To my amaze we met Milly and Nan as we
entered the lobby. Milly wore a sweet,
sympathetic smile. Nan shone more radiant than ever.
I simply stared. It was Milly who got us all
through the corridor into the parlor. I heard Nan
talking.
``Whit, you pitched a bad game but--'' there
was the old teasing, arch, coquettishness--``but
you are the best pitcher!''
``Nan!''
``Yes!''
BREAKING INTO FAST COMPANY
They may say baseball is the same in the minor
leagues that it is in the big leagues, but any old
ball player or manager knows better. Where the
difference comes in, however, is in the greater
excellence and unity of the major players, a speed,
a daring, a finish that can be acquired only in
competition with one another.
I thought of this when I led my party into
Morrisey's private box in the grand stand of the
Chicago American League grounds. We had
come to see the Rube's break into fast company.
My great pitcher, Whittaker Hurtle, the Rube,
as we called him, had won the Eastern League
Pennant for me that season, and Morrisey, the
Chicago magnate, had bought him. Milly, my
affianced, was with me, looking as happy as she
was pretty, and she was chaperoned by her
mother, Mrs. Nelson.
With me, also, were two veterans of my team,
McCall and Spears, who lived in Chicago, and
who would have traveled a few miles to see the
Rube pitch.
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