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diff --git a/75250-0.txt b/75250-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ceb582a --- /dev/null +++ b/75250-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7056 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75250 *** + + + + + + LEFTY O’ THE BIG LEAGUE + + + + +[Illustration: HE WAS SAYING TO HIMSELF: “ONE MORE! ONLY ONE MORE! I +MUST GET HIM――I’VE GOT TO!”] + + + + + LEFTY + O’ THE BIG LEAGUE + + BY + BURT L. STANDISH + + Author of “Lefty o’ the Bush,” “Lefty o’ the Blue + Stockings,” “Lefty o’ the Training Camp.” + + + _ILLUSTRATED_ + + + GROSSET & DUNLAP + PUBLISHERS NEW YORK + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY + GROSSET & DUNLAP, INC. + + _All Rights Reserved_ + + + _Printed in the United States of America_ + + + + + CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER PAGE + I GETTING IN BAD 11 + II A CALL-DOWN FROM THE MANAGER 17 + III THE RIOT AT THE THEATER 24 + IV ONE AGAINST SCORES 31 + V FRIENDLY BUCK FARGO 36 + VI WHO WAS TO BLAME? 42 + VII WITHOUT GRATITUDE 48 + VIII THE MAN WHO KNEW 56 + IX SOMETHING SUB-ROSA 63 + X “WHEN THE CAT’S AWAY” 70 + XI ALL IN 77 + XII LEFTY’S FAILURE 82 + XIII THE DISCHARGED WAITER 89 + XIV BERT ELGIN’S LUCK 97 + XV THE REASON WHY 103 + XVI THE PURLOINED LETTER 108 + XVII GUILE 114 + XVIII THE MAN IN THE CORRIDOR 120 + XIX NOT QUITE PROVEN 125 + XX JANET HARTING WONDERS 131 + XXI THE YELLOW STREAK 139 + XXII LEFTY’S CHANCE COMES 147 + XXIII THERE’S MANY A SLIP 152 + XXIV THE UNEXPECTED 158 + XXV THE STRUGGLE 167 + XXVI GAINING GROUND 174 + XXVII A CHANCE TO MAKE GOOD 181 + XXVIII A BAD BEGINNING 186 + XXIX TAKING A BRACE 193 + XXX THE TRICKY TWIRLER 198 + XXXI ONCE TOO OFTEN 206 + XXXII THE SPIKING OF SCHAEFFER 213 + XXXIII THE TELEGRAM 219 + XXXIV NOTHING ELSE POSSIBLE 225 + XXXV FOR WANT OF A LIE 231 + XXXVI DROPPED OUT OF SIGHT 240 + XXXVII OPENING THE SEASON 245 + XXXVIII THE TWO MANAGERS 250 + XXXIX THE MEETING IN THE GRANDSTAND 254 + XL THE SURPRISE 263 + XLI THE BEGINNING OF THE GAME 270 + XLII THE TRUTH AT LAST 279 + XLIII THE LUCKY SEVENTH 285 + XLIV THE LEADING RUN 294 + XLV LEFTY’S TRIUMPH 299 + XLVI HOW IT ALL HAPPENED 305 + + + + + LEFTY O’ THE BIG LEAGUE + + + + + CHAPTER I + + GETTING IN BAD + + +“Say, fellows!” sang out Red Pollock, the snappy little shortstop of +the famous Hornets. “Look who’s here!” There was a general turning of +heads and craning of necks on the part of three or four players waiting +their chance to wield the willow in batting practice. + +“Another Yannigan,” groaned Cy Russell, star pitcher of the +organization. “The woods is full of ’em.” + +“He don’t look much to me, neither,” stated big Buck Fargo critically. +“Say, Jim, who is it, an’ where’d you root it out?” + +Brennan, the short, stocky, belligerent-looking manager of the Big +League team, did not answer. With his bushy eyebrows drawn down in +a frown over his deep-set eyes, he was staring at the young fellow +threading his way through the groups of players scattered about the +field at all kinds of training work. The stranger wore a soiled and +faded gray uniform, upon the shirt of which was sewn a letter K, and +dangled a worn leather glove by one finger. His cap, pushed back on a +mane of heavy, dark-brown hair, revealed a clean-cut, pleasant face, +dominated by a pair of keen brown eyes, a firm chin, and sensitive +mouth. + +As he took in these details Brennan’s scowl deepened and his bulldog +chin protruded dangerously. Catching sight of his face, Pollock grinned +and nudged the man nearest him. “Look at the old man,” he whispered. +“Something doing.” + +The stranger came on without a pause, and, a moment or two later, +stopped before the manager. His lips were pressed tightly together, but +otherwise his face was perfectly composed. “I’ve come to report, sir,” +he said quietly. + +The manager’s eyes narrowed. Several things had been fretting him all +morning, and his temper was not even at its uncertain best. “Indeed!” +he sneered. “And who are you?” + +“Locke――Lefty Locke.” + +“Never heard the name before,” retorted Brennan shortly. + +For an instant the newcomer seemed taken aback. A faint touch of color +came into his cheeks, and he looked at the manager as if wondering +whether he could possibly be in earnest. + +“I――thought――Mr. Toler had written you,” he stammered. “He――said he was +going to.” + +Brennan’s eyes flashed. “Well, he didn’t,” he snapped. “Where’d you +come from? What’s your record?” + +“I pitched last season with the Kingsbridge team of the Northern +League,” Locke said briefly. + +“A twirler!” exclaimed the manager. “Well, I’ll be――” He stopped +abruptly, gulped once or twice, and then asked, in an ominously quiet +voice: “What did you do season before last?” + +“Nothing. It was my first year in professional baseball.” + +“What!” Brennan’s face turned purple, and his last shreds of +self-restraint vanished. “You pitched one season, an’ got the gall to +expect a job with the Hornets! You expect me to believe that Ed Toler, +the best scout I’ve got, picked you up without saying a word to me +about it――when we’re overrun with pitchers, at that. I don’t want you. +Training was begun ten days ago, an’ I got enough men. You can hike +back to the bush, where you come from. I wasn’t born yesterday, an’ +you can’t put one over me like this. Get that?” + +As he listened to the tirade, the color flamed into Locke’s face, +and his grip on the leather glove tightened. Then, from the group of +players, who had been interested spectators of the interview, came a +smothered laugh, which seemed to act like a tonic. As he heard it, +Locke’s eyes narrowed and his face hardened. + +“You don’t want me?” he repeated, in a steady voice. “You’re willing to +release me from the contract I made with Toler?” + +“That’s what I said,” growled Brennan. + +“Then I’m free to accept any other offer?” + +Something in his tone made the manager prick up his ears, all his +professional instincts aroused. It is one thing to fire a man who isn’t +wanted, but quite another to let him go when another club is after +him. “Offer!” he sneered, with deliberate intent. “I s’pose the Tigers +an’ the Blue Stockings are fair tearing each other’s eyes out as to +which’ll have you.” + +Lefty’s lips tightened at the man’s tone. “You guessed right, in a +way,” he retorted. “Twenty-four hours after I pledged with Toler, I had +an offer from the Blue Stockings of a thousand dollars more than your +scout promised me.” + +The silence which followed this statement was eloquent. Some one in the +little group near by whistled incredulously. Brennan’s eyes were fixed +intently on the cub pitcher’s face, as if he