and sunshiny. Almost unconsciously his hurrying feet propelled him up Broad Street instead of over to Broadway to the subway. There was a scoreboard up near the World Building. He would just give it a glance as he passed and find out how the Yankees were doing. Then he would leap aboard an express and rush to the Envoy.
A dense mob packed the sidewalk in front of the scoreboard and surged out into the street, requiring the services of two harassed mounted policemen to keep them in order. Harold circled the outside of the crowd, just avoiding a police horse's prancing hoofs, and attempted to look up over the men in front of him at the scoreboard. It was impossible. The broad backs completely cut off his view. He pushed and prodded his way into the mass. But this was worse yet. He anxiously asked a tall man ahead of him how the game was going.
"Nothin' to nothin' in the fifth," was the answer.
Suddenly a groan swept the crowd.
"What happened?" Speedy cried out excitedly.
"Detroit scored a run," replied the tall man.
"That's a shame, but Babe'll show 'em," Speedy urged. Poor Mr. Talbott. Poor lady at the Hotel Envoy. The mind of the courier bearing the token from one to the other was now completely filled with nothing but baseball. The flowers hanging limply in his hand were forgotten. He tried to butt his way in toward a position that would enable him to get a clear view of the scoreboard. In vain. He looked around for a possible vantage spot. A broad glistening window in a building opposite caught his
