"Polo Grounds," called Bean to Paul. "Hurry and turn around there, someway." He was afraid his guest might reconsider.
But the guest sat contentedly enough, the car was turned, and presently was speeding back toward town. The person in a taxi-cab which made the same turn a moment later was heard to say, "What the devil now?" with no discernible relevance.
"Living out this way?" asked Bean when he was again certain of his voice-control.
"No; only went out to stay over night with some friends. Had to get back this morning. They told me to take that car and change at"
"Ought to have one these," said Bean, "then you know where you are."
"This runs well," said the Pitcher affably.
"'S little old last year's car," said Bean with skilled ennui.
He was trying to remember—mustn't talk to a ball-player about ball; they're sick of it.
"Got a busy day ahead of me in the Street," he said brightly. "I was only taking a little spin to get my head cleared out. Have to keep your head clear down there!"
"Say, that's some suit you have on," said the Pitcher with frank admiration. "I like that check."
"Do you?" asked Bean, trying not to choke. Then, "Where'd you get yours? I was noticing that suit the other night; saw you up at Claremont"
