“Giants!”

“Wow!” said the butler.

No sense of anything strange or untoward about the situation came to mar the perfect joy of Mr. Pett, the overmastering joy of the baseball fan who in a strange land unexpectedly encounters a brother.  He thrilled with a happiness which he had never hoped to feel that morning.

“No signs of them slumping?” enquired the butler.

“No.  But you never can tell.  It’s early yet.  I’ve seen those boys lead the league till the end of August and then be nosed out.”

“True enough,” said the butler sadly.

“Matty’s in shape.”

“He is?  The old souper working well?”

“Like a machine.  He shut out the Cubs the day before I sailed!”

“Fine!”

At this point an appreciation of the unusualness of the proceedings began to steal upon Mr. Pett.  He gaped at this surprising servitor.

“How on earth do you know anything about baseball?” he demanded.

The other seemed to stiffen.  A change came over his whole appearance.  He had the air of an actor who has remembered his part.

“I beg your pardon, sir.  I trust I have not taken a liberty.  I was at one time in the employment of a gentleman in New York, and during my stay I became extremely interested in the national game.  I picked up a few of the American idioms while in the country.”  He smiled apologetically.  “They sometimes slip out.”

“Let ’em slip!” said Mr. Pett with enthusiasm.  “You’re the first thing that’s reminded me of home since I left.  Say!”

“Sir?”

“Got a good place here?”

“Er—­oh, yes, sir.”

“Well, here’s my card.  If you ever feel like making a change, there’s a job waiting for you at that address.”

“Thank you, sir.”  Mr. Crocker stooped.

“Your hat, sir.”

He held it out, gazing fondly at it the while.  It was like being home again to see a hat like that.  He followed Mr. Pett as he went into the morning-room with an affectionate eye.

Bayliss was coming along the hall, hurrying more than his wont.  The ring at the front door had found him deep in an extremely interesting piece of news in his halfpenny morning paper, and he was guiltily aware of having delayed in answering it.

“Bayliss,” said Mr. Crocker in a cautious undertone, “go and tell Mrs. Crocker that Mrs. Pett is waiting to see her.  She’s in the morning-room.  If you’re asked, say you let her in.  Get me?”

“Yes, sir,” said Bayliss, grateful for this happy solution.

“Oh, Bayliss!”

“Sir?”

“Is the wicket at Lord’s likely to be too sticky for them to go on with that game to-day?”

“I hardly think it probable that there will be play, sir.  There was a great deal of rain in the night.”

Mr. Crocker passed on to his den with a lighter heart.

* * * * *