking Etc. Second year got better. So this is the third year. We've reported on our supply chain carbon emissions a lot of people a lot of people You know in the trends out there you see Occupy Wall Street and all these you know This you know the younger generation kind of don't know what's going on I don't know that legacy of HP about how much HP actually cares about this and I worked at HP for nine years I remember maybe one of the move from the white boxes to you know He's being sustainable and then all kinds of you know with the toner cartridges, etc. And other consumables How important that is okay now you have this announcement that we're talking about today around you know data centers And you're seeing Facebook for example just announced they're putting a data center in the Arctic So people are trying to do all these new things to try to help What have you seen in terms of trends around sustainability around you know really making a difference versus just punching it in There's a check a box on some report What can people look at in the public and say you know that company really does a good job? Some of the trends is there a way for the average person out there in the tech industry to say oh wow I can recognize that that company does a good job with sustainability Yeah, so I think making it relevant and communicating it to the average consumer I think is still a challenge I think it started off a little bit on a backward foot when the whole conversation was about the science Global warming even climate change and people can't quantify that they can't visualize it funny story was We bought a new washer and dryer this weekend. This isn't a side But I thought it was very clever because they had the washer and dryer They had the washing machine and on top of the washing machine was energy star rated of course It was the most ultra efficient, but they had stacked four high and six deep water bottles You know not that they're very sustainable obviously, but you know the plastic water bottles And it's it with every load that you do in this washing machine You will save the equivalent of this many water bottles now that really hits you in the eye Wow, and you know cost savings of course helps, but I think we have an essay sustainability community done a good job of Quantifying and making it real so that's why we're really focused a lot of energy efficiency because it's not just carbon footprint Which is interesting, but you know what is a carbon footprint and CO2 E? But we really are saying where it affects the pocket in the US We're kind of spoiled we water our lawn you do these things We don't understand the magnitude of that but out you guys are a global company What's going on outside the u.s. Clearly there's an awareness in India for example in other countries where Europe they understand this What's the global balance like I mean can you share some insight into kind of the sustainability picture globally and the relations and how that affects business? Sure, so we are a global company as you know, and I think about 65 percent of our revenue is outside the u.s Based on this past quarter, so we definitely have a big global footprint. I do you do see trends differently So we do have manufacturing hubs distribution hubs in various countries So I think what you see is products made in China for China that are really constructed for the local The local culture Consumption, you know, maybe they traveling more yeah disposable Issues or there's smaller statue perhaps the products are lighter. We have the same in India So you you do have different emphasis in Europe obviously Their regulatory process is so much farther ahead of ours. So a lot of what they do is for Regulatory market access compliance But when we like the Ross to initiatives that were introduced last year when we have to meet a standard in one country because we are global in 170 countries that following year we make it a global standard. So just saying we're going to do this in France or this in Germany Or this in California. It's just too much complexity to manage. Yeah, so we say more efficient internally just go standard, right? Absolutely, so we do we take any of those standards and roll it out globally. It's just more efficient So how has the initiative affected the bottom line of Daniel Estee in his book green to gold, right? Basically the premise was it's good for business and has your sustainability effort been been good for the bottom line It has we like to say we like to take the conversation away from Environmental responsibilities to talk about business Environmental sustainability to really talk about business sustainability. This is really about how can you sustain HB as a business or as an industry for? another 72 years to come right and that means having enough access to the bra materials at the price Point that you need in the quantity. They're not disconnected. Are they? No, they're not so we do talk about top-line growth And so you see some of the products that are most energy efficient We have a number of them not only our product portfolio, but our product offerings that give insight and intelligence to consumers So they can manage their own footprint or the water consumption, etc So it's good for the top line It's good for the bottom line cost savings and efficiencies anytime you can reduce consumption You're reducing cost which obviously helps the bottom line and it's a good market differentiator market leadership angle So we look at all three and not just nice to do because we don't want to make it Separate we really want to drive it mainstream into the business I have kind of a left field question or a question out of left feels that stand for giving a talk to some young students and Diceden I have kids my oldest is 16. I have a young one is nine and and This kind of post 9-11 culture you're seeing a different mindset I mean I'm 46 next month. So I grew up in the 80s I guess and so there's different kind of mindset, but you know post 9-11 you're seeing a different cultural mindset for the young Being educated right now in college trying to look at disciplines And there's a sustainability thread that we see coming through this kind of next generation Can you share with your vision on the insight or advice for folks in college or our younger generation about? Disciplines to pursue because the sustainability or clean tech Areas are really hot right now from a you know, we need to solve some big problems And I talked to Prith Banerjee and you know, he always talks about you know We want to solve these big problems in the labs and you guys are doing a lot of research here at HB labs What would you share with those folks out there who might see this video about? things to study curriculum career paths All have kind of you know in the future inventors the future entrepreneurs out there Yeah, so I think today's I have three in college and one just out of college. So still paying those bills for a couple years, right? So so I think you hit it right in the head I think that today's consumers are today's college graduates are looking for more than just a paycheck They're a little bit more self-absorbed perhaps or maybe that comes with age and maturity I don't know but I think they are looking to make a difference and to contribute and I think it's not just The paycheck, but it's what you can do with the paycheck work life balance quality of life So I think a lot of the students. I'm even if they're general MBA students or other disciplines They've taken some course in sustainability or environmental studies, which I think is very very valuable So I would encourage, you know, anyone in college to be mindful of Sustainability as it impacts their discipline. So whether it's sustainable finance or sustainable human relations or sustainable Product design, you know, I how do you build sustainability in because that's really how we're going to get a mainstream movement gone, right? It's not that it's a fringe just for the environmental studies PhDs the green people It's really how do you take those mindset and build it into your your core curriculum in these technical areas? You would see that might not be obvious Mostly mechanical engineering electrical engineering computer science. Is there any kind of disciplines? It's important in all of them. There's none that I would call out. I think you'll hear from Chandrakant He's very he'll talk a lot about the mechanical he talks a lot. We know Chandrakant. He's awesome mechanical engineering because he said there's really a Lack of mechanical engineers coming out So I think it's really important in all disciplines, whether it's quantifiable or whether it's the software sciences So okay, my final question is what's your challenge for the next five years of sustainability for HP? And how you're dealing with the current Flux and changing marketplaces cloud and mobile and products introductions are faster cycle times So I think that there's two big challenges One is to stay ahead because we appear on number one two or three and most of these ratings and rankings and whether you put any Credence in them or not, you know, they're nice to do and we're not working to be in a rating a ranking at a certain level But it's also a nice affirmation that people recognize that we're doing well whether it's from a disclosure of visibility or performance standard, so I think our Challenge there is to stay on the top when you're number one two or three everybody wants to knock you off right king of the hill So that's one challenge is is keeping up at a pace that If you're if you're you know if you're not if you're not moving forward you you're losing ground So that's one because our competitors aren't standing still and even though we've had a 50-year head start in the space As I mentioned earlier our competitors even though they're catching up. They started slower They really are a full court press So I think that's one of the big challenges and the second big challenge I think is really to take it from niche to mainstream I still attend a lot of conferences a lot of seminars and I feel like everybody in the audience is not in their head And they all get it headlights or more like no, yeah, we get it. Yeah, we get this But you look in the room. There's 200 people in the room. You say there's got to be 2 million people So I don't think we've taken it mainstream, you know And there's still a lot of talk about EV companies and solar companies and wind companies and those are the companies that are that are heralded is really making a difference in clean Tech, but when you can get an HP at our size and scale three and a half products a second We ship if we can get that into mainstream then you really can take it from niche to mainstream So I think that's a big mainstream is education. Is it more Programs, what do you think consumer education is a big one making it in very tangible terms But also, you know the move to integrated reporting So I'm a big advocate for for sustainability financial statements You got to talk the language of business and I think companies need to do a better job of quantifying So that's why it's not carbon. It's cost consumption and carbon. I mean, that's important But it's cost consumption how you affect in the top line how you affect in the bottom line How do you integrate into financial systems and technology presumably can help you do them We spent a lot of time talking about the product, but the product is probably a small portion of the impact that we can potentially have Right. I mean applying technology to do reporting and maybe censoring and the bigger opportunities to take the technology Which is you know our products and