The daily monitor leader. [volume] (Mount Clemens, Mich.) 1942-19??, 1943-01-04

diOiiB TIC iCNcl pdNSu AOdu, past
the elms and the broad lawns
of the manor houses. Cynthia
Merriwether was driving, and it
was an astonishing thing that
she could invest even so COM
moi.place an occupation with a
spirit of zest and gaiety. She
was a lovely creature. with
golden red hair and bright blue
eye. and laughter that trailed
through the open windows of
tie wagon to hang in the soft
air.
1t was in the nature of things
that she should have not one
companion, but three, and all
of these three men. Henry Prem
tiss was beside her on the front
seat, amiably assuring her that
within the next two hours she
would be bankrupt.
"You haven't chance in the
world, Miss Pretty" he said.
Even if your precious Whirl-
winds had Tommy Hitchcock
playing number three they
couldn't beat my crowd today.
We're hot, I tell you"
But remember" she said,
you're out of it. How can Clo-
yer get anywhere at all without
Il magnificent Prentiss-won-
der of the west, southpaw mar
vel of the times?"
Prentiss laughed. Glover
goes up three goals, Pretty,
when Prentiss takes to the side
lines. I'd rather have Mike in
ere any day, if Mike is mount
ed right. He will be today"
He was an easy sort of man.
His blond hair was burnt with
the sun and wind. His very blue
eyes rarely lost their touch of
laughter, of some profound and
secret amusement that nudged
his soul, day in, day out. He
was strongly made. and his
shoulders seemed, perhaps, a
trifle broader than they really
were beneath the exaggerated
checks of his pale tweed jacket.
Toby Parker, leaning be-
tween them from the back seat,
was tight and nervous. How do
you get rated, anyway, Hank?"
he asked. Il thought they ruled
out lefthanders three or four
years ago."
Fred West, who sat beside
him, was in quick agreement.
Its dangerous stuff, you know.
Hank, To tell the truth, / al
ways 60 haywire when l see you
coming down on the ball. Have
Mt the faintest idea which side
you're going to play. Horror of
smashing into you head on"
Both of the younger men
were in boots and white breech-
es and the absurd gray and
green checked shirts of the
Whirlwind side. Behind them on
the floor of the wagon, were
sticks and helmets, spurs and
whips and spare tack and cam
els hair coats and gaudily strip
ed towels.
Prentiss grinned at them.
"Well, it's little like the time
they ruled out spitball pitchers
in baseball. All spitballers in
good standing could keep on
playing, at least until that head
on collision removed them from
the lists. l even think about its
possibilities myself, sometimes"
Cynthia turned her head
about to regard the younger
men. The station wagon, by
some special miracle, continued
true upon its course. "You
hearties are beginning to sound
a little jittery," she observed.
Get your minds off the game.
Think about Ginger Rogers or
Fred Allen. Because you've got
to win, you know. I've got mil
lions"
I'D feel lot easier" Toby
Parker said, IF you hadn't put
all that Jack on us. Even if it is
only thousands instead Of your
crazy exaggeration, l don't like
to play for anybody's chips but
mine. And if it doesn't annoy
you too much, Cynnie, there's a
Mack truck coming out Of Mill
er's drive.
She laughed and turned her
eyes to the road. They slipped
around the truck, and Cynthia
exchanged a quick, amused
glance with Henry Prentiss.
You know she said. II do
not really mind if they're a lit
tie ner-vi-ous."