Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 123, No. 4 — page 149: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

PINK THREEBAGGERS. 655 Not that I had such a rotten team. I possessed two good pitchers, a peppery backstop, and some fair fielders. There wasn’t a real hard hitter in the line-up, however, and all my efforts to corral a bar- ricade-buster were as fruitless as cherry- trees in December. It made me scratch my knob until my fingers were full of slivers. I was in the wreck of an office the com- pany kindly donated me at the plant one beautiful Monday mornin’ tryin’ to get over the disaster of the Sunday before. We had lost everythin’ from the game to two new balls and a pair of spiked shoes, and I was in a swell humor for a murder, with a little dash of mayhem on the side. ‘Suddenly my door pops open, and a pretty muscular yokel pops in. He slams the door shut, takes a quick look around the hovel, and then gargles at me: “‘ Are you alone?” “Not now,” I come back. “ Especially since you came in.’ What’s on your chest?” - . “ My shirt, of course,” says he. “I’m as comical as you are, brother. But I’m not here to bandy words. I have somethin’ I want to lay before you.” “You may continue,” I remark. “ Well, then, can you find a place for a 400 hitter on your ball team?” , “Not a place,” I corrected. ‘“ Nine places.” | “Good! Sheves out a contract. I'll sign on the dotted line now.” “Wait a minute! Wait a minute! Hold your fiery steeds! How do I know whether you can hit your weight in cream puffs?” ‘“‘ Ah, that’s it. You don’t know. But Tl show you, brother. I’m the genuine shower from showville. Give me a look!” “You're awful fresh, cutie,” I tell him, “but I’m as hard up for stickers as Austria is for ice-cream,:and I’d give any guy a chance, even if he had learned to bat in a correspondence-school. Have you a name, and, if so, what is it?”’ “IT belong to the well and favorably known Smith family. Leander Lucas Smith is the name. When do you want to sample a bit of my prowess?” ‘“‘ Come around this afternoon—no, make it to-morrow. My sterlin’ athletes will be practisin’. around three o’clock. We'll see what you can do.” “T’'ll say you will,” says Leander Lucas, and bids me good mornin’. He acted like a kinda nut, but he was a husky fish, and certainly would be as useful as a diamond in an engagement ring if he could clout the old agate for base knocks. I had a hope he would come through. Leander wandered onto the grounds back of the plant the next afternoon while the boys was chasin’ flies and trappin’ grass- cutters, and gave the talent a few glances. He wore no uniform nor baseball shoes, but had a tattered baseball cap perched on his raven locks. “Think you can go and smack a couple?”’ I ask. “ All I request is a chance and a cue,”’ Leander replies. I called over Andy Swanson, my big righthander, and catcher Joe Strong, and told them that a new recruit was goin’ to try his luck with the ash. Andy grinned. He has a great fast ball, with as much hop as any heaver’s I lamped in the Coast League. He has. scared more than one amateur batter half to death with his . smoke. “You hit right-handed?” he says to Leander Lucas. “No, I bat left-handed.” “Like Babe Ruth,” chirps Joe Strong. “Oh, no!” Andy shakes his head. “ He may bat left-handed, but not like Babe Ruth. That’s different.” “Don’t lose any sleep over it, Mr. Pitcher,” snaps Smith. “ All you have to do is get out on that hill, throw one, and duck your head.” A couple of the boys snickered, and Andy got sore as a cut lip. He marched out to the slab with his teeth set, and I rather pitied Leander Lucas. That young man calmly selected a wil- low, hefted it, and then dropped it. Pullin’ a case from his pocket, he opened it and drew out a pair of glasses, which he pro- © ceeded to hang in front of his eyes. They were the funniest glasses I ever saw in my life—quite thick, and of an odd, pink shade. “ Your eyes weak?” I gargle. “ This club ain’t no place for blind men!”’ | OHIO STATE UCOHMIEDOOk