“Now show some pep!” he barked. “Get out there and act alive. Some of you stuffed sausages will be benched mighty quick if you don’t wake up, and I’m giving it to you square. Ten dollars a month would buy the lot of you if anyone made the offer!”
Wayne awoke to the fact that the mustached man was Mr. Steve Milburn, something he had not suspected, since he had thought to find the manager in street clothes. Wayne viewed his angry countenance with sinking heart. The big pitcher was right, he concluded. This was no moment to approach Mr. Milburn with the expectation of getting a hearing. He made himself as small and inconspicuous as he might, finding a seat on the empty bench, and for the ensuing half-hour watched the Harrisville Badgers go through their morning practice.
The practice wasn’t much different from what the Chenangos were accustomed to. Harrisville showed more certainty and ease and speed in handling the ball, and there were fewer slip-ups, but, on the other hand, Wayne thought there was something rather perfunctory about the work. Manager Milburn was after his charges every minute, barking and snarling, and nothing appeared to please him the least bit in the world. Wayne began to wonder whether it would not be the part of wisdom to take himself off and let the interview wait until after dinner or even tomorrow. There came no sign from the red-haired pitcher--his name appeared to be Herring, according to the irate manager, and “Red,” if you believed the players--who was working out near by in company with three other twirlers and two catchers. Manager Milburn was behind the plate and the rest of the players, with the exception of two, were in the field. The two took turns at batting, laying down bunts, cracking out liners and arching long flies at the behest of the manager. A short, stocky youngster named Nye was pitching. It was interesting enough and Wayne would have enjoyed it had it not been for that letter in his pocket toward which his hand strayed every minute or two.
After a while Nye gave way to one of the batters, who, it appeared, was also a pitcher, and retired to the bench beside Wayne. Several not over-clean towels draped an end of the seat and Nye seized one and patted the perspiration from his streaming face.