[legendsport]

Brooklyn, NY: February 14, 1908:

"Seven's supposed to be lucky, isn't it?" Rufus asked Joe Reid as they sat in the waiting room at Kings County Hospital. Child number seven was on its way and Rufus, even though he'd done this several times before (and missed a few of them as well) was nervous just the same.

"In your case, I sure hope so. I expect Peaches won't let you touch her again if this one's another boy," Joe said with a grin.

Rufus sighed and then said, "You know, I've wanted a girl for a long time, but right now I just want the kid and Alice to both be healthy."

Joe smiled, "That's the right attitude, Rufus. It really doesn't matter if it's a boy or a girl - a good parent just wants the best for their children."

Rufus remembered this when a short time later he held his son - yep, another boy - for the first time. They named him Thomas, and Rufus noted to his wife when he kissed her as she lay exhausted in her hospital bed, "he was born on St. Valentine's Day."

Alice, looking radiant - tired, but radiant - replied softly, "I hope that means he'll be a lover, not a fighter. One of those is just about all I can stand."

They both laughed and Rufus had that moment in mind when he returned home that night and looked in on his older sons. Their home in Brooklyn was cramped. The four oldest boys shared one room, two to a bed, while the two youngest shared a bed in what was, technically, Vera's room. Rufus and Alice would keep the new baby with them for a time, but eventually they'd like to regain their privacy. This issue was one they'd have to deal with, but Rufus pushed it out of his mind as he entered the house and went to look in on his sons.

Little Joe, now 13 years old, looked peaceful in sleep with his arm curled over his brother Rollie. Rufus also realized that he didn't need to worry during his absences - Joe would watch out for his little brothers, and beat to a pulp any kid who tried to hurt them. He thought of Powell Slocum, whom he had first seen when Slocum had been just 13 - Joe was bigger than Slocum had been then and showed plenty of athleticism but he wasn't going to be a ballplayer. He was a decent player, but nothing special because he didn't have that fire that separated the great ones from the also-rans. What he seemed to enjoy most was sliding hard into second and hoping whoever covered the bag would scrap with him.

Thanks to his grandfather's introduction, Rollie had taken to golf - he too had little use for baseball. At 11 years old (he'd be 12 in June), he frequently pestered Alice into letting him ride the subway to Dyker Beach, where a course had opened in 1897. He played whenever the weather - and his parents - would allow him. Rufus didn't know much about the game, but he seemed to be developing into a good player, according to Mr. Presley, whose grandson was 15 and frequently played with (and lost to) Rollie.

Jack and Jimmy shared the other bed. Jack had just turned ten. He was a rough and tumble sort, similar to Little Joe but less outwardly agressive. Joe Reid described him aptly as "someone who won't start a fight, but sure can end one." He was probably the best all-around athlete of Rufus and Alice's sons - at least amongst those old enough for that to be discerned. He played baseball, football, occasionally golf (when Rollie succeeded in dragging him along) as well as tennis (thanks to Vera). But what he liked best was hockey, of all things. Joe had visited Montreal and seen a hockey game. He brought back some ice skates, hockey sticks and pucks and took his three oldest grandsons out to try the game. Jack had taken to it immediately.

Jimmy was just seven and wouldn't turn eight until June. He had become stuck in the middle - he was nearly four years older than Danny, and did his best to keep up with Jack, whom he idolized. Jack, to his credit, often tolerated Jimmy's "tag-along" wishes and so Jimmy too, had become something of an all-around athlete.

The youngest kids, Danny and Fred, were separated by just over a year in age - Danny was three and Freddy two - and Rufus felt, though he couldn't really explain why, that these would be the ballplayers in the family. Danny had already claimed possession of a small bat Joe Reid had had made for Little Joe (and which Little Joe had mostly ignored). Tommy would likely get lumped in with Dan and Fred, just by virtue of being the youngest.


