he black list and that we had no use for deserters in
our business.

"Spec's you's a' right, Cap'n," he replied and then he added, with a
woe-begone expression of countenance that would have brought tears of
pity to the eyes of a mule: "I'se done had a mighty ha'd time of et
since I left all you uns." I told him that he looked like it, but that
he had deserved it all, and that we were done with him, and this nearly
broke his heart. When I got back to the car I found the little "coon"
there, and ordered him out, but the boys interceded for him, raised a
purse, in which I chipped in my share, of course, and I finally
consented that he should accompany us as far as San Francisco, and
farther, provided that he behaved himself.

The little coon did not prove to be much of a mascot for Chicago that
afternoon, as the All-Americans dropped to Ryan's slow left-handed
delivery after the fifth inning, he having been a puzzle to them up to
that time, and pounded him all over the field, they finally winning by a
score of 12 to 2. The heavy batting pleased the Omaha people, however,
and they cheered the All-Americans again and again.

That night we were off for Hastings, Neb., where we were scheduled to
play the next day. Arriving there Clarence Duval was taken out, given a
bath, against which he fought with tooth and nail, arrayed in a light
checked traveling suit with a hat to match, new underwear and linen,
patent leather shoes and a cane. When he marched onto the field that
afternoon he was the observed of all observers, and attracted so much
attention from President Spalding, who had been absent on a trip to
Kansas City, and who had returned just in time to see his performance,
that it was at once decided to take him to Australia. The contract that
he was made to sign was an ironclad one, and one that carried such
horrible penalties with it in case of desertion that it was enough to
scare the little darkey almost to death. When I looked him over that
night on the train I told him that I should not be in the least
surprised were he again to desert us at San Francisco, and especially if
Miss Jarbeau should run across him.

"Den dat's jest 'case you doan' know me," he retorted; "I specs dat if
dat 'ooman sees me now," and here he looked himself over admiringly,
"she's jes' say to me, 'My gracious, Clarence, whar you been? Come right
along wid me, my boy, an' doan' let me lose sight ob you no more.' I
know she'd just say dat."