were trying to make out +whether this was the truth or a magnificent bluff. Accustomed as he was +to judging men, he was forced to admit that the youngster did not look +like a liar. + +“And how much was that?” he demanded abruptly. + +“Twenty-five hundred.” Already Lefty was sorry for his impulsive +outburst. In a flash he realized that if he had kept his mouth shut he +would have been free in a moment to accept the better offer. + +“Humph!” grunted Brennan thoughtfully. If Doyle, of the Blue +Stockings――the Hornets’ most bitter rivals――wanted this kid as bad as +that, there must be something in him, and it would never do to let him +go. Much as he hated backing water, the manager was too shrewd a man +to allow personal feelings to influence his professional judgment. He +scowled deeply, bit his lips, and then snapped sourly: + +“Well, seeing as you’re here, you might as well make yourself useful. +Trot out there and take that fellow’s place; I can use him somewhere +else. Toss a few straight, easy ones over the plate. Stir your stumps +now,” he went on, turning fiercely on the astonished group near by. +“You boys get busy. We’ve wasted too much time. We’ll stop this general +shillalah swinging, and take the field in regular positions. Every one +of you run your hits out. You need the exercise.” + +Without a word, Lefty turned, and made his way toward the cub pitcher, +who had been shuffling around near the slab waiting for the altercation +to end. He had been extremely foolish not to keep his face shut, but +there was nothing to be gained by repining over the past. + +An instant later, as his eyes met those of the man he was replacing, +he started slightly, and a look of dazed surprise flashed into his +face. It vanished swiftly, but as he reached the fellow his lips were +compressed, his eyes hard and cold. + +“Hello, Elgin,” he said stiffly. + +The other, his face black as a thunder cloud, growled out an +unintelligible monosyllable, thrust the ball into Locke’s hand, and +walked hurriedly away, leaving the latter to stare after him with an +expression which told, as well as spoken words could have done, how +unpleasant and distasteful the encounter was to him. + + + + + CHAPTER II + + A CALL-DOWN FROM THE MANAGER + + +The meeting had so surprised and startled Lefty that he stood there +for a moment or two, ball in hand, watching Elgin join the manager +and start with him toward another part of the field. He was aroused +abruptly by a drawling, sarcastic voice from the plate: + +“Don’t hurry yourself, bub; any time to-day will do.” + +It was burly Buck Fargo, the prize backstop, who stood leaning +indolently on his bat, watching Locke with mocking eyes. Lefty +recognized him instantly from the many published pictures he had seen, +and, berating himself inwardly for having given the fellow a chance to +criticise, he swiftly toed the pitcher’s plate and sent the ball over. + +Of course, it went wide. The cub catcher let out a stream of sarcastic +language as he stretched himself in vain for it. A joyful snicker arose +from the waiting players, and Fargo grinned aggravatingly. + +“Try again, bub,” the latter invited pleasantly. “Jest a mite nearer +this time, say a couple of feet. This here stick’s only regulation +length, and I ain’t built like a gorilla.” + +Lefty bit his lips and made no response. A small boy retrieved the +ball, and the irate catcher whipped it out with decidedly unnecessary +force. With gritted teeth, Locke caught it, determined that there would +be no more exhibitions like that. He did not know what was the matter +with him. To be sure, he had done very little pitching for a long time, +but he should be able to find the plate better than this. + +The second effort was not much of an improvement, and a howl of +derision greeted it; for there is nothing a crowd of old baseball men +enjoy more than having fun with a green cub. + +The sound had a curious effect upon Lefty. Before the echoes of that +jeering chorus died away he had regained his grip. He realized that +they were doing their best to rattle him and cause him to make an +exhibition of himself, and his jaw squared resolutely. + +“I’ll fool ’em!” he muttered. “I’ll show him something.” + +He caught the ball easily, his eyes fixed on Fargo’s grinning face. The +big catcher stood negligently swinging his bat, and when he saw the +sphere coming apparently straight toward him with speed, he dodged back +precipitously, only to behold it shoot gracefully in and cut a corner +of the plate. + +“Well, well, well!” he exclaimed. “Accidents will happen. You’ve really +got a curve, have you? Let’s have another one like that, if you can do +it.” + +Lefty could and did, and the batter sent the horsehide soaring over the +fence. Obedient to instructions, he tossed aside his bat, and began +trotting leisurely around the bases. Halfway between first and second +he paused for a moment. “You’ll learn, bub,” he chuckled. “Some time +next fall mebbe we’ll make a pitcher out of you.” Then he resumed his +placid way about the diamond, while a new ball was produced, and Locke +faced the second batter. + +Lefty did not try any more curves, for he had suddenly realized that +this was batting practice, not an exhibition of pitching. He continued +to find the plate with a fair degree of accuracy, however, and one +after another the three other players smashed out the sphere with +joyous enthusiasm, forgetting in the delight of batting to continue +their baiting of the new pitcher. + +Not so Buck Fargo. He enjoyed batting quite as much, as his companions, +but he also dearly loved to get a cub’s goat. + +“Where’s your curves, bub?” he taunted, as he took up his bat for the +second time. “Can’t you give us something interesting, or was they +accidents, like I thought?” + +Lefty smiled faintly. He did not intend to give Fargo the satisfaction +of seeing that his words made any impression whatever. In spite of his +determination, however, as he flung his arm forward, unconsciously he +gave it a little twist which, made the horsehide――seemingly wide at +first――cut a corner of the plate in an elusive curve. The batter hit it +glancingly, and popped up a little fly which Locke smothered without +moving more than a step or two from his position. + +“Not bad for the bush,” chuckled Fargo, quite undisturbed. “Saved me +the trouble of stretching my legs, anyhow. Come ahead, Cy, and see what +you can do with the boy wonder from Squedunk.” He shot a swift glance +out of the corner of his eye toward a distant part of the field, and +went on in exactly the same tone, with scarcely a perceptible break: +“He’s got a baby curve or two that might be fair if he could control +’em.” + +Lefty was possessed by an irresistible impulse to see what he could +do with the mighty pitcher, Cy Russell. He knew perfectly well that +the discomfiture of one of their number might get the whole bunch down +on him, but he was a very human individual, with a spice of obstinacy +in his make-up. Moreover, he had failed to catch that quick glance of +Fargo’s across the field, and so was quite unsuspecting. + +As Russell faced him, Locke deliberately sent over a drop which fooled +the batter completely. A slow floater was equally successful, and a +swift, straight one, cutting the center of the pan, completed the +discomfiture of the notoriously poorest hitter in the organization. + +Fargo jeered out something about luck and “goose eggs,” and hustled the +next man to the plate. Lefty, throwing prudence and common sense to the +winds, resolved to give them what they clamored for if it was in his +power. He fooled the batter into swinging at a clever bender, and then, +oblivious to the sudden cessation of Fargo’s taunting voice, was just +winding up to pitch again when a hand suddenly gripped his wrist, and a +harsh voice sounded in his ear: + +“What the deuce do you think you’re doing, Locke?” + +Brought to earth, Lefty swung around, and stared for an instant, with +mantling cheeks, at Jim Brennan’s angry face. + +“Gimme that ball!” rasped the manager. Locke handed it over without a +word. “I s’pose you think you’re mighty smart showin’ off your cute +tricks,” the older man went on, in a cold, biting tone; “but that’s +where you fall down――hard. This is batting practice, not a Fourth of +July celebration. When I want any fireworks I’ll let you know. Get +that? Well, see you remember it. Another stage play like this will be +your finish. All around the park, boys, and then back to dinner.” + +He turned from Lefty with an abruptness which made it impossible for +the cub pitcher to say a word in his own defense, and perhaps it was +just as well. To tell the truth, there was nothing to be said. Locke +realized perfectly that he was totally in the wrong. A moment later, +as he caught a glimpse of Buck Fargo’s grinning face, it flashed over +him that the whole thing was a put-up job to get him a call. The big +catcher could not have failed to see Brennan coming long before the +manager got within hearing distance, yet he had kept up his taunts to +the last minute in order that Locke might be taken by surprise. + +“Looks like my luck had deserted me,” Lefty thought, as he fell into +the line of men trotting briskly around the field just inside the high +board fence. “Haven’t been here an hour before I get a call from the +manager and run into Bert Elgin.” + +At the thought of the latter’s presence in the squad, he frowned +deeply. The call-down was swiftly forgotten, but this other annoyance +was likely to be much more lasting and trouble-breeding in its results. + + + + + CHAPTER III + + THE RIOT AT THE THEATER + + +“A rah, rah boy, is he?” sneered a voice from the group not far away. +“I see his finish.” + +Lefty knew they were talking about him. He had been aware of the fact +for five minutes or so, but this was the first remark which had reached +his ears in its entirety. Sitting in a corner of the Hatchford House +lobby, he turned his head slightly and met the belligerent glance of a +burly, dark-browed, full-lipped fellow of twenty-six or seven, who was +lounging against a pillar a little way off. + +For a moment their eyes clashed, and then Hagin――Lefty had heard him +so called, and recognized the name as that of the left fielder on the +regulars――laughed disagreeably and said something to the man next him, +who glanced up, stared, and turned away with just the same sort of +laugh. + +Lefty’s eyes dropped to the newspaper he held before him. In the +scant nine hours since his appearance on the field that morning, the +wide difference between a bush-league team and an organization like +the Hornets had been forced upon him at every turn. In his joy and +astonishment at the unexpected offer from Brennan’s scout, to say +nothing of the better one which followed it so closely, he had given +little thought to what his reception would be by the other players. + +He was far too sensible, of course, to expect anything like an +open-armed welcome, but he had not quite counted on the cold-shouldered +indifference which was meted out to him from every quarter. + +The other fellows were mostly friendly enough among themselves. On the +field, in the hotel dining room, and now in the lobby, they gathered in +little groups, laughing, joking, chaffing each other in a way which, in +no small degree, emphasized the newcomer’s loneliness and isolation. + +Lefty had tried several times during the day to scrape acquaintance +with some fellow who looked pleasant and friendly enough, for he was +a chap who enjoyed the companionship of his fellow men, and exactly +the sort of joshing give-and-take which is inevitable when a crowd of +like-minded individuals get together. His mild little efforts had been +met with such brusque, chilling indifference, however, that he speedily +gave it up. + +“I seem to have gotten in wrong from the start,” he reflected, as he +sat with his eyes fixed on the paper, though he had read scarcely a +word. “Brennan’s sore as a crab because he had to back water before his +own men. I wish to thunder he hadn’t! I’d be better off. Then there was +that fool exhibition of mine on the field. I suppose they all think +I’m swelled up about my pitching, and was showing off. And now they’ve +found out I’m a college man. I wonder how they got wise to that. I +didn’t mean any one should know, if I could help it; some professionals +seem to have such a deep dislike for a fellow who’s been through +college. I wonder if Elgin could have dropped a hint.” + +In reality Lefty had quite missed the most important reason of all. +Other things may have influenced the men in some small degree, but the +simple fact of his belated arrival at the training quarters accounted +for more than anything else. + +Ten days had been ample for the cubs, or new recruits, to become +acquainted. They had formed their little cliques, split up into their +different factions. They were sufficient unto themselves. It was +natural for them to treat a new arrival with jealous coldness, for +every additional candidate only decreased the chances of the others to +make good. As for the old men――the regulars of this especial team――they +had small use for a youngster until he showed himself made of the right +stuff. + +At length, tired of sitting alone, Lefty arose and sallied forth to +take a casual inspection of the Texas town. Ashland was a place of