er brogue
broadening. "Ye have Irish in ye, but ye're not Irish. Is baseball
such a disgraceful business ye are ashamed to use your name?"

"Of course not, Mrs. Clancy," he responded indignantly. "It is a good
enough business--but--but--Oh, I can't explain."

"This mystery business is a big drawing card," remarked Manager Clancy,
endeavoring to ease the situation. "They flock to see him because each
one can make up his own story. Let him alone, mother. Don't spoil the
gate receipts."

"Let him alone, is it?" she asked, turning upon her husband. "'Tis for
his own sake I'm speaking. They'll be saying you've done something bad
and wicked and are afraid to use your own name."

"What isn't true cannot hurt anyone," he replied quickly. "I have not
committed any crimes."

"Mother is a good deal right about it," remarked Clancy quietly. "A
baseball player is a public person. The fans are likely to say
anything about a player, and the less they know the more they will
invent."

"I believe Mother Clancy is right," said Miss Taber, seeing that her
effort to turn the conversation had failed.

"But there really isn't anything to tell--anything any one would be
interested in. It's a private matter," protested McCarthy.

"Listen, boy," said the manager's wife. "I've been with the boys these
many years. They are all my boys, even the bad ones, and I don't want
any of them talked about."

"There is nothing to talk about," he contended, irritated by the
persistency of the manager's wife.

"They're already saying things," she responded, leaning forward.
"They're a saying that you've done something crooked--that you've
thrown ball games----"

"Oh," ejaculated Miss Taber. "They wouldn't dare!"

"I'd like to have someone say that to me," McCarthy said, flushing with
anger.

"Hold on, mother," interrupted Clancy. "I'm managing this team----Let
up on him. Where do you hear that kind of talk?"

"I heard it in the stands," she argued earnestly. "They were saying
you knew all about it. If you deny it they'll tell another story and
if you keep quiet they'll think its a confession. Tell them what you
are and where you came from, boy."

Her voice was pleading and her interest in his welfare was too real not
to affect him.

"I'm sorry, Mother Clancy," he said gratefully, unconsciously adopting
the term he had heard Betty Tabor use. "There is nothing I can tell
them--or anyone--now."

"It's sorry I am, Jimm