even if they're the most energy efficient in the world And I think that you know, we keep that pressure on that's still on me two to three percent of the whole carbon footprint How do you take technology innovation some of the stuff you've seen here in labs and really? Transform or disrupt that other 97 98 percent industries whether it's tech transportation logistics agriculture forestry Commercial buildings. How do you take? Technology to take a carbon-heavy process or industry and make it low-carbon like we've done for printing So you take 52 trillion pages are printed every year 52 trillion pages only 10% of those are digital 90% of them are analog pages and analog pages is a lot of printing distribution, you know Repulping because a lot of the stuff magazines books, you know goes back and never gets sold It's a very wasteful process right a lot of transportation if you can digitize those pages, and then you don't you you're Distributing and then printing them locally in the quantities you want where you want if you want them at all It's a much more efficient process Today was all about this harmony around having that kind of performance Yeah, I mean I think my my feeling is is that you know you mentioned the core values of HP citizenship being one of them Profitability was key, you know the same argument always comes down about Sarbanes-Oxley You know the cost overhead involved in managing, you know going public for the financial and now with sustainability Some companies may not made us try to Skim and not do the right thing so the balancing that citizenship, you know responsibility needs to be mindful And I think I'm not sure if the government may provide some incentives I mean do you see the government being involved? Is it a policy issue too? Or I mean most people will say that's too much reporting the cost for me to implement these systems I got to hire all these people and is that a factor or is that just well We're doing all this despite the fact of having any big government mandate or warrior HP HP's HP's So we're doing this. I think growing businesses. Yeah, HP has to I mean we have to continue Leading the way and hopefully help shape some of those regulations when they do inevitably come best practices kind of you know Case studies. Yeah, exactly and great. It's important. Well, thanks for coming on the cube. Appreciate it. Thank you Thanks for coming Subbing in me this great conversation


CHAPTER XIII SUNDAY BALL Say, sure I got something to tell you, Indians, that I ain't stuck on," said Mac. The directors have decided to play Sunday Ball. The boys could not have made a more passionate and angry outbreak if they had heard they were to be hanged. "'Beef, beef,' shouted Mac, read as a lobster, haven't I been again it?  "'Wa'ut,' roared Castorius, give me my release,' cried Benny, who had recently taken to attending a certain church. Benny never did anything by haves. The dude flung his bat through a window, carrying away glass and sash. All except Chase were violent in word and action, and he was too greatly surprised to move or speak. Mac's position often assumed exasperating phases. This was one of them. He tried reason on the most choleric of his players, with about as much success as if they had been brass mules. They persisted inventing their spleen on him. Then he lost his temper. Flannel mouths! Have you all swallowed red-hot bricks? Cheez it now! Cheez it! The guy that doesn't report here Sunday gets let down, and fine besides. Got that?" Chase left the grounds in some distress of mind. The past four weeks had been so perfect that he had forgotten things could go wrong. Sunday ball! It had never occurred to him. To give up his place on the team and all the bright promise of the future, he could not consider for a moment. He would have to reconcile himself to the inevitable. But what would his mother say? He might keep it from her. He did not need to tell her. She never would find it out. No. The temptation lasted only a moment. He would not deceive her. And then a further consideration weighed upon him. If he played baseball on the Sabbath, in order to attain a future success, would that success be an honest one? He was afraid it would not. He had been trained to respect the Sabbath. If he kept faith with his training, he must confess Sunday games were wrong. Nevertheless he could not harbor the idea of resigning his place. This made him feel he was willfully doing wrong, and he plunged into bitterness of spirit. It was with no little curiosity that Chase went out upon the field on Sunday. The grandstand looked as usual. Many familiar faces were there. The bleachers were packed, and a line of men and boys, twenty deep, extended along to the right and left of the diamond. Chase had never seen such a crowd in the grounds. Or had he ever seen such enthusiasm? All at once it occurred to him that there were hundreds and thousands of boys and men who worked every daylight hour six days in the week. They were new to him, and he saw that he was as new to them. They had never seen him play. They had never before had a chance to see a ball-game infindly. A question came naturally to Chase's quick mind. Had they played the game when they were mere tots on the commons and learned to love it as he had? A blind man would have answered in the affirmative. They were wild and bubbling over from sheer joy. If they loved the game and had only one day to go, albeit that day was Sunday, were they doing harm? Chase could not answer that. But he knew whatever it was for them applied also to him. He won the first Sunday game. A greater and noisier crowd had never been in attendance. Noise! The field was howling bedlam. The boys ran like unleashed colts. The men cheered their own players, roared at their opponents, and at each other. In his heart Chase was trying desperately hard to justify his own part in it, and because of that he saw much and found food for reflection. While he knew the power of these boys, it came from the dark, sunless foundries. The hundreds of men present had a yellowish, oily look. They were the diggers and refiners, the laborers from the oil fields. At first Chase thought their unbridled mirth, their coarse jests at the empire, at the players and themselves, their unremitting wild horse-yells as unnatural as strident. Then suddenly a smile here, a laugh of delight there, told him all this was only natural. These men and boys had found expression for their pent-up feelings, for a short delight in contrast to the long day. This was their hour of freedom. Yell! That's right. Yell! muttered Chase through his teeth as he went to bat. He felt for them, but he could not quite understand. He drove one of his famous liners against the fence. Well for that, he said to himself, a long, screeching, swelling howl of rapture rose from the fields and stands. It rang in Chase's ears as he sped round the bases, and when, after sliding into third, he stood up, he saw a sight he never forgot. The crowd was one leaping, tossing, waving, crazy mass. With Chase, to get the track of anything, was to trail it to the end. The faces and actions of that crowd made him think. Their frenzied glee made him sad, because it reminded him of his old longing for freedom, and its very violence bespoke the bottled-up love of play. These men and boys wanted to play, and circumstances made it so they could not. They loved to play. As they had mothers, sisters, brothers, children to support, they had no time to play. Because the next best thing, they loved to see someone else play. And they had only one day, Sunday. It's this way, said Chase to himself. If these men and boys spend their Sundays at home and in church, then Sunday ball is wrong. If they spend it otherwise, then Sunday ball is not wrong. Chase was tenacious and stubborn. He found he loved the game as a boy because of the play in it. Now he loved it because of what it was doing for him, because he believed in it, and he set himself to find out what it might be doing for others. He could not write to his mother until he had decided the question. So he spent much of his leisure time going the rounds of the foundries, factories, refineries, brickyards, and he took care to drop into all the saloons, the beer gardens, and dance halls. Everywhere he was known and welcomed. He asked questions, he listened, and he watched. When another Sunday had passed, he was in possession of all he needed to know. With immeasurable relief he decided that, while he would rather not play Sunday ball, it was not wrong for him to do so. He even decided he was doing good. Thus he settled the perplexing question forever in his own conscience. He would tell his mother how he had arrived at his conclusion, and ask for others it did not matter what they thought. All this time Chase had not been blind to certain indications of coolness on the part of people who had hitherto been pleased to be courteous and affable. And as these indications came solely from chance-meetings in the streets, he began to wonder how much deeper their coolness would go, provided he sought the society of these persons. That thought alone kept him away from Marjorie for over a week. He believed she would understand, and still be his friend. But instinctively he feared her mother, and he had a momentary twinge when he called to mind the young minister so welcome in the dean household. One evening when a party of ladies coolly snubbed him, Chase could stand the suspense no longer. So he presented himself at Marjorie's home, and much to his relief found her on the porch alone. Chase, Mama has forbidden me to see you, she said, with her blue eyes on him. Chase gulped when he saw the eyes were unchanged, still warm and bright. No? Oh, Marjorie, it's not so bad as that. Yes. But, Chase, you just give up the Sunday games, and then everything will be all right. I can't do that. Why not? Let them play without you. It's no use, Marjorie. Either I play on Sundays or I give up the game, and it means a good deal to me.  She says it's awful, and Mr. Marsden held up his hand in holy horror when he heard it. He's going to work against it. Stop it. Do you think it's so terribly wrong? Oh, Chase, for you to ask me that. Don't you know it? No, I don't," replied Chase stubbornly. Then you won't give it up. No? Not even to please me? I would, if I could. But I can't. Marjorie, please. Then good-bye. Oh," cried Chase sharply. He looked at her. The long lashes were down. You've said that as if I were— Look here, Marjorie Dean. I'm working for my mother. I've seen her faint when she came home at night. I've seen her hands bleed. If every day were Sunday and baseball bad, which it's not, I'd play. What do I care for Mr. Marsden? He's so dry he rattles like a beanstalk.   Good-bye," he strought off the porch. A low, tremulous, Chase did not halt him. He was bitterly hurt, angry, and sick. He went to his room, fought out his bad hour alone in the dark, and then came forth, feeling himself older and resigned. But he was more determined than ever to stand by the game. Sunday another great throng yelled at self-horse at the grounds, and went home in shirt sleeves sweaty, tired, and happy. Chase dressed, went to dinner, and then strolled round to the hotel. All the boys were there, lounging in familiar groups. He thought they all seemed rather quiet, and looked clearly at him. Before he learned what was in the air, a policeman, whom he knew well, stepped up reluctantly. Chase, I've got a warrant for you. The blood-round Chase's heart seemed to freeze. He stared, unable to speak. My partner has gone to arrest Mack," continued the officer. Here's the warrant. The printed words blurred in Chase's sight, but his own name in writing, and the term Sunday Baseball, and the Reverend Marsden's name, told him the meaning of the arrest.  