some +size, and decidedly up to date. A number of factories and various oil +refineries gave employment to several thousand workmen, the majority of +whom――it seemed to Lefty――were thronging the brightly lighted streets, +blocking the corners, or crowding into the many moving-picture or +vaudeville shows which lined the main thoroughfares. + +Lefty did not find this solitary inspection of the town very exciting, +and, after he had traversed a few of the principal streets, he decided +that he had had enough. A glance at his watch told him that it was +only a quarter to eight. The evening seemed to be dragging along with +infinite slowness. He might return to the hotel and go to bed, of +course, but he wasn’t in the least sleepy, and somehow he had a feeling +that by doing such a thing he would be giving in. Finally the glaring +lights of a combination moving-picture and vaudeville show across the +street gave him an idea. Crossing hastily, he bought a ticket and +pushed into the darkened auditorium. + +The place was jammed to the doors with a rather boisterous crowd, made +up almost entirely of men. Lefty could see no vacant seat, and so +he took his place against the wall back of the last row, from which +position he watched the progress of the pictured drama with a certain +amount of interest. There was no questioning the unusual excellence of +the films. + +Two of them were rolled off before the stage lights went up and the +curtain lifted upon the Montmorency Sisters, vocalists. Lefty yawned, +and decided to get out. The place was hot and stuffy, and he was on the +point of crowding past the later arrivals who filled the space near +him, when, suddenly catching sight of two men sitting three rows away, +he changed his mind. + +One of them was a total stranger. Lefty did not remember ever having +seen him before. The other was Bert Elgin, and, as his eyes took in the +sharp profile, with the familiar, sneering uplift at the corner of the +lips, Locke’s face darkened. The face had changed little since he had +last seen it. An added line or two showed about the mouth, perhaps, and +there was, no doubt, a certain maturity which years alone can bring. In +all essential features, however, it was unaltered, and the sight of +it brought a rush of vivid recollection into Lefty’s mind which made +him frown. It seemed the irony of fate that they two should meet again +under conditions which must throw them together in most undesirable +terms of intimacy. + +Oblivious to the twittering pair capering about the stage, Lefty stood +staring at the back of Elgin’s head with unseeing eyes. His mind +was back in the past, and his expression showed how unpleasant the +remembrance was. + +The burst of handclapping at the end of the act aroused him in time to +see Elgin and his companion arise and crowd toward the aisle. He stood +there waiting for them to go, for he had no desire to encounter the +fellow just now. With narrowing eyes, he watched his old enemy elbow +his way roughly toward the door, careless of who or what was in his +path. + +It all came about so suddenly and unexpectedly that Lefty never knew +just what was the real cause. He saw one or two men turn and stare +angrily at the fellow shoving his way past them, muttering something +under their breath as they did so. Then, just as the pair were opposite +him and close to the door, Locke heard a sharp cry of pain in a +woman’s voice, followed instantly by a bellow of fury from a man. +Swiftly there came the thud of bare fists against flesh and bone. A +dozen men sprang up and began shoving toward the door. A woman screamed +shrilly. + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + ONE AGAINST SCORES + + +Instinctively Lefty joined the rush toward the center of disturbance. +He caught a glimpse of two men struggling in close embrace, each +raining blows upon the other’s face and body. He saw that one of +them was Bert Elgin. The other was a big, burly fellow, dressed in a +workman’s Sunday best, his face flushed, his eyes aflame with anger. + +A score of other men were trying to get close enough to put in a blow +or two. The place resounded with shouts of: “Kill him!” “Lynch him!” +“Beat him up!” Then the whole struggling mob burst through the narrow +doorway into the garish, glittering lobby. + +Lefty was borne irresistibly toward the door by the crowd behind him, +which seemed eager to take part in the fracas. By the time he reached +it the entire audience was on its feet, making for the single exit. +Hands pinioned helplessly at his sides, Locke was forced into the +maelstrom of bodies. There was a squeeze, a breathless grunt, and he +plunged out into the dazzling brightness. + +The disturbance had ceased to be a fight and turned into a riot. The +mob was made up of men in the raw, lacking in self-restraint, whose +passions were roused to a white heat with very little cause. A woman’s +cry of pain, the roar of fury from her escort, and the trouble was +started. + +As they surged against the frail, ornate booth from which tickets were +dispensed, they were like a lot of madmen. Not half a dozen out of the +crowd knew what the disturbance was about. Blows were rained on the +heads and shoulders and backs of friends in their eagerness to get at +the man in the very heart of that seething throng, and already two +vigorous personal encounters had been started in different corners of +the lobby on that account. + +As he was flung forward against the side of the ticket booth, Lefty +felt sudden anger surge up within him. He forgot that Bert Elgin was +his enemy, and remembered only that he was battling against odds. +And when, a moment later, by some odd trick of chance, he saw the +fellow’s face, bruised, battered, blood trickling from a cut on his +cheek, and caught a fleeting glance of desperate appeal from Elgin’s +terror-stricken eyes, he threw caution to the winds and jumped into the +fray. + +The very size of the mob was in Locke’s favor, but it is doubtful +whether he could have done much to help Elgin except for the unexpected +giving way of the ticket booth. Slowly it began to sway under the +tremendous pressure against one side. A door at the back was burst +suddenly open, and the ticket agent dashed forth, clutching the cash +drawer in both hands, only to trip and fall headlong, scattering money +in every direction, and causing a new diversion. The crashing over of +the booth was another, and for an instant Elgin was freed from the +clutching hands which had held him prisoner. + +Lefty darted forward, gripped the man by the shoulders, and dragged him +into the angle made by the wrecked booth and one wall of the lobby. +Petrified by fear, the fellow sank