"Your original price!" loudly called Johnny. "Pay you fifteen
thousand now, fifty thousand in thirty days and the balance in
sixty."

Sweeney fanned. The atrocious tumult was drowned, in the twinkling
of an eyelash, in a dismal depthless gulf of painful silence. One
could have heard a mosquito wink.

"Where's my security?" bellowed Courtney in Johnny's ear, so
vociferously that all the grandstand turned in that direction and
three park policemen headed for the riot.

"Just come outside and I'll tell you," whispered Johnny with a grin.

"Ashley, how do you like your car?" asked Polly in the groaning calm
which followed Sweeney's infamous strike-out.

"I'm just designing a private medal for the builder," replied
Loring.

"Self-cranker, isn't it?"

"Self-cranker, automatic oiler, and supplies its own gasolene. Why?"

"Well, Constance is talking of buying one, and mine is a little too
muscular for her. Suppose you take her for a spin after the game and
deliver her safely to her Aunt Pattie. I'll take the boys back in my
car."