THE MAN IN THE PANAMA
“Tom, do you know Mr. John Hall?”
Sam, swinging his legs from the counter at Cummings and Wright’s, had
to wait a full minute for an answer, for Tom Pollock finished writing
an order for football supplies before he raised his head. It was a
little before nine o’clock on the morning following Sam’s return to
Amesville, and the store was empty of customers. Tom signed “Cummings
and Wright Hardware Co., T. Pollock,” blotted the sheet, and pulled an
envelope toward him.
“John Logan Hall?” asked Tom then, glancing up. “The lawyer, Sam?”
“Yes, I think so. What’s he like?”
“Sort of tall and thin; clean-shaven; wears a Panama hat about ten
years old; lives at the Amesville Club, and has his office in the new
building. Why?”
“Mr. York wants me to go and see him. They’re great friends. He was
visiting Mr. Hall when he saw that game last spring, like I told you.
Is he nice?”
“John Hall? I guess so. I don’t know him except to speak to. He’s been
in here once or twice for golf balls. They say he’s one of the best
players at the Country Club. He seems a nice sort, Sam. I don’t believe
he’d bite you, anyway.”
“N-no,” answered Sam seriously, “but it seems sort of cheeky, doesn’t
it? To call on a man you’ve never even seen, I mean.”
“You used to call on men you’d never seen when you sold that ‘Popular
History of Ohio,’ or whatever it was, didn’t you?”
“That was different.”
“Yes; you were trying to do them out of their hard-earned money. All
you want from Mr. Hall is a kind word.”
“That was a perfectly good book,” answered Sam defensively. “When do
you suppose I’d find him at his office?”
Tom glanced at the little tin clock on his desk. “After nine, I guess.”
He put his clasped hands behind his head, leaned back, and viewed his
friend amusedly. “Sam, you’re an awful coward about some things, aren’t
you?” he asked. “You wouldn’t hesitate to try and sell a book to a man,
but you hate to just call socially.”
“I used to be scared to death every time I rang a doorbell when I was
selling that book,” replied Sam, with a shake of his head. “I wish Mr.
York had given me a letter of introduction to him.”
“Want me to go over with you and introduce you?” laughed Tom. “If you
feel so bashful why not take a book with you and try to sell it to
him? I’ll lend you our telephone directory. You can call it anything
you like--‘Child’s History of Amesville,’ ‘Things Every Lawyer Should
Know,’ ‘How to Tell the Trolley Cars’----”
“Dry up,” said Sam. “What about this game Saturday?”
“Why, nothing, except that we want like anything to win it, Sam. Lynton
does too. Fact is, there’s quite a little rivalry between us this year.
They beat us pretty badly the first game and so Sid got them to play us
again. Then we licked them. That was a week ago last Saturday. Then
they decided they’d have to play a third game and so they’re coming
over to-morrow.”
“How did they happen to get away with the first game?” asked Sam.
“Principal reason, better playing,” laughed Tom.
“Did they get to you?”
“Not once.”
“Then how the dickens----”
“I didn’t play. We’d just got in a big invoice of goods and I had to
stay and help here at the store. Mr. Cummings wanted me to go, but I
saw that Mr. Wright thought I ought to stick around.”
“Who did pitch?” asked Sam.
“Various members of our brilliant team--Buster, Tommy Hughes, and Joe
Kenny. I believe even Sid tried an inning. I dare say it was a lot of
fun for Lynton.”
“What was the score?”
Tom gazed at the ceiling. “Eighteen to three,” he said softly.
Sam whistled. Then, “What about to-morrow?” he asked anxiously. “Any
more invoices in sight?”
Tom laughed. “Not a one. To-morrow, Sam, we’ll everlastingly whale
those chaps! Revenge is the order of the day. By the way, they tried to
get us to agree to play the same line-up, but we told them we couldn’t
promise that.” Tom grinned. “Then I wrote to you. How are you hitting,
Mr. Councillor?”
“Not much. Mr. York says I take too long a swing. I guess I do, too.”
“Oh, never mind that if you hit the ball; results are what count.”
“Mr. York says if I take a shorter swing I’ll hit oftener.”
“Look here, Sam, I dare say this Mr. York of yours is a fine chap and
all that, but if you don’t stop talking about him I’ll throw a fit! I
haven’t heard much else since yesterday but ‘Mr. York’!”