helplessly to the floor, and Locke +had barely time to leap in front of him before the yelling crowd surged +forward again. + +In the second that he stood there waiting, the cub pitcher was +conscious of a curious feeling which had come to him once or twice +before at moments of great tension on the diamond. It was as if his +brain had been wiped with a cold, wet sponge, clarifying his vision, +and soothing his raw nerves to an almost uncanny degree. + +He felt that there could be but one end to the encounter, and yet he +was not afraid. He eyed the semicircle of angry faces calmly, coolly, +appraisingly, mentally picking out the exact spot on the protruding jaw +of the foremost man with which he meant to make connections an instant +later. When the fellow went down before his beautiful swinging blow, +Lefty felt a thrill of successful accomplishment. + +A second man swiftly followed the first, but after that there was no +time for picking and choosing. With a howl of rage, the crowd rushed +forward in a body, bent on getting their hands on their prey and +crushing him bodily. Luckily only three men could face Locke at once, +and for a brief space he held them back by sheer skill and trained +muscles. + +With fine precision he wasted not a single effort, but broke through +clumsy guarding arms, to land on some vital spot with a jolt which sent +his man reeling back against the others, or else crumpled him to the +floor. + +In about three minutes those in the front rank were seeking to escape +the deadly accuracy of his blows by dodging to one side or trying to +push back through the crowd. Unfortunately for Locke, those in the rear +continued to force their way forward, and thus slowly but inexorably +the ring closed in. + +Lefty’s arms moved faster and faster. He had long ago ceased to pick +and choose――it was impossible. Several times he had leaped back before +it occurred to him to wonder what had become of Elgin. That was but a +fleeting thought, however. He had never counted on the fellow’s aid, so +it was just as well that he was not in the way. + +A number of glancing blows had struck home, one cutting his lips. At +last he began to wonder how long he could keep it up, and what the end +would be. He knew he might expect no mercy from the maddened crowd, all +of whom supposed, by this time, that he was the one who had started the +fracas. Unless the police came soon, or some other help―― + +Suddenly he felt a movement behind him. His first thought was that his +enemies had found a way to get him at the rear; but even before he +could whirl about to face them, two hands caught his shoulders, and a +familiar voice sounded in his ear: + +“Lemme have a whack at ’em, kid.” + +It was Buck Fargo, the big catcher of the Hornets. + + + + + CHAPTER V + + FRIENDLY BUCK FARGO + + +Dazed, bewildered, a sudden overpowering weakness gripping his limbs, +Lefty felt himself thrust against the wall, and saw the massive form of +the man who had baited him so successfully on the field that morning +leap into the front place, eyes blazing and huge fists doubled for +action. + +Perhaps it was the sight of him――burly, menacing, and fresh――which +turned the tide. More likely it was that sudden panicky awakening which +comes to every mob when the first outburst of passion has run its +course. At all events, Fargo had no more than time to land his fist +with precision and force on the faces of two men, before some one at +the rear started a yell that the cops were coming. + +The effect was magical. Out into the street poured the mob, and fled +wildly in every direction. Before he realized that it was all over +Lefty felt himself grasped by the shoulders, hustled out of the +barricade and rushed across the street. The whole thoroughfare was +filled with flying men, so that they passed unnoticed as Fargo headed +straight for the nearest corner. + +“Them cops is coming at last,” he explained shortly, whirling into a +side street. “We don’t want to be pinched. Think you’re good for the +hotel, kid? If you ain’t, we can stop at a drug store and have you +patched up.” + +“I can make it all right,” Lefty gasped. “I’m only――dead beat.” An +instant later he stopped still. “What became of Elgin?” he asked +abruptly. “I forgot him.” + +“He beat it.” Fargo’s tone was noncommittal. “He crawled out the same +way I got in, while they was busy with you. That ticket coop was held +up a mite at the end by hitting against the wall. He’s all safe.” + +There was an expression of curiosity on the catcher’s face, and for a +moment he seemed about to ask a question. Apparently he changed his +mind, however, for the next instant his lips closed and he hustled +Lefty on again. + +They reached the hotel without attracting much attention. Locke had +managed to wipe most of the stains of battle from his face, and as +they entered the side door Fargo clapped his own wide-brimmed felt hat +on the other’s head, starting some rough bantering with the elevator +boy, which kept the fellow occupied. They stepped out on the top floor +without the boy having really noticed Lefty at all. + +“Now we’ll take stock, kid,” the catcher said, as he switched on the +lights in Lefty’s room and closed the door. “That face of yours ain’t +so bad, after all. We’ll fix your mouth up in a jiffy. Got any plaster?” + +Locke nodded. “Yes, but I don’t want you to bother about it, Fargo. +It’s white of you to――” + +“Stow that, son!” interrupted the big chap shortly. “This rumpus is +going to get the old man up on his ear for fair. If he finds out you +was in it, there’ll be blazes to pay.” + +“But how can he help it? I was there, and everybody saw me.” + +“Sure you was,” grinned Fargo, dexterously applying a wet towel to +Locke’s countenance. “In the scuffle you got a tap or two by mistake; +that’s all. You don’t s’pose that crazy bunch of roughnecks is going to +remember faces, do you? They was clean off their nuts, every last one +of ’em.” + +There was silence for a moment or two as the big, muscular fingers +applied the plaster to the cut lips with surprising deftness. “There!” +Fargo said with satisfaction. “That’ll do fine. There’s a scratch +alongside your nose, but it don’t amount to nothing. Pull off your +shirt, and let’s have a look at the rest of you.” + +Lefty obeyed without question, and revealed a muscular chest dotted +here and there with bruises already beginning to darken. It had been +impossible to guard himself at every point from the frenzied rushes, +and he had instinctively protected his face. + +Fargo grinned as he saw the damage. “Won’t you be stiff and sore +to-morrow morning!” he chuckled. “It’s lucky you can lay it to the +first day’s practice. Say, kid, how in