She saw the flash in his gray eyes and the heat
of his bronzed face as he looked intently at the
big catcher.
``Fade away, sonny. Back to the bush-league
for yours!'' replied Carroll, derisively. ``You're
not fast enough for Kansas City. You look pretty
good in a uniform and you're swift on your feet,
but you can't hit. You've got a glass arm and
you run bases like an ostrich trying to side. That
notice was coming to you. Go learn the game!''
Then a crowd of players trooped noisily out of
the hotel lobby and swept Sheldon and Carroll
down the porch steps toward the waiting omnibus.
Madge's uncle owned the Kansas City club.
She had lived most of her nineteen years in a
baseball atmosphere, but accustomed as she was
to baseball talk and the peculiar banterings and
bickerings of the players, there were times when
it seemed all Greek. If a player got his ``notice''
it meant he would be released in ten days. A
``knocker'' was a ball player who spoke ill of
his fellow players. This scrap of conversation,
however, had an unusual interest because Carroll
had paid court to her for a year, and Sheldon,
coming to the team that spring, had fallen
desperately in love with her. She liked Sheldon
pretty well, but Carroll fascinated her. She began
to wonder if there were bad feelings between the
rivals--to compare them--to get away from herself
and judge them impersonally.
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