"Well now, look here. I've got a proposition to make to you.
The season's over in two more weeks. The last week they play out
of town. Then the boys'll come back for a week or so, just to hang
around town and try to get used to the idea of leaving us. Then
they'll scatter to take up their winter jobs-cutting ice, most of
'em," he added, grimly.
"Mr. Schlachweiler is employed in a large establishment in
Slatersville, Ohio," said Ivy, with dignity. "He regards baseball
as his profession, and he cannot do anything that would affect his
pitching arm."
Pa Keller put on the tremolo stop and brought a misty look
into his eyes.
"Ivy, you'll do one last thing for your old father, won't
you?"
"Maybe," answered Ivy, coolly.
"Don't make that fellow any promises. Now wait a minute! Let
me get through. I won't put any crimp in your plans. I won't
speak to Schlachweiler. Promise you won't do anything rash until
the ball season's over. Then we'll wait just one month, see? Till
along about November. Then if you feel like you want to see
him----"
"But how----"
"Hold on. You mustn't write to him, or see him, or let him
write to you during that time, see? Then, if you feel the way you
do now, I'll take you to Slatersville to see him. Now that's fair,
ain't it? Only don't let him know you're coming.
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