Dighton, MA: September 9, 1908:

One thing about being a scout - you got around the country and saw places you'd never even heard of, let alone thought you'd see. Dighton was just such a place. Rufus had gotten an earful about the town from a fellow passenger on the train from Providence. Dighton was in what Rufus thought of as the "tail" of Massachusetts and apparently it was once both a port and shipyard, though this was about two hundred years in the past. Now it was the home of a whip-thin pitcher named Stuart Pick. The 17-year-old was supposedly in favor of going to college and pitching for Yale. Rufus was there to try to talk him into becoming a Brooklyn King instead.

Rufus watched as Pick mowed down the opposition from nearby Rehoboth. He threw hard, and had good control (better than what Rufus himself had at 17, he thought with a rueful grin).

Pick stood about 5'8, so he was a few inches shorter than Rufus. Surprisingly, he knew who Rufus was when he introduced himself after the game. "I remember hearing about you from my uncle," he said as he shook hands.

Rufus was confused - uncle? Pick must have noticed the confusion on his face, because he smiled and said, "You don't know, do you?"

Rufus shrugged and smiled sheepishly. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Do you remember John Jones?"

Rufus raised his eyebrows, then laughed aloud. "Heck yeah, I remember him - that guy flat killed me every time we played. You're kin to him? I thought he was from San Francisco."

Pick was nodding as Rufus finished and then said, "Yes, he married my mom's sister when he was playing for Boston in the 90s. We're not blood, but he's my uncle."

"Ah, ok. I hope he didn't run me down too much. We had a bit of a tense relationship," Rufus said.

Pick shook his head, "Nah - he told me he really respected you and that it was a real tragedy what happened to you."

Rufus was touched - and amazed - that Jones had remembered him, let alone felt bad for what had happened in New York.

"He was there that day. Did you know?"

Rufus shook his head. "No - I thought he was in Hartford then."

"Oh, he was with Hartford, but the season hadn't started yet so he and some of his team mates caught a train and came down to watch the game. He wanted to see how you handled his future team mates. He was sitting behind the Gothams dugout and saw the whole thing."

Rufus just shook his head. "Well, that's something," he said quietly.

Pick raised a hand, palm-out and said, "Now, I know you're doing some scouting for the Kings. But my parents are determined that I go to Yale. Honestly, I agree with them - I think an education is extremely valuable."

He cast his eyes down and added, "I see what happened to you and know there are no guarantees in life, so I want to have a fallback plan."

Rufus frowned a bit, but nodded at the same time. "I can see that. You're a smart fellow, Mr. Pick. I suspect you'll fit right in down in New Haven."

Pick smiled and stuck out his hand. Before Rufus shook it, he asked, "I have one question though - why Yale and not Brown, or even Harvard?" Dighton was close to Providence and Harvard was the crown jewel for most natives of Massachusetts.

Pick laughed out loud and said, "My father went to Yale. I'd be disowned if I so much as mention Harvard in his presence. And Brown? I shudder to think what he'd do if I wanted to attend Brown."

"All right, I can understand that. But before I go, I just want to say that I will be back to see you in a few years when you're a college-educated man. Hopefully you'll still have some baseball in you."

Pick was still smiling. "Oh, I suspect I will have plenty of baseball left in me."

Rufus was surprisingly light-hearted given that he had failed in his mission. He had reserved a room in Providence and planned on seeing if he could find the next Fred Roby - the "Rhode Island Ripper" having been that state's most famous ballplaying son.

But as he was checking in, the clerk frowned and picked up a telegram, saying, "Mr. Barrell, a telegram arrived for you earlier today."

He handed the telegram form over and stood impassively behind the desk as Rufus read the message:

To Mr. Rufus Barrell, guest, Providence Biltmore Hotel. I regret to inform you that your parents and brother were killed in a fire at the family farm. Request you travel to Egypt asap to handle estate. Contact Effingham Cty Sheriff John Carter.

The clerk said softly, "I am sorry sir, is there anything I can do to help?"

Rufus didn't immediately reply, but instead simply stood with a distant, vacant stare.