We'll try to get word to Mayor Duff, so you can get bail and not be locked up. Bail? Locked up? Echoed Chase, stupidly? Mack appeared with another officer. The little manager was pale, but composed. Sure, we're pinched, Chase, he said, and as the players crowded round, he continued. Fade away now, or you'll put people wise. Somebody hunt up King and Beekman, send him to the station. Cass, you dig for Mayor Duff's house, and ask him to come take bail for us. Lord, I hope he's home. If not, the law puts us in a cell to-night. Sure, somebody has done us dirt. Some warrants might have been made out for to-morrow. Mack, you and Chase walk round to the station alone, said one of the officers. We'll go another way. Thanks. Sure, you're all right," replied Mack. Come on, Chase, don't look so peeked. Isn't the whole team arrested, queried Chase? Sure, and the whole team will be on trial, but the warrants read, for manager and one player. It'd be more regular to have pinched Enoch as he is captain. Don't know why they picked out you. Is playing on Sunday against the law? Nah, not any more than driving a team, but these moss-backed people twist things and call us a nuisance, an immoral, and Lord knows what. Here we are at the station. It's pretty tough on you, kid, but don't quit. This won't hurt you any. The two officers met them, unlocked the station house doors, and ushered them into the mayor's office. Suddenly Beekman strod in, big and important, and said it was not necessary to call in King, for he would go bail for both. If Duff's in town, he'll come," continued Beekman. Presently the sounds of a fast-trodding horse and flying wheels drew an officer to the window. The mayor's here, he said. Mack settled back with a deep breath. Good! He exclaimed. A tall man with a gray beard came in hurriedly, followed by Castorius. He nodded to all, threw his gloves on the desk, and took the warrants held out to him. In a few moments he had made the necessary recording of the arrests, and of accepted bail. Then he shook hands with Mack and Chase. Glad I happened to run into Castorius, was driving out into the country. You'll get your hearing tomorrow morning, and if you wish, I'll set the trial for Wednesday or Thursday morning. The sooner the better, replied Mack. Then the mayor bowed pleasantly and left. Chase followed the others out. He could scarcely realize that he had been arrested, and leaving his friends in earnest conversation he went to his room and to bed. He did not have a very restful night. The morning papers were full of the particulars of the arrest and the consideration of Sunday ball, and the subject was the absorbing topic of conversation everywhere. All the directors of the team were present at the hearing, and afterwards repaired to judge Meg's office to discuss the matter of defense. Meg's was a shrewd old lawyer, and incidentally an admirer of the game of baseball, while in office he had been known to adjourn court because he wanted to see Finley wallop their rivals. Therefore it was felt that with the case in his hands the team would escape imprisonment and fine even if Sunday ball were discontinued. Beekman and King had visited practically all the men of business in Finley and stating their case that the Sunday game was conducted in an orderly manner that no drinks were sold at or near the grounds that it was played at the earnest request of thousands of working men and boys had gotten a long list of signatures to their petition favoring the game. During the discussion as to the defense one of the directors had mentioned the fact that certain members of the laboring class were better off in summer for the playing of the game. Can you prove that, ask Judge Meg's? I know it's true, spoke up Chase. How do you know, returned the lawyer? Somewhat incoherently, but with the eager earnestness of conviction, Chase told what he knew. Then the judge questioned him in regard to his motive, drew him out to tell what baseball meant to him and to others like him, with the result that he presently said to the directors, Gentlemen, we have our defense, and you can take my word for it, we shall win. He asked Chase to call at his office an hour before the time fixed upon for the trial next day. Finley lost the ball game that afternoon. They played listlessly, and plainly showed the effects of the cloud hanging over them. On Wednesday, Chase went to Judge Meg's office at the appointed time.   Be simple, earnest, and straightforward. You have here the opportunity to vindicate yourself and your fellow players, so make the best of it. Chase went to the courtroom with the judge. It was crowded with people, the Finley team, and the team visiting town at the time occupied front seats. All the directors and many businessmen were present. There was a plentiful sprinkling of ladies in the background. Mayor Duff opened the proceedings as soon as the judge arrived with Chase. The prosecuting minister did not appear. His representative, a young lawyer, rose and expatiated on the evils of the Finley team in general, and of Sunday ball in particular. These young men set bad examples, engendered idleness, and love of play. They were opposed to work, they enticed boys from school to see a useless and sometimes dangerous sport. They fostered the spirit of rivalry and gambling. Baseball on Sunday was an abomination, and it was a desecration of the Sabbath. It added to the undermining of the church. It opposed the teachings of the Bible. It kept the boys and girls from Sunday school. Sunday was a day of rest, of prayer, of quiet communion, not a day for playing, howling, yelling, mobbing, carousing. The permitting of the game was a disgrace to the decent name of Finley, a shame to her respectable citizens, and a sin to her churches. The prosecution examined witnesses, who swore to endless streams of passing men on the streets, of yelling that made the afternoon a hideous nightmare, of brawls on corners, and mob violence in the ball-grounds, of hoodlums accosting women, and there the prosecution rested. Judge Meggs read the petition and the names of the men who signed it, and he said there could be little doubt of the great benefit Finley had derived in a business way from the advertising given to it by the baseball team. Your honor, he concluded impressively, I will now have one of the defendants tell his experience of baseball. At a word from Judge Meggs, Chase stepped forward. His face was white, his eyes dark from excitement, but he appeared entirely self-possessed. Your honor, I am eighteen years old, and have played baseball as long as I can remember. I learned in the streets and on the lots of Akron, when I was twelve years old, I left school to support my mother and a crippled brother. I sold papers, did odd jobs, anything that offered. I had a crooked eye then, and it was hard for me to get a place. People didn't like my looks. At fourteen I went to work in a molding department of a factory. I studied at night to try to get some education. When I had been there a year, I earned five dollars a week. After four years, I was earning six dollars a week. I did not advance fast. Last summer I played ball on the factory team. This spring I decided to be a ball player. My mother opposed me, but I persuaded her. I started out to find a place on a team. My crooked eye was against chances of success. I became a tramp, and beat my way from town to town. I starved, but I hung on. One morning I awoke in a fence corner. A woman I spoke to said the town nearby was friendly. I hunted up the ball grounds and the manager. He didn't see my ragged clothes or my crooked eye. He gave me a chance. I played a wretched game. I expected to be thrown from the grounds. He gave me money, said he would keep me, would teach me the game. I tried hard, and I made good. I have been happy here in friendly. I never knew what friends meant. Everybody has been kind to me. I have dreamed of one day being a businessman here. But best for me was what I could do for my mother and brother. She does not take in washing any more, or sew herself blind late into the nights. My brother has had treatment for his hip. He has the books he needed, and he will get the education he longs for. When I learned we were to play Sunday ball I was stunned. I never thought of that. My mother gave me Christian teaching, and I kept the Sabbath day. I was sick with doubt. I felt that I was going to do wrong. I concluded that it would be wrong, but I had no mind to sacrifice my place on the team. That had been too dearly bought. It meant too much to me.  It came to me in the first Sunday game. There were five hundred men and boys who had never attended one of our games. No one ever saw a wilder crowd. It was as if they had been let out of an asylum. They were crazy, but it was with happiness. They screamed like Indians. But it was for freedom. I saw men smash their hats, boys throw their coats, and both yell with tears in their eyes. Why? Your Honor, I will tell you why. I know what it means to work from daylight to night, year in, year out, with no chance, no hope for the natural play every man, and especially every boy loves. It is very easy for ministers and teachers to tell us working men how to spend the one free day, and no doubt they mean well, but they miss the point. On Sunday, those streaking, boisterous diggers, cappers, puddlers, refiners, had gone back to their boyhood. They played the game for us, with their hearts, their throats, their tears. The night after that game I had a change of feeling. I began to think perhaps after all it was not so bad for me to play ball on Sunday. I began to see things I had never seen before. If I could satisfy myself that the hundreds of men and boys were better off at a Sunday game than elsewhere, then I was justified in playing for their amusement. So I began to go round and ask questions. At first this searching for the truth was because of what I must tell my mother. Afterwards the thing itself interested me. I went to the foundries and factories, to the big refineries, to the brickyards, everywhere, and I found everybody knew me, everybody had a word for me, everybody's eyes shown at the mention of the next Sunday game.  