thunder did you two start that +riot? You look like a peaceable guy to me.” + +“I didn’t start it,” Lefty returned swiftly. “I broke into the game +afterward.” + +“Humph! Let’s hear about it.” + +Briefly, Lefty told him what little he knew about the beginning of the +trouble. He said nothing of his dislike for Bert Elgin, but Fargo must +have guessed it from his manner. + +“So that’s it?” the catcher commented. “I gather you two ain’t very +chummy.” + +“Not exactly,” Lefty returned shortly. + +Fargo eyed him curiously. “Then why did you butt in? He started the +muss, and I should say he deserved what he got.” + +“But the whole push was against him,” protested Locke. “I couldn’t +sneak off and let them hammer him to pieces.” + +“Strikes me that _he_ sneaked,” Fargo said swiftly. “When I came +across the street to see what was doing, there wasn’t any use trying +to get near the front, so I made for the corner to see if I could get +a glimpse over the top of that tipped-over ticket cage. I hadn’t been +there a minute before Elgin came crawling out from underneath. He was +so blamed scared that I hadn’t more’n got out of him that you were in +there alone when he beat it. Looks like it didn’t worry him any to +leave you alone for the bunch to hammer.” + +Lefty smiled faintly. “Can’t help that. It was up to him. I’d have +hated myself if I’d gone away and left any man in that kind of a hole.” +He hesitated an instant, the color rising to his face. “Besides, even +if we aren’t friends, he’s――one of the bunch.” + +Fargo stared at him oddly; then he broke into a laugh. “Time we was +both in bed,” he said abruptly. “Don’t forget to keep your trap shut +about this to-morrow. You was there and got a love tap or two in the +scuffle. Lucky the old man can’t see that chest of yours.” + +Outside the door he paused, the queer look in his eyes again. “One of +the bunch!” he muttered aloud. “Well, I’ll be hanged!” + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + WHO WAS TO BLAME? + + +On his way in to breakfast next morning, Manager Brennan bought a +copy of the Ashland _Morning Chronicle_ to glance through during the +progress of the meal. Having seated himself and given his order, he +spread open the sheet. The first thing to catch his eye was the flaming +headline, “Palace Theater Wrecked by Mob.” + +Having heard echoes of the affair the night before, the manager glanced +over the account with interest. Halfway down the column he stopped +short, clutched the paper, and stared with bulging eyes and purpling +cheeks at a certain short paragraph: + + The cause of the riot is not definitely known. It is said, + however, to have been started by the rowdyish behavior of one + of the visiting baseball men who was attending the performance. + We might call Manager Brennan’s attention to the fact that, + while Ashland is always ready to extend every hospitality to + himself and his famous organization, she does not care about + having that hospitality abused. + +With a guttural exclamation of rage, Brennan half started from his +seat, only to relax again and glare around. + +“You read that stuff?” he demanded, catching the eye of Red Pollock +across the table. + +“Sure!” grinned the latter. “Great dope. If Cy hadn’t coaxed me into a +game of draw, I’d been there myself, instead of missing all the fun.” + +“You’d ought to thank me,” said Russell philosophically. “If you hadn’t +been so busy losing your dough to Pete and me, you’d likely got your +block knocked off down the street. According to accounts, there wasn’t +nothing playful about that mix-up.” + +“I reckon not,” sighed Pollock regretfully. “They say the lad that +started the rumpus, whoever he was, got into a corner and held off the +whole bunch for ten minutes. He must be some scrapper. I got mixed up +in a strike riot in Chicago once, and, believe me, it’s no cinch to +stand off a crowd of roughnecks like that.” + +“Humph!” grunted the manager. He had cooled down considerably while the +others were speaking, and was doing some thinking. “Any of the boys see +it?” + +“Sure! Buck got a look-in, he was telling us.” + +Brennan glanced swiftly down to where Fargo sat at the end of the +table. “How about last night, Buck?” he called, in a deceptively mild +tone. “Were you the one who started the rough-house downtown?” + +“Nix on that!” grinned the catcher. “It was going full blast when I got +there. I seen all I wanted to from the outskirts. The crowd was plumb +crazy. About a hundred of ’em trying to get at one poor bloke penned in +behind the upset ticket booth. Them that couldn’t get a whack at him +hit somebody else for luck, and a dozen nice little individual scraps +were going on all over the place.” + +“But who was the man?” Brennan persisted. “Didn’t you see him?” + +“Couldn’t get a sight of him from the street,” Fargo answered readily. +“The ticket booth was too high. I run into one of your cubs――Locke’s +his name――trying to get out of the crowd, and we came home together.” + +The manager frowned suspiciously. He knew Fargo of old, and realized +that he was just the sort of man to be concerned in an affair of this +description. The catcher’s gaze was candid and open, however, and the +closest scrutiny failed to disclose as much as a scratch on his face. + +Brennan’s gaze veered swiftly to the next table, where his new +recruit sat with some of the other youngsters. Locke looked cool and +undisturbed as he ate his breakfast with evident relish. The manager’s +keen eye discovered a bit of plaster on one lip and a scratch on one +side of his nose; but, by what Fargo had said about the general nature +of the fighting, those slight abrasions might easily be accounted for. +Besides, Locke did not strike him as having much of the rowdy in his +make-up. + +Without further comment, Brennan fell to on his breakfast and resumed +reading the newspaper account. When he had finished it, he came to the +conclusion that if one of his men had indeed been the cause of the +disturbance the fellow must be a scrapper of unusual ability, and would +surely bear upon his person unmistakable marks of the conflict. + +Being a man of action, he at once started the round of his players. +He had no desire to antagonize the rougher element in Ashland. He +knew perfectly well that this would mean a constant succession of +bickerings, with the possibility of injury to some of his highclass +players if they got into a fight. + +His critical inspection of the men showed the regulars to be beyond +reproach. Not one had even a slight abrasion for which he could not +account. The majority were provided with plausible alibis. Of the cubs, +three were on the suspicious list. Locke he had already eliminated, +and