athletic regions below. The faint smell of arnica, always present in locker rooms, was in the air. At first Speedy thought the place was deserted, but he soon heard voices in the other end of the room. A low-voiced conversation punctuated with a groan now and then. He walked down between the row of lockers and saw a ball player stretched out upon a rubbing table. One of his stockings was rolled down and a squatty little man was rubbing a badly swollen ankle with a pungent concoction out of a bottle.
"Easy, Barney, easy," the injured man was cautioning.
"The only way to reduce that swelling is to rub it out," grunted his masseur.
Speedy approached closely and was watching this operation with considerable interest when the man addressed as Barney saw him.
"Hey—what are you doing in here?" demanded Barney in a belligerent tone.
"Mr. Ruth sent me here," Speedy replied, not very much ruffled.
"He did, hey. Like fun he did. Now you get the—" Barney stopped his order abruptly. A light seemed to dawn upon his low, beetled brow. "Maybe he did at that." Barney abandoned his rubbing and walked over to the little office adjoining the locker room. He came out with a long, narrow bundle from which he removed the paper. Two long, narrow, yellow baseball bats emerged from the bundle.
"Here's what he sent you for," said Barney.