One in all these mothers welcomed the game. I visited the saloons and beer gardens, the roadhouses, and the dance halls. I found them bitterly opposed to Sunday ball. Their Sunday business was ruined. Two big gardens closed up after the second Sunday. I had seen some of these places when in full blast on a busy Sunday, the beer ran in streams and the air reeked. It seems to me those who make the laws would learn something if they became mere hardworking men, when their eyes burned in their heads and their backs ached, and they never saw the sky and grew dull and weary, they would see differently. They wouldn't ask any man to sit in church and be told how to be good and happy. A man or a boy, pinned up all week, needs some kind of fling. Your honor, I wrote my mother that I was not doing wrong when I played Sunday ball. I am not ashamed of it. We players are not a disgrace to Findlay. Chase sat down. Judge Meg stroked his chin and watched his honor, while the crowd roared their applause. Finally, Mayor Duff wrapped on his desk. I am sitting in judgment on this case as Mayor of Findlay, as deacon of the church bringing the action, and as director of the Findlay Baseball Association. I am rather submerged in the deep sea between the two sides, but I am happy to say that as mayor, church member, and director, I have solved the problem. I do not want to go on record as agreeing entirely with Allaway. Still, so far as he is concerned, I uphold him. More than that, he has given us something to think about. I have long had my eye on those halls and gardens he spoke of, and now they shall be closed on Sunday. During the last few days, I have visited every prominent business concern in Findlay, and I have laid before each this baseball situation. In substance, I said I would permit Sunday ball unless they gave their employees a half holiday on Saturdays. I have spoken of Findlay's prosperity, and that no small factor in the activity of business for the last few years has been the advertisement of our crack baseball team. I have gone to the different leaders of the churches and of society, and I have solicited their cooperation, assuring them that if they would join forces with me for the good of Findlay and the laboring classes and the baseball people, there need be no Sunday ball. I am happy to say that I have been entirely successful. There will be no Sunday ball. There will be no open shops or factories or mills on Saturday afternoons. We, all of us, working people, church people, everybody concerned, will profit by this. How much better it is for the baseball team to have the undivided support of Findlay. That is what it will have now. Findlay is proud of its baseball team, and it is proud of some other things. Its prosperity, its good name, its old-fashioned institutions. We want still to have the quiet, serene Sundays our fathers and mothers had. I think it is to the credit of Findlay that we can meet this question and settle it to everybody's satisfaction. I am sure the matter has been wholesome for us as a city and as individuals. So I am happy to dismiss the case, assuring the prosecution and the defense that they have both won, and that their victory is in every way an advance, a betterment, for the commonwealth of Findlay. CHAPTER XIV OF THE SHORT STOP This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Routy Delaney, Idaho, USA The Short Stop by Zane Gray CHAPTER XIV WAITING IT OUT It was a good thing for Chase and his batting average that right after the trial, the Findlay team took their usual monthly trip on the road. Chase's hitting had been slowly dropping off, except for an occasional vicious double or triple during the last two weeks. But once away from home, he returned rapidly to form. The team broke even on the trip, a satisfactory showing to Mack. Sure, we're resting up for the break into the stretch," he said. They came home to find the town more stirred up than ever. The faction that had opposed the game now printed editorials, sent circulars and petitions, preached sermons, and worked indifatigably for Mack and his players, and therefore created all the more interest. The directors came out with the announcement that owing to the increased patronage, it was necessary to have more seating capacity, and they erected another open stand. Chase was all the more popular, and more sought after than ever, but he could not take the pleasure in it that he had derived before his arrest. He was quiet and preoccupied, and he haunted the ball grounds on mornings, and practiced batting till Mack drove him out.  Besides, you're batting all my practice balls over the fence for the kids to steal. Chase thought that a thousand persons beaming upon him could not make up for the coldly averted look of one individual. He fondly imagined that the few whom he met at long intervals, who passed him by, as if he were nothing, were the occasion of his gloom. He began to revel in a species of self-pity. It remained for him to learn a good deal from his staunch friend, Mitymaru. Down in the mouth again? Didn't I once hear you ask, Mack, what do you want for fifteen cents, canary birds? Chase me old college chum, you've got the pip. You couldn't see through a millstone with a hole in it. Ain't you it, round these diggins? Sure as you're born, one of the big teams will cop you out this fall. That'll mean two thousand next season. And here you go, moping round like a dead one. What the hell's the matter with you?  I reckon it's not that. You've got the dangest case I ever seen, Chase.  It's a case of shutout. No hit, game. Not a look in. Marjory's folks have turned you down, and now everything you see is pea-green. Mitymaru, go on. You're insulted? Perfectly rude, ain't I? Say, I want to beat some cents into your block. You can't string me. I know, and I want to put in my ore. See? First thing you know, you'll be having a slump, and you're fine record to go to Bally-hoo. Listen, I've been with Miss Marjory most every day while the team was away, and I had my troubles cheering her up. You ain't one-two-six to Miss Marjory for a dead one. Chase gave a start, turned wildly to Mity, and stuttered, Is she s-sorry? Thought you'd come too. Sorry? Say. Marjory's washed all the sky blue out in her eyes, crying.  What did she say? She didn't say much, except, Mity, he's angry with me. Is he angry with me? Will he stay angry with me? And then she weeps some more. Angel? Chase murmured. Say. Chase, if you have any regard for my friendship, cut that out. And you're wrong about Miss Marjory's being an angel. She's a little devil.  She won't go to church or Sunday school. She's sore on her mother, and she won't speak to the old man. She showed your speech that you made at the trial and was printed in the chronicle to Mr. Marsden, and says it was better in any sermon he ever preached, and she won't see him any more. She says they all make her tired.  So all you've got to do is slip out to the river with me, and the rest's easy. No, no, no, cried Chase. Then her folks would have something against me. What? I can't do it, Mity, and yet I want to see her. Are you going to quit, lay down, throw the game? Chase struggled with his temptation, and overcame it. It wouldn't be right, Mity. Well, I'll be dinged. What's wrong about fighting your own battles, ain't Miss Marjory a girl? She don't know she's wild over you, but she is.  Her folks have had sense enough to see that. The more they say again you, the more she'll be for you. But darn her folks, I'm thinkin' about her.  You want to be near home base when Miss Marjory gets wise to herself, and then, if you run hard and make a good slide, you'll score. If you're not there, she'll freeze. Girls is girls. Darn the old folks.  It's dollars to donuts they half lie and half forget.  What? Of all the ungrateful dubs. But hold on, my feelings ain't hurt. You're got to listen. I've been savin' my best hit for the last innin'. It's a corker. It's a Homer. All right, all right. Miss Marjory's bought up all the buttons with your picture on that she could find. She's wearin' them for badges and medals and shirt-waste buttons and sleeve buttons, and I'm dinged if I know what else. Now what do you think of her? But Chase fled without answering, nor turned at Mity Maru's shrill yell. The gloom that shrouded him rolled away. Something seemed to sing to him that all would end well. Something whispered for him to wait. His mother had always told him to wait when in anger or doubt, and he applied her advice to temptation, to fear and trembling, to wonderful vague hopes. After the game that day, Mity Maru sidled up to Chase, searched his face with a gleaming glance, and said, I won't kid you any more, Chase. You can trust me to say the right thing to Miss Marjory.  But what's your game? Waiting it out, replied Chase with a smile.  Chase found a note at his boarding-house. It was from Judge Megs, asking him to call in the evening on a matter of some importance. After supper he hurried to the judge's home. It was a magnificent house, one of the finest and friendly. Chase felt proud of being invited to call there. A maid admitted him, and showed him into the library. Hello, Chase. Have a chair, greeted the judge. How's the game today? Was busy late, and couldn't get out? This field was easy for us, eleven to three, but they're weak in last place. Did you get any hits today? Four, but two of them were Texas leaguers. Four hits. You certainly are keeping it up. And what are Texas league hits? Little measly flies that drop over the head of an infielder.   To hang a bell on them, as Midi Maru says. You're growing heavier, Chase. You're filling out. Yes, what do you think? I weigh nearly a hundred and seventy now. It's funny, I'm getting fat when I perspire so much. What was the feature of today's game? Cass's bulldog. He certainly made things hum. Now you know, just before play is called every game, Midi Maru puts the club colors on Algie, that's the bulldog's name, and runs him around the diamond. Just for luck, you know. Algie sure is proud of that job. Today, as he was coming in the stretch, a little sassy, ugly pup ran out of the grandstand. Algie saw it, and must have taken it for a rat. He's death on rats, for he bolted after it. Midi tried to grab him, and Cass yelled like mad. I guess Cass knew what was coming off. Algie chased the little dog into the grandstand.  Well it was funny, I never saw such a must in my life. Of all the screaming you ever heard, the women stood on the chairs and fell over the men. Some of them got on the railing, and were pushed off into the field. You know, the wire screen in front of the grandstand, back of home plate. Well in the crush to get out of Algie's way, some women jumped on the railing, and of course fell against the screen. It sagged out, and dropped in a sort of bag, and there the women were, like fish in a net, kicking and floundering around. Mac said it beat a bargain sale in lingerie. Whatever that is. Cass finally got a hold of Algie, and it surely was time enough. There's always something new and funny at a ball-game, said the judge, with his hearty laugh. Now, Chase, let's talk business. I've got a proposition for you. Have you planned anything for the winter? No. Is there any reason why you could not have your mother and brother come to live in friendly? Why, I guess not. I'm glad to hear it. I've got a job for you, seventy-five a month to start, with Megs & Company. You know, my brother's big store, groceries, wholesale and retail, hardware, oil-minced supplies, etc. I'm a member of the firm. We're investing heavily in new oil fields, branching out. We'll be busy in the store and keeping time of the men. You'll have a chance to learn things. This job will be ready for you soon. In the meantime, you hang around in the mornings and get on to your work. How does the idea strike you? Thank you. Why, it's simply bully. Only, does that mean I must give up baseball? Certainly not. It's a winner's work for you. You must stick to baseball till you've made some money. But I take it you won't loaf between seasons. I just thought I'd throw this in your way. We need a young man. And as I hinted, there might turn up something of future value to you. I accept. Thank you very much. Now here's another idea. There's a cottage on a plot of ground, ten acres I think, on Elm Street, just on the outskirts of town. It's a pretty place, and for sale cheap. A little money on repairs would make it a nice home. There's an orchard, a grove of maples, and the river runs along the edge of it. This place would be a good investment at twice the price asked for it. I know. I am interested in a real estate deal with some men here. Kings I, Sosmer Duff, we're going to develop a good bit of ground to the north of town. Prices will go up out that way. I can get this place on any terms you want. You can buy it for less than rent. You run out there first thing to-morrow, and if you like the place, come to my office and we'll close the deal. Now let's have a game of billiards. Chase