Part 36 (1/2)
”There's one thing I want to find out,” said Swanson, clenching his fist. ”And that is who the big guy was that Edwards hired as his slugger. The season won't be complete until I hook this old grounder grabber of mine on his jaw.”
”I've got a bit of business,” announced McCarthy, after an hour of excited conversation.
”Wait till she gets through breakfast,” insinuated Swanson insultingly.
”Going to desert your old pal for a skirt so soon?”
”Aw, shut up,” said McCarthy. ”I've got to thank her, haven't I?”
Swanson was silent for an instant. A serious expression came over his homely, good-natured face.
”I hope you win her, Kohinoor,” he said, simply, putting his big arm across McCarthy's shoulders. ”You deserve her--I wanted her myself, once.”
Without another word he went over and sat down, picking up a paper, and McCarthy, walking to him, said:
”I'm sorry, Silent, maybe”----
”No maybe about it,” said Swanson without looking up, ”I lost, long ago.”
McCarthy descended two flights of stairs and knocked timidly at the door of the Clancy apartments. He expected to find Betty Tabor with Mrs. Clancy, but the girl was alone, the Clancys not having finished their breakfast.
”Betty,” he exclaimed, taking both her outstretched hands, ”Betty--I had to come--I wanted to tell you--I love you.”
”Oh,” she said in surprise, ”I”----
His arm slipped around her waist and he drew her close.
”I have loved you from the first,” he said, pleadingly. ”I wanted to tell you yesterday. I thought you cared then; you do care for me, don't you?”
”Yes, Larry,” she said softly, hiding her face. ”I think I have--from the first.”
”From the first--the very first, dearest?” he asked tenderly. ”From the day we met--years ago?”
”Years ago?” she asked in surprise. ”Then you are? Yes, you are; you must be the little boy who was crying in the train? I knew when you came with the club we had met somewhere, and I could not remember where.”
”Did you remember the little boy?” he asked.
”Yes, Larry,” she said ”I never have forgotten. I used to pray for him every night; that he might be happy in his new home. I kept the picture of him that was taken at Portland and I often have thought of him.”
”It must have been meant that we should meet, dearest,” he whispered.
”Yes, Larry,” she replied softly.
He kissed her and held her close.
”Larry!” he exclaimed. ”Where did you learn my name, sweetheart?”
”The old gentleman in the box next to us at the game called you Larry--and it seemed to fit you better than Jim does.” She laughed.
”He is my uncle--my father, almost. You will meet him soon, and then I will explain how I became McCarthy.”