hat and bearing on straps around his shoulders a big tray laden with merchandise to sell to hungry, thirsty and information-craving fandom.
Speedy hesitated no longer. He also strode up to the still worried man with the derby. His Smythe's Sweets Shoppe experience would come in handy now.
"Mr. Todd sent me here. Said you were short," said Speedy brazenly.
"Another one of you," sighed the derbied one. "Todd's waking up at last. Come around and get your outfit."
Speedy was around in a flash. In the compartment back of the counter he found caps, coats and trays neatly laid out on shelves. He helped himself to one of each. The cap was too small, sitting only on the topmost part of his head, but there was no time to be lost. The man in the derby selected an array of saleables and piled them on the tray, checking them on a little pad.
"Two sections to the right and down one—and go to work," said the manager behind the counter.
Speedy obeyed. "Peanuts, popcorn, chewing gum and corn crisp! All the players and how they go to bat! Can't tell the players without a score card! Ice cold pop, gents," sang out Speedy, having listened to the vendors at baseball games carefully and also having done this same type of job once before at a carnival. He knew the jargon. He could hurl a box of crackerjack twenty feet down a row of seats with the best of them and catch the patron's dime as it came spinning through the air
