"Where can I find the manager?" asked Dick, of a man who wore a uniform and seemed to be some one in authority.
"In the ticket wagon," was the reply. "But you needn't think you can deadhead in. The free list is suspended."
"I've no intention of asking for a pass," replied Dick, with a smile. "Is the manager in?" he asked, a moment later, of the man who looked out of the high ticket wagon.
"I guess so. What do you want?"
"I want to see him in regard to the next town where he is to play."
"Who is it?" inquired a voice from within the vehicle.
"Some lad from our next town. Maybe the mayor's sent to say he's going to raise the license fee. I never see such a hold-up game as these country mayors try to pull off," and the ticket seller looked disgusted.
"No, I'm not from the mayor," said Dick. "I want to see the manager on my own account."
At this another man joined the one at the ticket window. He was large and fat, and wore a red necktie, in which sparkled a pin with a large stone. He had on a tall hat and a frock coat.
"Come around to the side door," he said, in no very gracious tones, and Dick noticed that a pair of steps at the side gave access to the wagon. He was soon inside the place, which was fitted