so did not bother about him. The other two were Bert Elgin and a +young fielder named Ross, both of whom――and particularly the first +mentioned――bore telltale signs on their faces. + +They told a plausible, well-balanced story: They had been sitting near +the stage of the Palace Theater when the uproar started back by the +door. They arose with the rest of the audience and were carried out by +the rush of the crowd. When they finally emerged into the lobby――Elgin +swore that he had left a good-sized piece of skin from his face on the +edge of the door――the place was filled with men, yelling and fighting +like maniacs. They were so busy forcing their way to the street that +neither had been able to get a look at the cause of the disturbance. +Both were hit several times in the face, and had naturally smashed +back. On reaching the sidewalk, they had left the place at once and +returned to the hotel. + +Brennan was slightly nonplused. The story rang true. It agreed +perfectly, moreover, with Fargo’s account of the affair, and the +manager knew that his catcher was not at all on friendly terms with +either Elgin or Ross. Lastly, he was confident that neither of them +had pugilistic skill or nerve enough to stand up before such a crowd +after the manner which every account agreed that the unknown had done. + +Puzzled, with a vague feeling that there was something about it which +he did not understand, Brennan was obliged to content himself with a +strict order that the entire squad forego shows of any description in +the future, under penalty of heavy fines. + +Later in the day he instituted inquiries throughout the town, with +equal lack of success. The majority of people who had been at the +theater had lost their heads, and could tell him nothing that he wanted +to know. Three men there were who swore that they had obtained a good +look at the mysterious individual, but their descriptions were so +totally at variance that the manager gave up his quest in disgust. + +“A lot of dough-heads!” he growled. “Sounds as if they were each +describing a different person.” + +Which happened to be exactly the truth. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + WITHOUT GRATITUDE + + +“Well, it worked all right, kid,” remarked Buck Fargo as he caught up +with Lefty on the way out to the field. “I’ll guarantee the old man +didn’t even ask you a question, did he?” + +“No. I was waiting for him to brace me, but it never came off. What the +deuce did you tell him?” + +Fargo grinned. “The truth――only not quite all of it,” he chuckled. +“Wonder how our friend Elgin’s going to get out of it?” + +Lefty hazarded no guess. He had more than a suspicion that his old +acquaintance would manage to evade the responsibility somehow. That had +always been his strong point, for he was not overburdened with scruples +about sticking to the letter of the truth. + +Fargo explained briefly what he had told Brennan, and then dropped back +to his own crowd, leaving Locke alone. The latter was just turning into +the gate of the field when some one touched his arm, and, turning, he +saw Bert Elgin beside him, a frown of anxiety on his thin face. + +“Look here,” the man began abruptly, “Brennan’s just put it up to me +about last night, and I had to give him a song and dance to steer him +off. He’s mad as a hornet, and I couldn’t very well tell him I was +mixed up in that fool business. I wanted to put you wise, so if he asks +you, your story can fit in with mine.” + +Locke’s eyes were fixed coldly upon the other’s face. “And what was the +story you told him?” he asked shortly. + +“Said I was down in front with Ross, and got these scratches getting +out of the place. Didn’t know anything about what started the muss, or +see the fellow who――” + +“And you expect me to back you up in this lie?” Lefty broke in, his +eyes narrowing. “You’ve got another guess coming, Elgin. I came mighty +close to lying for you once, and it’s the last time.” + +Elgin’s face darkened. “You’ll blab it all to him, then?” he burst out. +“I might have known you wouldn’t let slip a chance like this to get +back at me. You always were a――” He stopped abruptly and bit his lip, a +slow flush rising in his face. + +Lefty’s eyes flashed ominously. “Well?” he snapped. “Let’s have it. +What were you going to say?” + +Elgin’s gaze dropped to the ground, and he kicked a pebble awkwardly. +“Nothing,” he mumbled. “I――wasn’t thinking――of what――you did for me +last night.” + +Lefty’s lips curled scornfully. “Don’t let that worry you,” he +retorted. “I didn’t do it for you. I did it to save my self-respect, +and because you were one of the boys against a crowd of muckers. You +don’t owe me anything. Get that? I don’t want you indebted to me. As +for this story you told Brennan, it’s up to you. I won’t go out of my +way to put him right, but if he asks me questions I’ll tell him the +truth.” + +Elgin threw back his head, furious under the lashing contempt of the +other’s voice. + +“If you’re such a good little boy,” he sneered, “how do you explain +traveling under a name which isn’t yours? Strikes me that’s a lie, all +right.” + +“That’s my business,” returned Lefty curtly. “Anything more?” + +“No,” snarled Elgin; “but if Brennan gets wise through you, I’ll settle +your hash for good and all.” + +Lefty shrugged his shoulders indifferently. “Try it,” he laughed. “If +you don’t have any better luck than you did the last time, I guess I’ll +survive.” + +Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked across the field, +leaving Elgin glaring after him in speechless rage. + +For a moment or two Lefty was conscious of an unpleasant feeling, more +like a bad taste in the mouth than anything else. He had not really +expected any fulsome expressions of gratitude from Bert Elgin. He was +quite sincere in not wishing the man to feel indebted to him in the +slightest. And yet, inconsequentially enough, when it was all over he +could not help wondering how any one could be so lacking in a sense of +decency. At least the fellow could have kept his mouth shut, if nothing +else. + +The whole matter was swept swiftly out of his mind, however. Brennan, +still somewhat peevish at his lack of success in reaching the bottom +of the riot affair, was decidedly short of temper, and he started the +day’s practice with a rush and vim which kept everybody on the jump. + +“Get a hustle on you, Locke!” he snapped, as Lefty approached at a +dogtrot. “I want to see what some of the cubs can do with a stick,” he +went on, in a lower tone. “Get out there and loosen up a bit; a little +smoke, you know. You was full enough of it yesterday.” + +Lefty caught the ball with outward calm, but as he turned and