Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 123, No. 4 — page 151: what you’re looking at

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

PINK THREEBAGGERS. noise on the mill team. He was a demon with the cue, and never went hitless in a single game we played. Instead of battin’ around .400, I think he was crackin’ them about twice that much. ~ Nobody knew why he always wore them pink glasses, and I heard more theories advanced than there was arguments against the league of nations. Leander never told anyone. ; Off the field he wasn’t a chatty chap, and once in a while would indulge in funny moods. As long as he wrecked the fences we didn’t care, however. Then, one Sunday, Leander showed up for a game at Astoria minus his pink gog- gles. He wag pale as a sheet and sputterin’ naughty words. “T lost em! I lost ’em!”’ he wails. won't be able to hit a flock of bungalows this afternoon!” « Forget it!” I says, tryin’ to be cheerin’. “ You'll hit even better with those pink blinders gone. I don’t see why you ever wore them, anyhow.” “‘ If brains was water you’d die of thirst!” he shoots my way. “I might as well be without a bat as without those glasses.”’ He was right. The only reason he didn’t fan out five times in a row that day was because he wasn’t up to bat but four times. He just seemed to be up there wavin’ at the pill as it flitted by, and we weren’t up against any Alexander, either. That evenin’ we hunted all over an Astoria hotel for Leander’s pink glasses. We understood now that he needed them, all right. Why he had to have ’em was as big a puzzle as the high cost a livin’, but that didn’t make no difference. . One of the maids at the hostelry finally dug them up, unharmed, and I thought Leander was goin’ to marry her, he was so grateful. He had that girl dizzy. I'll bet he kissed her a hundred times before she could get loose. After that Leander Lucas Smith always had his-glasses. We never gave him a chance to mislay them, and those queer, pink lenses were guarded as if they were pure gold and diamonds. No reason they shouldn’t be, the way Leander hit when he had ’em on. 10 A jitized by (SOO gle eT 657 The summer rolled along, and the Ferry Flour Mills team got the rep of bein’ the best semipro array in Oregon, which is not shy of fast clubs. Finally, at the end of the season, a challenge was issued us by the Redlight Rubber Company, which boasted | the champion team of California, and a game was arranged in San Francisco. With Leander and his pink glasses we had a good chance of coppin’, I figured. It made a nice trip from Ashcave to San Francisco, and quite a few of the more vio- ‘lent bugs come along to see the casualties. I took a dozen players besides myself, and one of the main cheeses at the mill locked up his desk and jazzed down with us. Only one game was to be played, and it was scheduled for Saturday afternoon. The San Francisco Seals were on the road, so we managed to get the Coast League Park for the big battle, and all the advertisin’ we got in the newspapers helped pull a big crowd for us The rubber team was undoubtedly fast, and they had the rep of bein’ fightin’ fools from the words “ play ball!” Likewise, they had a pitcher who was said to crochet some of the flossiest benders in the clinic— an ex-American Leaguer named Bartley. Both Fred Miske and Andy Swanson begged me to start the combat, and they spoiled most of my meals the day before the game. I finally decided on Andy. He had the advantage of experience, and I be- lieved his fast ball would keep the Red- light guys backin’ away from the pan. San Francisco turned out in great style to see us clash, and I could see the size of the crowd was makin’ some of the bunch a little nervous. Not Leander Lucas Smith, though. He strolled around with his pink _ glasses, payin’ no attention to the wit and humor wished on him from all sides. ‘Old Pink just lets ’em squawk,” says Joe Strong. ‘ That’s the way. Don’t let those yokels worry you.” “Met a fellow on Market Street last night who was askin’ me some questions about Smith,” says Rudy Kizer. “A big, husky guy. Seemed mighty interested in — him and his pink specs.” “ Mebbe it was a gambler,” utters Carl Miller. ebook