“He thinks you’re a great little pitcher, Tom,” replied Sam, with a
twinkle.
Tom smiled. “Why? Because I have big ears?”
“Big ears?” Sam looked puzzled. “He didn’t say anything about your
ears.”
“That was a joke,” explained Tom patiently. “There’s a saying that
little pitchers have big ears, you know, and you said he said--Oh,
shucks! Never mind, you’ll see it after a while.”
“You ought to label your jokes,” replied the other gently. “How’s a
fellow to know? How do you feel about school, Tom?”
“Full of enthusiasm,” answered Tom. “I dearly love my school. Next
Monday it’s back to the grind, eh? When are you going to call fall
practice?”
“As soon as possible, I guess. I’ve got to see Mr. Talbot pretty soon.”
“Bat isn’t back yet, I think. He went out West about three weeks ago,
he and Mr. George; Grand Canyon and all that. I suppose they’ll be back
in a day or two, though. Excuse me a minute, Sam.”
A customer had entered and Tom arose to wait on him. “I’ll see you
later, Tom,” said Sam. “Guess I’ll go and call on Mr. Hall.”
“All right. The directory’s in the booth back there.”
Sam smiled gently and took his departure. Main Street had quite a busy
look now. A few blocks further along, and on the opposite side, what
Tom had called the “new building” reared its fourteen stories high
above the older structures. It was there that Mr. Hall had his office,
and Sam, as he approached, searched the signs on the lower windows. He
didn’t see Mr. Hall’s name, however, and before he could begin on the
next tier there was a collision and Sam, recovering his balance and
murmuring an apology, looked up into the smiling face of a tall man of
about thirty years of age.
“No harm done,” said the man pleasantly. “My fault, too, I guess.”
He stepped to the right and at the same instant Sam embarrassedly
stepped to the left. “Beg pardon,” muttered Sam, and stepped further
toward the curb. So did the tall man. Sam felt the blood creeping into
his face. The man laughed.
“Well, we’ll never get anywhere this way, will we?” he asked. “Now I
tell you what we’ll do. You stand quite still”--the man held up an
admonishing finger--“and I’ll carefully walk around you. Don’t move!”
Sam, very red of face, obeyed silently and the tall man circled him to
the left. “All right!” he said. “We’re off again!”
Sam looked after him. He walked with a quick, springy stride and wore
a yellow and somewhat battered Panama hat. The horrible suspicion
forced itself into Sam’s mind that the man was John Hall! Tom had said
that he was tall and thin, and wore a ten-year-old Panama. Sam couldn’t
be certain about the age of that hat, but it looked as if it might
easily have seen ten summers, and the man was tall, decidedly tall and
thin. There could be no doubt about it! Sam very cautiously moved to a
window and gazed unseeingly into it, conscious of the amused glances of
several bystanders and of the heightened colour in his face. What an
idiot Mr. Hall must think him, he mused. Well, there was no use trying
to find him in his office now, for he had disappeared in the throng
in the other direction. Sam was heartily glad of it, for he had very
little taste left for that visit. Perhaps to-morrow--or the next day----
He made his way back toward Cummings and Wright’s. He had meant to make
a purchase there and had forgotten it. He was still thinking of that
awkward moment on the sidewalk when he entered the store, and didn’t
observe that Tom was busy with a customer until he had himself reached
the counter. Even then he paid no heed to the man beside him until Tom
caught sight of him, and grinned maliciously and observed:
“Hello, Sam! How are directories selling?”
Then, following the other’s glance, Sam discovered, to his
embarrassment, that the customer was none other than the man in the
Panama hat. The latter was selecting half a dozen golf balls from a
box that Tom had presented, and had been very intent on his task until
Tom’s greeting called the newcomer to his attention. Then he glanced
up, and a smile of recognition came to his face.
“Ah,” he said, “my late adversary!”
Tom looked puzzled and Sam most unhappy. He tried to smile, but made
a poor effort of it. The man in the Panama returned to a study of the
golf balls. After a moment he completed his selection and nodded to Tom.
“I’ll take these,” he said. Then, as Tom proceeded to do them up,
he turned toward Sam, who was looking very intently at something in
a show-case, and viewed him appraisingly. Sam, well aware of the
scrutiny, felt his cheeks growing hot again.
