The young woman hesitated, then with a wan, grateful smile murmured, “Thank you, sir, I will.”
“Now, you just go around the corner and wait.” Castorious led her a few steps toward the corner.
When she had gotten out of sight he took a roll of bills from his pocket, and detaching one, put it in his hat. “Dig up,” he said, thrusting the hat under Mac’s snub nose.
“Cas, you’re easy. You remember Ayers, don’t you?” replied Mac.
“I do. He was strictly N.G., a booze fighter, an all-around scamp. I wouldn’t give him the price of a drink. But that girl, his wife—did you see her face?”
“I did,” growled Mac, with his hand moving slowly toward his pocket.
“Dig up, then.”
Mac dug, and generously. The tall pitcher loomed over Thatcher. “Can you spare the price of a few neckties to aid a poor woman?” he asked, sarcastically.
“I can,” instantly replied the Dude, throwing a bill into Cas’s hat.
Ball players fight out rivalries even in their charities. Cas glanced grandly down on the Dude, and then passed to Havil.
“The pot’s opened for five,” he said to Havil. Next to shooting shot, Havil liked best a game of poker. In a flash he had contributed to the growing fund.
“I’m in, and it costs two more to play,” he replied. “Hicks, come on.”
“Cas, I’m broke, an’ Mac won’t give me a cent till Saturday night,” answered Hicks.
“Borrow, then,” rejoined Cas curtly. He threw his roll of bills into the catcher’s lap.
Chase and several of the other players were ready for Cas, and so escaped calumny. Enoch mildly expostulated. “I’m gettin’ tired of bein’ buncoed this way,” he remarked.
“Produce. Ain’t you the captain? Don’t you draw the biggest salary? Produce,” went on the inexorable Cas.
“But, Cas, you’re always helpin’ some beggar or other.”
“Wha-at!” demanded Cas hotly. “It was only last week you touched the team for a hobo. Produce!”
Enoch meekly produced.
“Wha’s the matter?” inquired Benny, lounging out of the hotel door. As usual he was under the influence of drink.
“Hol’ on, Cas—gee! Wha’s all the dough for? Lemme in.”
“Never mind, Benny,” replied Cas.” Just raising a little collection for Jim Ayers’ wife. Remember Jim?”
“Got drunk with Jim many a time—hol’ on there. Wha’s the matter? Is my money counterfeit?”
Benny was the most improvident of fellows. He seldom had any money. And his bad habit excluded him from many of the plans and pleasures of his comrades.
“Say, Benny, this isn’t a matter of the price of a beer,” replied Cas, moving toward the corner.
Benny straightened up. “You’re only kiddin’ me—if I thought you meant that for an insult—say! I’m just as much a sport an’ gennelman as you, any day.”
Thereupon Benny soberly thrust his hand into his pocket, pulled out a bill and some silver, soberly turned the pocket inside out to get the small change, and with great dignity dropped all the money into Cas’s hat.
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