the principal feature of a face that was now clouded with vexation.
"Swift, how many tons of ore did the Milliken bill of lading call for?" Mr. Talbott asked sharply.
Speedy looked up, considered the matter a moment and said cheerfully, "I don't know."
"And when were we to ship that consignment of steel to Carey Brothers, in Boston?" Mr. Talbott continued.
Speedy looked at him blankly, sought vainly to fix the answer in his mind, gave it up and answered, "I forget."
Mr. Talbott nodded his head grimly, as if Speedy's replies only confirmed what he had expected. He glanced down at the paper with the baseball headline in Speedy's pocket. He recalled his clerk's actions as the wad of paper had struck him in the forehead. The Talbott jaws tightened. An ironic smile twitched at the manager's lips.
He asked abruptly, "What is Babe Ruth's batting average at present?"
A broad grin suffused Speedy's features. He came back without hesitation, joyously, ".356—that's counting yesterday's double header."
"And what is Gehrig batting?"
".362—he got three hits yesterday. And if he—"
"I suppose you also know who has stolen the most bases?"
"Sure—Ty Cobb. Up to yesterday he had stolen—"
Mr. Talbott held up a thin, impatient white hand to stop the rush of words to Speedy's lips.