left the judge and went to his room with his mind too full of plans to permit of sleep till late in the night. He awakened early, and breakfast, being entirely superfluous, he hurried north to Elm Street and thence the outskirts of town. There was no mistaking the cottage, because it was the only one. Chase felt it was altogether out of the question for him to own such a place. The cottage sat back from the road on a little hill. It was low, mini-gabled, vine-covered, and had a porch all the way round. A giant maple shaded the western side. Chase went in. The first room was long, had a deep seat in a bay window, and an open fireplace. He saw in fancy a blazing fire there on a winter's evening. There were a dining-room, and a kitchen, and a cozy pantry. Upstairs were four bedrooms. The west one, all bay windows and bright, would be for his mother. The adjoining one would be Wills, and the little room in the back from which he saw the grove and the river would be his. Then he punched himself and said, I'm dreaming again. He looked into the well in the backyard, and straight away began singing the old oaken bucket. He flew through the orchard, and ran into the grove of maples. The trees, the fence, the hills sloped down to the river. There was a little fall, and a deep pool, and a great mossy stone. I've got to hurry back to the judges, and be waked out of this, mother Chase. What would Mitty think? He'd say there'd never be any hope of my coming down after this ascension. Chase started for town. He would run a little way, then check himself, only to break out into another dash. He got to Judge Meg's office before opening hours and sat down to wait. The time dragged. One moment he'd call himself a fool, and the next he remembered the judge's kindly eyes. Well, well, good morning, Chase. The early bird catches the worm. Come in, come in. How did you like the cottage? Chase stuttered, and broke out into an unintelligible speech. Then he grew more confused and bewildered. He heard the kind voice, and felt the kind hand on his shoulder. He remembered running breathlessly to the bank, and drawing a sum of money. He signed his name to stamped papers, and then the judge was telling him that the property was his. Chase finished this wonderful morning of mornings in his room. After a long time he got a logical idea of things. He had bought a property for $1,800, $200 down, and $20 each month until the debt was canceled. The deeds were signed and stamped, and most strange and remarkable of all was to read the name of the former owner, Silas Megs. Chase spent another morning consulting carpenters, plasterers, paper hangers, and the next he presented himself at the store of Megs and Company. He was told to spend his time for the present in the different oil fields, familiarizing himself with men, conditions, and machinery. And the senior member of the firm added significantly, you need not mention your connection with us for a while yet. Just be looking round casually. But be sharp as a steel trap. You may learn things of interest to us. Chase wondered what next would happen to him. There was certainly a thrill in the prospect before him. Such men as Judge Megs and his brother would not stoop to the employing of a spy, but they might well have use for a detective. Chase had heard strange stories from the oil fields. The oil belt was a scene of great activity that summer. Tanks unprecedented in the history of boring wells had been made. All over the belt rose a forest of wooden derricks with their ladders and queer wheels and enormous pump handles ceaselessly working up and down. Pipes ran in all directions. Huge tanks loomed up everywhere. Puffs of smoke marked the pumping engines sheltered in little huts. The ground was black and oily, and the smell of oil overpowering. Crude oil, seventy-five cents a barrel, ejaculated Chase. As he watched the great comical-looking handles bobbing up, some of them pumping a hundred barrels a day, these oil men get rich while they sleep. Chase found that as he was known in the factories and brickyards, so was he known in the oil fields. All gates were open to him. Every grimy workman found time to stop and have a word with him. The governor of Ohio could not have commanded the interest to say nothing of the friendliness accorded to the boy baseball player. It was not long before Chase appreciated his usefulness to Megs and company. He had a pleasant word for every worker. Hello! I'm out looking over the oil field. Say! That's interesting work of yours. Tell me about it. Then a grimy face would break into a smile. Howdy, Chase! I were just thinking about the team. Close race, ain't it? But we'll put it all over on Columbus next week. I'll be there Saturday and hope you knock the socks off one. Work? This is rotten work I'm on here. Don't need to be done at all. And then the baseball fan would tell the baseball player details of work that a superintendent could not have dragged from him. Every engineer and prospector and driller cared to rest and talk to Chase. The boy was bright and pleasant, but the magic halo of a ball player's fame was the secret of his reception. So it was that he learned things and surprised the senior member, and won an approving word from the judge. Chase did not visit the same part of the oil fields twice. The wide belt extended a hundred miles toward Lima and beyond. It would have required months to go over it all. One morning he went out to see a new well called the Geyser, just struck and reported to be the biggest well in the fields. He found a scene of great excitement. Embankments had been thrown up three feet all around the well to catch the jet of oil. There was a lake of oil three feet deep. In some places it broke over the embankment. With more than his usual luck he met an Irishman who had come to him during one of the games and tried to give him part of a wager he had won on Finley. Hello, Pat. Somebody's struck a dandy, eh? Sure and it's the old man himself. Come round and let me show you. He blowed the bloomin' Derek a mile, but we got him under control now. Who are the owners? Dean and Pittman Company, replied Pat. Chase perked up his ears. He knew that this Dean was Marjorie's father. He had learned the firm was in a bad financial strait, having repeatedly backed unproductive ventures. When he saw the lake of oil he had a warm glow of pleasure. He was glad for Marjorie's sake. What's the flow? Must be a regular river. Flow? He'll flow a hundred thousand barrels a day for a while and that without a pump. We! exclaimed Chase. It's too bad, too bad. Such a grand well, said Pat, but it'll never last. Why not? Pat winked mysteriously, but offered no explanation. Chase left him and talked with the other men. He found that the land on which the well had been struck belonged to Finley farmers, and a lease of it had been sought by one of the greatest oil companies in the world. Chase's next move was to find out from the farmers thereabouts if there was any unleashed land adjoining. There was one plot of ground, hilly, rocky, impractical for boring, that stood close to the field of the geyser, and which had just been leased by a large company. Chase strolled over the field and to his great surprise was ordered off. Then a man evidently in authority recognized Chase and countermanded the order, giving as excuse some trifling remark about thieves. Chase did not believe the man. He sauntered round as if he were killing time, talked baseball with the men, and remained only a short while. But once out of sight he started to run, and he never stopped till he reached the trolley-line. He boarded a car, rode into town, leaped off, and again began running. At the office of Dean and Pittman a boy said Mr. Pittman was out of town and Mr. Dean at lunch. Then Chase once again took to his heels. Breathlessly he dashed upon the porch and knocked on the door of the Dean's house. Marjorie opened it and uttered a cry at the sight of Chase. Where's your father, he demanded? Marjorie turned white and began to tremble. The blue eyes widened. Puh! Papa is—is at lunch! Oh, Chase! Tell him I want to see him! Quick! Quick! Our voice rang clearly through the house. A chair scraped, and hurried steps proceeded the appearance of Mr. Dean, a little weather-beaten man of mild aspect. What's this? Mr. Dean, I've been out to the oil well. The field next to yours has been leased by Monarch Company. They're drilling day and night, and they know they can't strike oil there. It's a plot to ruin the geyser. They'll sink a thousand pounds of dynamite, explode it, and ruin forever your well. Come on! You haven't much time. They're nearly ready. I saw everything. It's a cold fact. But you can hold them up. We'll get Wilson, the expert, and an officer, and stop the work. Come on! Come on! End of Chapter 14, Chapter 15 of the Short Stop. The Great Game. On the third day of the last series between Columbus and Findlay, the percentage of games won favored the former team by several points. If Columbus won the deciding game, which was the last on their schedule, they would win the pennant. If Findlay won, the percentage would go to a tie. But having three more games with the tail-end Mansfield team, they were practically sure of capturing the flag. The excitement in and about Findlay was intense. Stores and shops and fields closed before noon that Saturday. The pride of Findlay rose in arms. Class was forgotten in loyalty to the common cause. The pastime ballpark opened at one o'clock and closed at 2.30, packed to its utmost capacity. Hundreds of people were left clamoring outside. The grandstand made a brave picture. Quality was out in force. The mass of white and blue of the ladies and their bright-moving fans and soft murmuring laughter lent the scene that last charm which made it softly gay. Out on the bleachers and in the roped-off sidelines was a dense, hilarious, coatless and ventless mob. Peanuts flew like hail in a storm. From one end of the grounds to the other passed a long ripple of unrestrained happiness. The sky shone blue. The field gleamed green. The hour of play was at hand. The practice of both teams received more applause than average games, and the batting order, at last, posted on the huge blackboard excited an extra roar. Findley, winter's third base, Thatcher, center field, Chase, shortstop, Havel, left field, Benny, second base, Ford, first base, Spear, right field, Hicks, catcher, Castorius, pitcher. Columbus, Welch, left field, Kelly, shortstop, Horn, catcher, Wilson, third base, Harvey, center field, O'Rourke, right field, Stark, second base, Haines, first base, Ward, catcher, umpire, Conner. Mack threw up his hands when he saw the name of the umpire. The truth of the matter was that Mack was in a highly nervous state. Managing a ball team was one point less trying than governing an army in the field. The long campaign had worn Mack out. Silk, he exclaimed. I wired the President to send any umpire but Silk. He's after us. Then Cass put on Algie's coat of white and blue and sent him out. Algie knew his business. As the gong called the Columbus players in from practice, Algie pranced round the diamond. When he reached the plate, Cass, who stepped from the bench, called sharply to him. Algie promptly stood on his hind legs. That's for friendly, yelled Cass to the stands. Then Algie made a ludicrous but valiant effort to stand on his head. That's for Columbus, yelled Cass. The long, laughing roar of the delighted crowd attested to the popular regard for the great pitcher and his dog. What'll we take, the field or bat? Ask Mack, beginning to fidget. Have you lost your nut, inquired Enoch softly? The bat. The bat. Now, fillers, get in the game. We're all on edge. Ward has always been hard for us to beat. But if we can once get him started, it's all off. Chase, come here, said Mack. Then he whispered, I can't keep it. Burke, the Detroit manager, is up in the stand. For Lord's sake, break loose today. Manon says to me just a minute ago that if you get two hits in this game, your average will go over 400. I oughtn't to tell you, but I can't help it. I'm glad you did, replied Chase, with his fingers clenching into his bat. Ward's got steam today, growled Mitty Maru.  