Somewhere he had heard that Salisbury
maintained an unsalaried team. It was notorious
among college athletes that the Bellville Club paid
for the services of distinguished players. And
this in itself rather inclined Wayne to sympathize
with Salisbury. He knew something of the struggles
of a strictly amateur club to cope with its
semi-professional rivals.
As he was sitting there, idly tipped back in a
comfortable chair, dreaming over some of the
baseball disasters he had survived before his college
career, he saw a young man enter the lobby
of the hotel, speak to the clerk, and then turn and
come directly toward the window where Wayne
was sitting.
``Are yon Mr. Wayne, the Yale pitcher?''
he asked eagerly. He was a fair-haired,
clean-cut young fellow, and his voice rang pleasantly.
``Guilty,'' replied Wayne.
``My name's Huling. I'm captain of the Salisbury
nine. Just learned you were in town and
are going to pitch against us tomorrow. Won't
you walk out into the grounds with me now?
You might want to warm up a little.''
``Thank you, yes, I will. Guess I won't need
my suit. I'll just limber up, and give my arm a
good rub.''
It struck Wayne before they had walked far
that Huling was an amiable and likable chap. As
the captain of the Salisbury nine, he certainly
had no reason to be agreeable to the Morristown
``ringer,'' even though Wayne did happen to be
a famous Yale pitcher.
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