Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 123, No. 4 — page 150: what you’re looking at

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

656 ‘You didn’t fmd me playin’ no violin outa tune on a street corner, did you?” barks Leander. ‘ Wait and see how blind I am.”’ ‘Tf we take on this bird,” says Carl Miller, the first baseman, who figures to be sarcastic, “‘ we’d better find a few fellows on crutches and sign them, too.” “Yes,” I tell him. “ We'll put one on first base, if we do.” Leander had advanced to the plate, and was standin’ up there like a real clouter, pink glasses or no pink glasses. Andy took a big windup and let go his fast one. “Look out it don’t hit you!”’ he hollers. Leander Lucas Smith took a man-sized cut at that streak of speed and— Boy! I'll swear I never saw a ball hit harder in my life. The pill went clear over a row of freight-cars in right field, and I'll bet our mouths were as wide open as gamblin’ in Tia Juana. Andy Swanson couldn’t believe it himself. After Leander had clicked a dozen or two drives, and Fred Miske, my southpaw, had received as rough maulin’ as Andy, I stopped the slaughter. The fielders had their’ tongues hangin’ out from shaggin long-distance blows. “You'll do!”’ I announce. you play—infield or outfield?” ““T roam the gardens,” says Leander. ‘‘Bring on your contract, brother. How much lettuce do I get to add my irresistible sluggin’ to this crew of wheat-grinders?” I haggled a while over terms, but finally landed him on the pay-roll. “We play only Saturday and Sunday afternoons,” I says to him. ‘ The rest of the ‘week you work in the plant and practise.” ‘“ All the work I’ll do you can put in the eye of a needle and still be able to thread it,” he chirps. ‘I’m a ball-player, I am.” “ You listen like it,’ I confess. ‘‘ This week we entertain a ship-yard team from Portland for three contests—one Saturday matinee, and a double bill Sunday.” ‘“* Bring ’em on.” “Tell me one thing,” I entreat. ‘“ Why do you wear those funny pink glasses? Do you need ’em?” “What do DIgitiz ry Go ogle _ ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. “Do I need them! Does a fish need scales? Does rhubarb pie need rhubarb? Does coffee require cream? I'll say I need ’em! ? ‘" Don’t be an old woman,” rebukes Lean- der severely. ‘Curiosity killed a cat. ' You’d hate to be a cat, wouldn’t you?” I quit, and let our newest recruit keep his pink-hued secret for the time bein’. On Saturday afternoon I inserted him into the line-up against our ship-yard visi- tors, puttin’ him in the clean-up position. Most of the ship men were old leaguers, and right off the bat they began to razz Leander Lucas. “Where did you get Pinky, Mac?” they ask me, but I just grin. The first time Leander came to bat, “Suds ” Southey, who was hurlin’ for the opposition, affected great astonishment. “‘ Hello, Goggles!” he calls out. “ Think you'll need four eyes to see the apple to-day?” “Tf a one-eyed man couldn’ bust your curves he oughta hang his head in shame,” Leander sneers. ‘‘I can hear the glass rattlin’ around your elbow every time you throw. Let me look at one, you old has- been!” | | “See what you can do with this, you fresh rube!” snarls Suds, burnin’ one his direction. No, Leander didn’t do nothin’ to that one. Just slapped it up against the fence for three cushions. ‘You are goin’ to be a great help to my battin’ average,” he squawks from third base. ‘I oughta hit 1.000 to-day.” ae What’s.more, he did. Four times he leaned against the marble for three-baggers, and the fans were ravin’ wild over that boy. Pink glasses or not, he was a sweet hitter. Not only did we ‘wallop the ship-yarders that afternoon, but we handed them a-twin lickin’ Sunday. Leander Lucas Smith was on the job every minute. He played nice ball in the outfield, and ir fourteen excur- sions to the pan rapped out ten solid knocks. He seemed te have a failin’ for triples, and Carl Miller began to call Leander the ‘‘ guy who swats the pink three-baggers.” For the next month Leander was the loud 9A HUE DOOLK (A)