Play ball, called Silk. The crowd shouted one quick, welcoming cry, and then subsided into watchful, waiting suspense. Enoch hit a fly to Kelly. And Thatcher went out, Wilson to Haynes. Chase sent a slow grounder towards short. Wilson fielded the ball as quickly as possible and made a good throw. But Chase, running like a deer, beat the ball to first. The eager crowd opened up. Havel, however, fell a victim towards curves. For Columbus, Welch hit safely. Kelly sacrificed sending the fleet left fielder to second. On the next play he stole third and scored on Horn's long fly to Havel. Wilson fouled out. Findley, zero, Columbus, one. Mack began to fidget worse than ever and greeted Cass with a long face. What's the matter with you? Ball doesn't seem to have any speed. Cass dained not to notice the little manager. When Benny got a base on balls, Mack nudged the player next to him and brightened up. But Ford, he said, and when Ford laid down a neat sacrifice, Mack nudged the player on the other side. That's good, that's good. Spear hit safely, scoring Benny. Thereupon, Mack jammed his elbow into Enoch's ribs and bubbled over. Makin' sausage again, inquired the genial captain with soft sarcasm. All the players had sore ribs from these jabs of Mack's elbows. He had the most singular way when the team was winning of slipping from one end of the bench to the other, jabbing his appreciation of good plays into the anatomy of his long-suffering team. Cass never sat on the bench, and Enoch, always forgetful, usually came in for most of the jabs. Hicks made a good bid for a hit, but being slow could not get to first ahead of the ball. Spear went to third. Cass got a double along the left foul line. Enoch walked on balls, and Thatcher's hit scored Cass. The Columbus second baseman caught Enoch trying to get a lead off second. Findley three, Columbus one. All the while the crowd roared, and all the while Mack on the bench was going through his peculiar evolutions. A bingo, good, jab and jab. Will you look at that? Jab and jab. Keep after him. Jab and jab. Oh, oh! Run, you Indian, run! Jab, jab, jab. Neither team scored in the third. Findley failed again in the fourth, but Columbus tied the score. The game began to warm up. With one man out, Chase opened the fifth with a hard hit to right. He believed he could stretch it into a double, and strained every nerve. He saw the second baseman brace himself, and without slackening his speed, he leaped feet first into the air. He struck the ground, and shot through the dust to the base. Just an instant after, he felt the baseman tag him sharply with the ball. Lying there, Chase looked for the umpire. Silk came racing down, swept his right hand toward the sidelines, and said, you made a grand slide, but you're out. It seemed then that Chase's every vein burst with the mad riot of hot blood. He sprang to his feet. Out! Out! Why, he never touched me till after I hit the bag. Don't show off before Burke, called Silk. You're out. Parambulate. Chase stamped in his fury, but the mention of Burke cooled him. As he walked off, the whole friendly team, led by Mack, made for the umpire with angry eyes.  To the bench, I'm running this game. To the bench, or I'll flash my watch. The uproar in the stands and bleachers gave place to an uproar back of center field. A portion of the fence suddenly crashed forward, and through the gap poured a black stream of yelling men and boys. That one bad decision had served to upset Mack's equilibrium, and he was now raging. Enoch reasoned with him. Cass swore at him. Some of the other players gave him sharp answers. Mack was plainly not himself. He showed it in that inning when he discarded the usual signs and told the team to go ahead on its own hook. Havel and Benny failed to get on base, and once more the Columbus team trotted to the bat. Then the unexpected, the terrible happened. By sharp hitting, Columbus scored five runs. Cass labored in the box, but he could not stem the torrent of base hits. A fast double play by Chase and Benny, and a good catch by Havel retired the side. Findley three, Columbus eight. A profound gloom settled over the field. The bleachers groaned, and a murmur ran through the grandstand. Cass walked up to the bench and confronted Mack. I'm done, said the great pitcher simply. My speed's gone. I strained my arm the last game. You'd better put Polk in. He's left-handed, and his speed will likely fool Columbus after my floaters. But say, I won't go out till I get a chance to get after silk. He needs a little jacking up. He wouldn't give me the corners. I'll make him sick, and fellas don't quit. Oh, we're licked, we're licked, cried Mack. Anyone to have seen his face would have known how hard he had worked and what the pennant meant to him. But his players evidently were not of the same mind. They were mostly silent, with knitted brows and compressed lips. Mitty Maru never wavered in his crisp, curt encouragement. What do we care for five runs? A couple of bingos and wards in the air. We can win with two out in the ninth, and here we got enough time left to win two games. Stick at them, don't quit. Keep the yellow down. We'll put this game on ice all right, all right. Cass slowly walked up to the plate. The great crowd had not hope enough to cheer. When the umpire called the first ball, which was pretty well up to Cass's chin, a strike, the crowd yelled. Cass turned square round and glared at silk. That worthy called another strike while Cass's back was turned to the pitcher. He did right, of course, but the crowd did not know it or think so, and they yelled louder. Cass made no effort to hit the next ball, which was also a strike. Out, called silk, adjusting his indicator, Cass turned upon the umpire. No tragedian ever put forth a greater effect of outraged scorn and injustice. What, he roared in a voice that penetrated the remotest corners of the field? Three strikes and out, repeated silk. It was wide, yelled Cass grandly. Batter up, called silk. Say, haven't I a right to speak a word, demanded Cass, he deliberately walked up to silk. It was Cass's ruse, a trick as old as baseball, to make a fierce stand in order to influence the umpire on future close decisions. Poor umpires, theirs was the thankless task, the difficult task, and they were only human.  Back to the bench, ordered silk. Can't I say a word? Not to me. You're rotten, costs you twenty-five. Huh, now you're going some, queered my pitching, struck me out, and now you find me. We've got a grand show with you calling the plays, make it fifty, you robber. Fifty it is, replied silk. Put me out of the game, you're from Columbus, go ahead, put me out of the game. Out you go, shouted silk. The crowd heard and rose with a roar of rage, Cass was their idol, and they were with him to a man. They stamped, yelled, and hissed their disapproval. It began to be a tight place for silk, and he knew it. Wright was on his side, but under trying circumstances, such as these, Wright did not always try him. Put me off the grounds, bawled Cass. Off you go, yelled silk, white in the face. Then Cass showed his understanding of the crowd, and the serious nature of the situation. He had turned his trick, now to avert real disaster. It would not have been wise for an umpire to call the game in the face of that angry grandstand and crazy bleachers. Not one umpire and a hundred would have had the nerve. But it was evident that Cass thought silk might, for he was not afraid of anything. So Cass waved his long arms to the crowds, motioning them to sit down. All right, silk, out for mine. Cass ran for the bench and grabbed his sweater. He shook his big fist in Polk's face. Now, Rube, Adam, fast and over the pan.   At Cass's last words he raised a heartbroken face and began to rail at the umpire. At Cass for having a glass arm, and at all the players. When Enoch got hit by a pitched ball, and thereby sent to his base with Thatcher up, Mack senselessly yelled to him and tried to start a hit-and-run game, which he had a few moments before discarded. Enoch and Thatcher got confused, and finally when Thatcher hit into second, both were easy outs in a double play. Then the players, sore and disgusted, told Mack a few things. The little manager looked sick. I'm running this team, he howled. Chase suddenly confronted him with blazing eyes. No, you're not running the team. You're queering our chances. You've lost your head. Go soak it. Climb under the bench. Crawl through the fence. Anything. Only get out." Mack fell back, a beaten man. His eyes bulged. His lips moved. But no sound came forth. It was plain that he could not believe what he had heard. Chase, his find, his idol, his star, had risen against him. We'll win this game yet.  Middy will run the team. Middy, echoed Mack. Then a spark of Chase's inspiration touched his smoldering baseball sense. Managers and players often do strange things. They follow blind leads and believe in queer omens. They are as superstitious as Indians. Without a word, Mack yielded to his impulse and left the bench. Middy Maru jumped up into the vacated seat. A glow lighted his pale face.  Rube, he said to poke, cut the inside corner. Keep him high and speed him up. The big knots stood out and rippled on the rail-splitter's arms. He was not lost to his opportunity. And there were friends and admirers from his native town there to see him, to glory in his glory. He struck out three successive Columbus hitters, and the hopeless crowd took a little heart. What'll I do, Middy? Ask Chase, picking out his bat. They're playing deep for you. Dump one down third. Chase placed a slow teasing bunt down the third baseline and raced with all his speed for first. The play was not even close. It was his third hit. Havel looked at Middy. The manager said, bunt towards first. The second ball pitched. Havel laid down, as if by hand, along the first baseline. Two on bases, no one out. The crowd awoke. Now for mine, Middy, asked Binny. We'll try a double steal. It's not good baseball, but we'll try it. Swing wild on the ball and balk the catcher. If the play goes through, just tap the next ball down in the infield. Binny fell all over himself and all over the catcher. Chase dove into third and Havel reached second. The bleachers began to yell and stamp. As Ward got into motion with his swing, Chase started home. It happened that the ball was a slow one, and Chase seemed to be beating it to the plate. Everybody gassed. Then Binny tapped the ball in the infield and broke for first. The play bewildered the pitcher, catcher, and third baseman. Chase scored. Havel went to third, and Binny reached first. Then the shrill cries, the whistles, the ten horns, and clapping hands showed that the crowd had awakened fully to possibilities. Ford hit into deep short, who threw to second to catch Binny. The play was a close one, and Silk's decision favored the runner. Havel scored. Two runs scored, two men on bases, and nobody out. Roar on roar. Through it all, the little ragged hunchback sat coldly impervious. His fire raged deep. The years of pain and hopeless longing, the boyish hopes never to be fulfilled, had their recompense in that hour of glory. To a man, the players now believed in him. As boy, as manager, as genius, as baseball luck. Spear bunted better than he hit, a fact of which Middy took advantage. Lay one down to Wilson. Wilson, devined the play, came rushing in, picked up the bunt with one hand, and made a splendid throw. One out, runners on second and third. Hicks was a poor hitter in a pinch. Another fact Middy remembered. Work a base on balls. Work hard now. The contortions old men Hicks went through would have disconcerted most pitchers.  