“Got mine tattooed the same way,” said the Pitcher, pulling up the sleeve of his coat in turn.

They discussed shirts.

“Funny thing,” said Bean.  “Chap down in the office with me, worth about a hundred million if he’s worth a cent, wears separate cuffs; fastens ’em on with those nickel jiggers.”

“Had a fellow on the team last year did the same thing,” said the Pitcher.  “He’s back to the bush now, though.  The hick used to wear a made-up neck tie, too, till the other lads kidded him out of it.”

“You must get a lot of those Silases, one time and another,” said Bean sympathetically.  He was wondering; the fellow had referred at least indirectly to his calling.

“In the box, to-day?” he asked, feeling brazen.

The Pitcher nodded.

“You certainly pitched some air-tight ball last time I saw you.  Say, I’ll tell you something.  If I ever have a kid, you know what’s going to happen?  Nothing used but his left hand from the cradle up; and, for toys one league ball and a light bat.  That’s all.”

“Right way,” said the Pitcher approvingly.

“I’m only afraid the managers will get wise to him and not let him finish out his college course,” said Bean.  “I don’t know, though.  I’ll be in the business myself by that time; may sign him on myself.”

“Like it?” asked the Pitcher, interestedly.

“Like it!  Say, what else is there? Like it!  I’m only keeping on down there in the Street till I put a certain deal through; then nothing but old Base B. Ball for mine!  You’ll see.  I’ll pick up one the big clubs somewhere if money’ll do it!”

“Well, it’s the one branch of the business where you don’t have to treat your arm like a sick baby,” said the Pitcher.  “Say, you want to come inside a while?”

To Bean’s amazement the car had stopped before the players’ entrance.  He had supposed himself miles back in the country.  Did he want to go inside for a while!  He was out of the car as quickly as Nap could have achieved it.

“What did you say your name was?” asked the Pitcher.

He was in a long room lined with lockers.  He recognized several players lounging there.  A big man with a hard face, half in a uniform, was singing, “Though Silver Threads Are ’Mong the Gold, I Love You Just the Same.”  These men were requested to shake hands with the Pitcher’s friend, Mr. Bean.  They were also told informally that his new check suit was some suit.

“I’ll soon have one coming off the same piece,” said the Pitcher.

They went through a little door and out upon the grounds.  A few players were idling there, only two of the pitchers being in uniform.  The vast empty stands and bleachers seemed to confer privacy upon an informal and friendly gathering.

Several more players shook hands with the Pitcher’s friend, Mr. Bean, and the circumstance of his presence was explained.