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A groan arose from all Meadow Brook. The second batsman shot a stinger to Princeman, who dropped it, and that batsman immediately thereafter roosted on first, crowing triumphantly; but the hot liner allowed Princeman a graceful opportunity. He complained of a badly hurt finger on his pitching hand.
Despairingly Sam sat down and proceeded briefly and concisely to explain to him the various plans of incorporation which had been proposed. Ten minutes later he almost groaned, as a trap, drawn by a pair of handsome buckskin horses, driven by Princeman and containing Miss Josephine, crunched upon the gravel driveway in front of the porch. Miss Stevens greeted Mr.
"I can't promise," said Stevens, and he walked out on the porch. Much worried, Sam followed him, and with many misgivings he introduced Mr. Stevens to his brother Jack and to Mr. Creamer. The prospective organizers of the Marsh Pulp Company were already in solemn conclave on the porch, with the single exception of Princeman, who was on the lawn talking most perfunctorily with Miss Josephine.
"Do you play base-ball?" inquired McComas. "A little. I used to catch, to help out my kid brother, who is an expert pitcher." "Good!" said McComas, writing down Sam's name. "Princeman will pitch, but we needed a catcher. The rivalry between Meadow Brook and Hollis Creek is intense this year.
"Hollis Creek mustn't win, you know." "I'm as near fit as usual," said Billy; "but Princeman is the chap who's going to carry off the honors for Meadow Brook. Bowled an average last night of two forty-five. I'm sorry you couldn't make the team." "I should have started fifteen years ago to do that," said Sam with a wry smile.
With undiminished confidence, though somewhat annoyed, Princeman made a cute little knot of himself for the next batsman. Spat! The ball landed in Sam's glove, two feet wide of the plate. "Ball one!" called Blackstone. Spat! In Sam's glove again, with the batsman jumping back to save his ribs. "Ball two!" cried Blackstone. Spat! "Ball three."
Princeman was especially severe. "There is no question but that these samples are convincing of their own excellence," he admitted; "but properly to estimate the value of both pulp and paper, it would be necessary to know, by rigid experiment, the precise difficulties of manufacture, to say nothing of the manner in which these particular specimens were produced." Mr.
"It would be a shame not to let Princeman in on that pin-hook match," he suggested. "Why not put it off until to-morrow morning. I have an idea that I can beat Princeman at the game." There was more or less of sudden challenge in his tone, and Princeman, keen as Sam himself, took it in that way. "Fine!" he invited. "Any time you want to enter into a contest with me you just mention it."
Princeman, his confidence loftily unshaken, gave a correct imitation of a pretzel and delivered the ball. The batsman swung viciously at it. Spat! It landed in Sam's glove. "Strike one!" called the strident voice of Blackrock, who, jerking himself back several years into youth again, was umpiring the game with great joy. Nonchalantly Sam snapped the ball back over-hand.
Princeman, with a wince, did, for G. W. Creamer and the Eureka Paper Mills were his most successful competitors in the manufacture of special-priced high-grade papers. Mr. Cuthbert also knew Mr. Creamer intimately. "Good," said Sam; "then Mr. Creamer's letter will have some weight," and he turned it over to Mr. Blackrock.
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