Everybody gasped again.  The crowd broke out afresh. One out, three runners on bases. Siegler, batting for Castorius, hit a mean, twisting grounder between short and third. Both men went after it, knocked it down between them, but too late to catch the hitter. Another run scored, and bases full. How the bleachers screamed. Being one cap, said Middy, from the heights, Enoch met the first ball squarely. It sailed fast and true into the second baseman's hands. The runners had no chance to move. Oh, hard luck, moaned the crowd. Never mind that. Stick at him, cried Middy, jumping down from his perch. A couple more hits, and the game's on ice. Dude, poke one to left. Don't swing, just poke one over the infield. Thatcher went to bat while Enoch ran to the coacher's box, and began to yell and scream, to tear up the grass with his spikes, to give every indication of insanity. Thatcher was remorselessly unanxious. He made wards split the plate, and at last, with three and two, he placed a short fly back of third. Another runner scored. Two out, bases full. One run to tie. Middy Maru suddenly lost all his quiet. He jumped at Chase, and clasp him with small, claw-like hands, his eyes shone on Chase with a power that was hypnotic. And through the gleam of power beamed his friendship, and hope, and faith. Chase, something told me it would hang fire for you.  If ever in your life you put wood on it, do it now. When Chase hurried to the plate, the great crowd rose, and shouted one long, sharp cry, and sank into intense silence. The situation was too critical for anything but suspended breath. Enoch's coaching peeled over the field. Oh, my, Mugs Landon, Irish Stew, Lace Curtains, Raspitas, we're going to do it. We can't be stopped now. Oh, my, they're taking him out. They need another pitcher. The Columbus captain sent Ward to the bench and ordered out Henson, a left-hander. He nervously rubbed the ball. Enoch broke loose again. Henson, look who's at the bat. He yelled in terrible tones. It's Chase. He's leading the league. Oh, oh, my, Mugs Landon. If ever Chase felt like Flint, the time was then. He heard nothing. He saw nothing but the pitcher. It seemed he called upon all his faculties to help his eyesight. His whole inner being swelled with emotions that he subordinated to deadly assurance. Henson took his swing and sent up a fast ball. Chase watched it speed by. Ball called silk. Henson swung again. Chase got the range of the ball, stepped forward, and, with his straight, clean, powerful sweep, met it fairly. Bing! It rang off like a bell. The crowd burst into thunder. When Chase's liners started off so, only the fence stopped them. This one shot for the corner behind center field. For an instant everybody thought the ball was going over. But it hit a billboard and bounced back. What a long, booming, horse-and-thrilling roar rent the air. Two runners scored, and Thatcher was coming fast. Then, in the wild moment, all grasped that Chase, with his wonderful fleetness, was gaining on Thatcher. His fair hair streamed in the wind. His beautiful stride swallowed up the distance. The center fielder got the ball and threw to Stark, who had run out to receive the throw. As Chase, now close to Thatcher, turned third. Stark lined the ball home. Every heart was bursting. Every eye was staring. The women were screaming, run, boy, run, boy, oh, run, run, run. And yet could not hear their own voices. The men were roaring, on, on, on, ah. The friendly players leapt like warriors around a stake. Midi Maru ran toward the plate. Stark's great throw sped on. Thatcher scored. Slide, Chase, slide! In one blended roar, the whole crowd voiced a fear, awful at the moment. Chase slid in a flash of dust across the plate, a fraction of time ahead of the ball. It bounded low, glanced off the catcher's glove, and struck Midi, who whirled late, fairly on his hump. Poor Midi went down, as if he had been shot, spun round like a top, and lay still. But few on the field saw this accident. The crowd had gone into a sort of baseball delirium tremens. Chase had made a home run inside the grounds, scoring four more runs. A thunderbolt out of the clear sky would have passed unnoticed. Someone carried Midi into the dressing-room. The game went on. Polk blanked the Columbus player's inning after inning. The heart was taken out of them. Finley won. For a weak, voiceless, shaken, disheveled, happy crowd the score went up. Finley XI Columbus VIII Inside the dressing-room the players grouped silently, with pale faces, around a space where a doctor worked over Midi Maru. A cold hand gripped their hearts. The doctor kept shaking his head, and working, working. Still the little misshapen form lay huddled in a small heap. The pale, distorted face showed no sign of life. Ah! breathed the doctor, in sudden relief. Midi Maru began to stir. He twisted, his narrow breast heaved. He moaned in pain, broke into incoherent speech. Then, as consciousness fully returned, he lived over the last play he had seen. Steady, chase-all-man, eagle-eye, now-all-boy, lay back. Bring the next one. Oh! Run, chase! Up on your toes! Now you're flying! Make it a triple! Come on! Come on! Come on! On! On! It's a Homer! It's a Homer! It's a Homer! End of Chapter 15. Chapter 16 of the Short Stop. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Rowdy Delaney, Idaho, USA. The Short Stop. By Zane Gray. Chapter 16. Last Innings. It was Wednesday, following the Great Saturday game. Chase hurried to his room where he had taken Midi after the accident. He found the lad sitting up, a little wan, but bright and expected. All over Midi, shouted Chase. The season's over. The championship is ours. Today was the last game, and the directors made it a benefit for the team. Bully of them, wasn't it? No more in Square. The teams made barrels of money. What'd you do to-day? Oh! Made Mac soar, as usual. How? Well, we smothered Mansfield in an inning or so, and then Mac wanted us to lay down, strike out, make the game short. Now I'd have had to try to bing one, even if my life were threatened. So I caught one on the nose, and by George, Midi, I hit it over the fence, and the ball broke a window in Mrs. McGee's house. Mac'll have to pay damages, say, but wasn't he sore. That makes six homers for you, Chase, on our own grounds. And you've had fourteen triples, and only three doubles. It's strange about that. Most fellers get more doubles, but you're so dang fast on your feet that you'd stretch most any double into a triple. Give me them long liner triples for mine. Midi, how are you feeling? How about the banquet tonight? I'll go, you bet. I'd be out home long ago, if you hadn't made me promise to stay here. Midi, I've had some ideas working in my mind the last few days, and now everything's settled. You're going to live with me. Am I? Began Midi rebelliously. Yes. I've got a tin-type of myself sponging off of you here. Not here, Midi. I've bought that white cottage in the maple grove by the river, and I've had it all fixed up. It's now ready for the furnishings. In a few days I'll write to Mother and Will to pack their duds and come on. Maybe we won't surprise them.  There's a dandy little room next to mine. It'll be yours. You like Will, and you love Mother. She's the sweetest. I ain't going to do it," cried Midi, in a queer, strangled voice. The old, resolute strength had gone from it. Yes you are.  And I've got another idea. You know that little alcove next to King's store? Well there's one there. I've had a carpenter measure it, and he's going to build a wee little stand there. You and I are going into business—cigars, tobacco, candy, et cetera. I furnish capital. You manage affairs. We divide profits. Why, it's a gold mine. There's not a place of that kind in town. Everybody knows you. Everybody wants to do something for you. Didn't you ever think of selling things? There's money in it. Chase. It be. Grand. Said Midi. I'll do it. I'll—Chase, if you ain't the best ever. But haven't you any ideas for yourself? Then Midi Maru, the defiant, the Spartan lad, the sufficient unto himself, the scorn of emotions, the dweller in lonesome places, covered his face and sobbed as might any of the boys whom he ridiculed. But his weakness did not last long. Chase, I'll be dinged if that soak I got in the game Saturday hasn't given me softening of the brain, he said, and smiled through his tears. Chase had seen the light of that smile in his mother's eyes, and in the eyes of another of whom he must not think. For a moment a warm wave thrilled over him, and he felt himself sway beneath its influence. He had done his best for his mother. He had done right by margery. He had waited and waited. So he made himself think of other things—of the new home, of peace for his mother, of ambition for Will, of companionship with Midi, of his opening career. Come on, Midi, we have to fix up in style for the dinner to-night, and it's time we were at it. When they reached the hotel, Mac made a grab for Chase and beamed on him. Chase, old boy, sure things are coming great. Cass goes to Cleveland for a tryout. I've sold Benny to Cincinnati, and you to Detroit. Burke offered twelve hundred for you on Saturday, but I held out for fifteen, and I got the check tonight. I promised you one-third if you hit four hundred, and you've gone and hit four-sixteen. Chase, that's awful for a first season.  Burke wrote me to tell you he'd send the contract. He offers two thousand. So you're on, and I'm tickled to death. I've made a star of you, and you've made me a manager. Somebody else grabbed for Chase. It was Judge Megs, who congratulated him warmly. Then, Chase, with Midi Maru hanging to his coat sleeve, was deluged in a storm of felicitations. The banquet room, with its long decorated table, brought a yell from the hungry ball players. The waiters began moving swiftly to and fro. The glasses clinked musically. The noisy hum of conversation and jest grew steadily louder and gayer. There were fourteen courses, and every player ate every course, except Benny, who got stalled on the unlucky thirteenth. Then chairs were shoved back, and cigars lighted. Judge Megs, who was toastmaster, rose and spoke for a few moments, congratulating Findlay on her great ball team, and the directors on their prosperous season, and the players on having won the championship. At the close he ended with a neat presentation speech. Then before each player was placed a large colored box with a fitting inscription on the lid. This was 416, Enoch's was Mug's Landing, Benny's was My Molly O, on Cass's was a terrible representation of a bulldog with the name Algie above, and below Cass's well known Wa'at, and so on it went down the line. Inside the boxes were the purses, shares of benefit, presents from directors and from individuals. Chase won both hitting and base-stealing purses, Cass the pitchers, Enoch the fielders, each got a silver watch, a gold scarf pin, and link cuff buttons. Each got cards calling for an umbrella, a hat, a Morris chair, a box of candy. All received different presents from personal friends and admirers. Chase was almost overcome to find that Judge Megs and