"It was a thirteen
inning game, and it lasted until six o'clock."
It was then that Papa Keller banged the heavy fist of decision
down on the library table.
"This thing's got to stop!" he thundered. "I won't have any
girl of mine running the streets with a ball player, understand?
Now you quit seeing this seventy-five-dollars-a-month bush leaguer
or leave this house. I mean it."
"All right," said Ivy, with a white-hot calm. "I'll leave.
I can make the grandest kind of angel-food with marshmallow icing,
and you know yourself my fudges can't be equaled. He'll be playing
in the major leagues in three years. Why just yesterday there was
a strange man at the game--a city man, you could tell by his
hat-band, and the way his clothes were cut. He stayed through the
whole game, and never took his eyes off Rudie. I just know he was
a scout for the Cubs."
"Probably a hardware drummer, or a fellow that Schlachweiler
owes money to."
Ivy began to pin on her hat. A scared look leaped into Papa
Keller's eyes. He looked a little old, too, and drawn, at that
minute. He stretched forth a rather tremulous hand.
"Ivy-girl," he said.
"What?" snapped Ivy.
"Your old father's just talking for your own good. You're
breaking your ma's heart. You and me have been good pals, haven't
we?"
"Yes," said Ivy, grudgingly, and without looking up.
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