“I’ve been wondering ever since if it was an aëroplane,” said the man
presently. Sam tried to pretend that he didn’t know the remark was
addressed to him, but something compelled him to meet the issue.
“What, sir?” he asked.
“I said I’d been wondering if it was an aëroplane,” repeated the other.
“I’m interested in aëroplanes and wouldn’t want to miss seeing one. It
was that, wasn’t it?”
“I--I don’t quite understand,” stammered Sam.
“I refer to your intent study of the heavens,” replied the other, with
deep gravity. “You seemed to be so absorbed----”
“I was looking at the new building, sir. I--I’m sorry I was so stupid!”
“So that was it? Well, I’m glad it wasn’t an aëroplane.”
Tom, handing the package across and accepting the bill proffered in
payment, was plainly nonplussed. It sounded to him as though the two
had gone quite crazy! He looked at Sam and then at the man in the
Panama, and, finally, as he returned the change, he blurted:
“You two have met, then!”
“Oh, yes, indeed--violently,” replied the man. “Still, if you can
introduce us properly----”
“Why, I thought----” began Tom. Then he laughed. “Mr. Hall,” he said,
“this is my friend Sam Craig. Sam is selling directories, and I think
he was looking for you.”
“He found me,” replied the other quizzically as he shook hands. “I’ve
been trying to place you, Mr. Craig, ever since we bumped. I remember
now that I saw you catch a game against Petersburg last spring. You’re
still playing ball, I suppose?”
“Yes, sir; that is, I--sometimes.”
“I really feel honoured in possessing the acquaintance of two such
talented players. I want to see you chaps in action again sometime.”
“Better come to the game to-morrow, Mr. Hall,” said Tom. “We’re going
to play Lynton at the school field at three.”
“To-morrow? Why, I’m afraid--The fact is, I’m playing golf to-morrow
afternoon. Sorry. Wish I might see the game. Now, what about these
directories, Mr. Craig? I don’t believe I want to invest, but if you
care to tell me what it is you’re handling----”
“That’s only Tom’s joke, sir,” said Sam apologetically. “I’m not
selling anything.”
“Oh, then you weren’t looking for me?”
“No, sir--yes, sir, I was, only----”
“The plot thickens! Only what?”
“I mean I was going to your office, but after I ran into you I thought
there wouldn’t be any use going, and so I came in here. I didn’t know
you were here, sir.”
Tom was enjoying Sam’s embarrassment hugely. “Better confess
everything, Sam,” he said soberly, “if you want Mr. Hall to help you.”
“Eh?” said Mr. Hall. Sam frowned.
“Cut it out,” he muttered.
“Look here, Mr. Craig, your story interests me strangely,” declared the
man. “You were looking for me, only you weren’t. Sounds a great deal as
though you thought I was a dentist. By the way, how did you know who I
was when we collided?”
“Tom told me that--I mean, he described you.”
“I’d like to have heard the description,” chuckled Mr. Hall. “What was
it, Pollock?”
It was Tom’s turn to be embarrassed. “I don’t just remember, Mr. Hall.
This idiot was told to call on you by a friend of yours, and he’s too
bashful to say so.”
“A friend of mine? Really?” Mr. Hall turned to Sam interestedly. “Who
was it, Mr. Craig?”
“Mr. York said----”
“John York?” demanded the other eagerly.
“Yes, sir. He said when I got home I was to call and tell you he sent
me. He said he would write to you about it.”
“Just the sort of thing he would do!” laughed Mr. Hall. “Sent you along
without a letter of introduction, eh? Well, I’m very glad to know you,
Mr. Craig. Any friend of John’s is my friend.” He shook hands again
heartily. “Where did you meet him? Hold on, though, I must get back to
the office. Can’t you come along and tell me about it? Or are you busy
just now?”
“No, sir, I haven’t anything to do.”
“Then come along. We can talk better at the office. Much obliged,
Pollock. And, come to think of it, I don’t know but what I’ll call off
that golf to-morrow and see you chaps play instead. I suppose you’re
going to pitch?”
“Yes, sir, and Sam’s to catch. Maybe you’d be willing to umpire for us?”
“Thank you for your sweet thought, Pollock, but I’m too useful a member
of this community to risk my life. I’ll yell for you, but I’d rather
not take chances.”