other friends had that very morning furnished his cottage completely. Then the Toastmaster interrupted the happy buzzings and called on Mack. The little manager bounced up with shiny face. He lauded Findley and its generous citizens. He raved about the baseball team. He spouted over Cass and Benny, and almost ended in tears over Chase. Gentlemen, said Judge Megs impressively, we have with us tonight a remarkable ball-player and good fellow. He has captained the team with excellent judgment. He has been a great factor in our victory. We have expected much of him and have not been disappointed. We expect much of him tonight, for surely a man with his wonderful command of language, his startling originality of expression, and his powers of uninterrupted, flowing speech, such as we are all so happily familiar with, will give us a farewell word to cheer our hearts through the long winter to come. Gentlemen, Mr. Enoch Winters. Enoch rose as if some subterranean force had propelled him. His round red face and round owl eyes had their habitual expression of placid wisdom. But Enoch had difficulty with his vocalization. Gentlemen, he began, and then it was evident his voice frightened him. I—this—you see—he stammered, rolled up his tongue into his cheek to find his never-failing quid, this time failing him. Great honour! Sure! I—we—appreciate! Then the voluble coacher, the bane of pitchers and umpires, the terror of the inexperienced, stammered that something was too full for words, and sat down. Whether he said stomach or heart no one knew, but all assumed he meant the latter and roared their applause. Judge Meggs, with a few fitting words, called upon Castorius, and Cass, of the iron arm, iron heart and voice, could not establish relations between his mind and his speech. Judge Meggs said, Gentlemen, we want to hear from our great Second Baseman, who, we are sorry to say, and happy also, will not be with us next season, for he is going higher up. We have heard of a yet better stroke of fortune that has befallen him. In brief we understand that he has won from our midst one of Findley's sweetest and best girls, and that the happy fulfillment of such good fortune is to be celebrated upon a day in the near future. We think he owes us something. Gentlemen, Mr. Benny Ross. No one ever had such friends, cried Benny dramatically. No one ever had such friends, and that was all he could say. Gentlemen, said Judge Meggs, we have with us tonight a lad who came to Findley empty-handed, yet who brought much. We shall watch his future, as we have watched him develop here. And when he returns to Findley to become one of her solid, substantial businessmen, we shall not forget when he was a star of the diamond. Gentlemen, Mr. Chase Allaway. Chase managed to rise to his feet, but was utterly unable to respond. Emotion made him speechless. He smiled helplessly at Judge Meggs and sat down. The judge called upon several other players, and they, too, might as well have been dumb. Then Midi Maru laboriously climbed upon his chair and raised his strange, shrunken figure. He put his right hand to his breast and beamed upon the company. Mr. Toastmaster and friends began Midi, my worthy captain, and fellow players are too full for utterance. Suddenly the sparkling stuff in the long-stemmed glasses has tongue-tied him. Somebody must thank you, gentlemen, for this banquet, and it's up to me. If the basis was full now, we could feel sure of getting a hit, for we're sure long on hits and short on speeches. For the team I want to say that this is a grand and glorious occasion, that Findley is the finest town in the U.S., that the directors and supporters of the team are real sports and good fellows, the best ever. This has been a great summer for all of us, and we've been happy. We're sorry it's over. Baseball players have to go from town to town, apart from each other and kind friends, and I'm sure none of us will ever forget the fight we made for the pennant and the friends we made in good old Findley. Right warmly did all join in applause. After a parting word from the judge, good nights were spoken, and the banquet to the championship team was over. Before Chase went home, he wrote a letter to his mother, and told her, as he was still boss of the family, and disposed to become more so in the future, she and Will were to come to Findley.  Chase slept poorly that night, and kept Mitty Maru awake, and in the morning got him out at an early hour to see the cottage. It seemed that a fairy's hand had been at work during the last forty-eight hours. The cottage was furnished from one end to the other, not poorly, nor yet lavishly, but in a manner that showed the taste of a woman and the hand of a man. Chase felt that someone had read his mind. Who had guessed which was to be his mother's room, and Will's, and his own, and therein placed such articles as would best please each? So Chase learned in another way that the needs of the human heart are alike in every one. That day he and Mitty loaded the pantry with all manner of groceries. Then, while Mitty went out to his old home in the brick kiln to fetch the few things he owned, Chase fitted up the little room next to his.  I'll be dinged if it ain't swell. After this, Chase would have it that Mitty should go with him to a store and purchase a suit. Mitty submitted gracefully, and after a trying time in the store he produced a dilapidated pocket-book, and began to count out the price marked on the tag of the selected suit. No you don't, said Chase. This is on me. Maybe you thought I was busted, replied Mitty with a smile.  Never was much for style, but now, when the time comes, I can produce. Chase and Mitty were arguing the question when the storekeeper said they must regard the suit as a present and refuse to be paid. What to L! exclaimed Mitty. Have I been hit in the pipe? That afternoon and evening were very long to Chase. He slept that night from sheer exhaustion. He was up with the sun, woke Mitty, whistled, sang, and consulted his watch every few moments. The train he expected his mother and Will on was due at ten o'clock. He packed his effects and sent Mitty for a wagon to take them to the cottage. Then he went, hours before train time, to the station where he paced the platform. What an age it seemed! At last he heard the train whistle, and he trembled. He ran to and fro. Suppose they didn't come. With a puffing and rumbling, the engine slowed up and came to a stop. Only two passengers got off, and upon these Chase swooped down like a hawk. He gathered the little woman up in his arms and smothered all her voice except my Chase. Hello, Will. How about college, old boy? You great brown giant? And that was all. Chase bundled them into a hack, and telling the driver where to go, he looked at his mother and brother, so as really to see them. How changed they were. His mother's face had lost its weary shade. She was actually young and pretty again. And Will, he was not the same at all. Will's of joy rang and Chase's heart.  Baseball, the championship, his leading the league, his sale to Detroit, his many friends, about the certainty of Will's going to college. Everything but where they were going. Then the hack stopped. Chase helped them out, and turning to the hackman, thanked him, and held up a dollar. That's my treat, said the hackman, tipping his hat. Say, isn't my money good around here? demanded Chase. Your money's same as counterfeit and friendly. Good luck. With a smile, the hackman turned his team and drove away. Chase, what a pretty place, his mother said. Do you board here? Well, not yet, but I hope to. Chase opened the front door and ushered them in. A bright fire crackled in the open grate. Mother, this is home. Then, for a brief space, the three mingled tears with their happiness, and at last the mother raised her face with a flush, how I have worried, for nothing. Chase called up the stairway. Mitty, come down. We have company. Then he whispered to them, Mitty is my little friend of whom I wrote. He's a hunchback. If you look at his eyes, you will never think of his deformity. Mitty came down without reluctance, yet shyly. The new suit considerably altered his appearance.  He advanced a few steps, stopped, and waited, with his fine eyes fixed gravely and steadily upon them. I am very glad indeed to meet my son's friend, Mitty, said Chase's mother. My name's Mitchell Malone, answered Mitty, and I'm happy to know you and Chase's brother. Mitty Maru he'll always be to me, said Chase. Mother, he's going to live with us. I have no home, replied Mitty, to Mrs. Allaway's kind, questioning look. My parents are dead. I never saw them. Then followed the pleasant task of showing the cottage in grounds. The day passed like a happy dream. At sunset Chase slipped away from them and went down through the grove to the river. He was rejoicing in the happiness of others, yet now that his hopes were realities and unaccountable weight suddenly lay heavy as lead on his heart. He had succeeded beyond his wildest fancy. There was the cottage, and it contained his friend Mitty Maru, and Will, with the clear light of joy in his eyes, and his mother, well and happier than he had ever seen her. These were blessings such as he was sure he did not deserve, but humble and thankful as they made him, he was not entirely content. Suddenly the glamour of all he had been working to accomplish paled in the moment of its achievement. The swift flowing river murmured over stones and glided along the brown banks toward the setting sun. The song of the water was all the sound to break the silence. Silver clouds and golden light lay reflected in the river, and slowly shaded as the sun sank. This hour, with its diminishing brightness, its slow approach of gray twilight, its faint murmuring, river song, sadder than any stillness, singularly fitted Chase's mood. A shout from Mitty Maru brought Chase out of the depths. Mitty answered and turned toward the grove. Mitty came hobbling with a celerity that threatened peril to the frail limbs so unaccustomed to such effort. Locked the gate, he called out, waving a letter at Chase. Wonder who's writing me, asked Chase, failing to note Mitty's agitation. That's Miss Margery's writing. Chase's hands trembled slightly. Mitty's eyes were gloriously bright. Most innens sang out the lad. You waited it out, Chase, and now's time to dig. Get up in your toes and run, Chase. Run as you never run turn and third in your life, and when you reach home base and Miss Margery and score, why, why, just give her one for Mitty, who umpired your game. Chase scarcely heard his little friend, and did not see him hurry away toward the cottage, for his eyes were now fixed on the opened letter. This letter is as difficult to write now, as it has been to keep from writing sooner. I have so much to tell you. Ever since you saved the geyser well, Father has been on my side, and I persuaded him to take me to see that last Columbus-friendly game. He had forgotten that he used to play ball when a boy, and it came back to him. First he grew excited, then read in the face, and he shouted till he lost his voice. Before the game was half over he turned purple. When you made that wonderful, wonderful hit, he smashed a hole right through his hat. Such a state he was in when we got home. His hat was a wreck, his coat must, his collar wilted, and his face all crimson. But I never saw him so happy, and even Mother's disgust at his appearance made no difference. I think, I am sure, we made life miserable for her. She said, you might come to see me, and I say, come soon, Marjorie. End of Chapter 16 The End of the Shortstop by Zane Gray Reading by Rowdy Delaney, Idaho, USA