walked +out to the pitcher’s box he groaned to himself. He had been hoping +that he might be spared this to-day, for he had a bruise on his left +shoulder as big as a silver dollar, and his whole upper body was stiff +and sore from last night’s experience. + +There was nothing to do but grin and bear it, however, unless he +wanted to rouse Brennan’s suspicions. While the cub batters were being +gathered in, he tried warming up a little, but had no more than sent +two balls over before he was brought up sharply by the manager’s roar: + +“Stop that, and get down to business!” + +The first delivery went so high that the cub backstop had difficulty in +pulling it down. The second was equally erratic. Lefty flashed a swift +glance at the stocky manager, whose face was set in a fierce scowl, and +decided that he would have to take a brace at any cost. + +With an effort which sent a stinging twinge of pain through his bruised +shoulder, he whipped over a speedy straight one, which the batter +missed, following it by a drop that was quite as deceptive. Brennan’s +scowl relaxed slightly, but more than once during the succeeding +twenty minutes it deepened again; for Lefty managed to intersperse +wild pitches with good ones in a manner which could not help being +exasperating to one who knew nothing of the cause. + +“That’ll do!” growled the manager, at length. “You’re a winner, you +are! What’s the matter with you to-day?” + +Lefty mumbled some excuse about not feeling very fit, and Brennan’s +lips curled. “Huh!” he snorted. “Delicate, are you? Rot! Hey, Cy, come +over and give this cub a few lessons in first principles.” + +There was a general grin from the watching group of cubs, and Lefty +felt his cheeks burn. He recovered himself swiftly, however, and, at +Brennan’s order, took his place with the batters. The fact that he +smashed out a clean single the first time he was up before the Hornet’s +star pitcher went far toward restoring his own self-respect, even +though it had no visible effect on the Argus-eyed manager. + +Once during the course of the morning’s work Lefty caught Buck Fargo’s +eyes fixed upon him, and as he was leaving the park toward noon the big +backstop stepped out from the group of regulars and came over to him. + +“Looks like you were getting in bad with the old man,” he remarked +seriously. “First impressions go a long distance with him. I’ve been +thinking mebbe we made a mistake in keeping quiet about last night. +He’d roar for a bit, but he couldn’t sling it into you like he would if +you’d started that rough-house.” + +“You think it would be a good idea to tell him?” Lefty asked gravely. + +“That would put him wise to what was the matter with you.” + +The cub pitcher’s lips twitched. “Don’t you think it would be more +sport to see if he could find it out by himself?” he suggested. + +Fargo let out a guffaw and brought one fist down on Locke’s shoulder +with a force which made him wince. + +“For a cub, you ain’t half bad, kid,” he chuckled. + +That was all he said. The next instant he had turned away and rejoined +his companions, leaving Lefty to jog on back to the hotel alone. + +But somehow, though he was alone, the cub was far from feeling that +depressing isolation of the day before. The morning seemed to have been +spent principally in stirring up an old enmity and getting in bad with +the manager. But these things did not worry the bush pitcher as they +might have done if he had not fancied that he had also made a friend, +and one who was well worth while. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + THE MAN WHO KNEW + + +Lefty had barely stepped inside the Hatchford Hotel lobby when some +one leaped at him like a human whirlwind, and a vaguely familiar voice +chortled in his ear: + +“Well, you old lobster! If I’m not glad to see your ugly mug again! Put +it there, old fellow!” + +Whirling swiftly, Locke saw standing before him a short, slim, wiry +chap of about his own age, with a deeply tanned and freckled face, and +a big mouth stretched to its utmost in a wide grin of delight. + +“Jack Stillman!” he exclaimed joyously, grabbing the outstretched hand. +“Well, what do you know about this! Last time I ran into you was on +Broadway, over a year ago. What the mischief are you doing down here?” + +“That’s easy. I’m the only original live wire on the sporting page of +the _Star_. Ran down to look over Jim Brennan’s live stock and give the +fans something to think about. You don’t mean to say you’re one of ’em, +Phil?” + +“Guessed right the first crack, Jack,” Lefty laughed. “You always were +an awful clever boy.” + +“But how the deuce―― I didn’t even know you’d taken up baseball. +Thought you were scratching away in a lawyer’s office.” + +“So I was until last spring. I played the season under the name of +Lefty Locke. It’s a long story, but――” + +Stillman’s eyes widened. “You’re Locke?” he exclaimed interestedly. +“Wouldn’t that get you? I heard a few things about his pitching out in +the bush last summer, but I hadn’t any idea you were it. Let’s have the +yarn. Any good copy in it?” + +“I hope not,” Lefty said hastily. “Come on upstairs and I’ll tell you +the story of my life while I’m making myself respectable.” + +The newspaper man accepted with alacrity, and when they reached Lefty’s +room he made himself comfortable while the latter proceeded with his +toilet and the recital of the summer’s doings at the same time. + +“It’s a shame that Blue Stocking scout showed up just too late,” +Stillman said regretfully. “Of course Jimmy Brennan is all right. He’s +got more baseball under that dome of his than most managers in the +country, and if you get in right you’ll be all to the merry. I’d hate +like thunder to lose that coin though. Any more cub twirlers in the +outfit?” + +“Bert Elgin,” Lefty returned quietly. + +Stillman stared, and an expression of incredulity flashed into his +face. “What?” he gasped. “Not――” + +Locke nodded. “The same. Funny, isn’t it, we should run up against each +other this way?” + +“Funny? I don’t see it. The cur!” + +Lefty turned swiftly from the bureau, a queer look on his face. “Just +what do you mean by that, Jack?” he asked slowly. + +Stillman snorted. “You know very well what I mean,” he retorted +forcibly. “I’m not supposed to be wise, but Bob Ferris told me the +whole story, and it’s my opinion you were blamed fools to keep +still about it. Any man who’ll steal from one college mate and then +deliberately work to throw the blame on another isn’t fit for decent +fellows to associate with. When you had him where you wanted him, why +didn’t you come out with it, and let everybody know what kind of a +mucker he was?” + +Lefty slipped into his coat, and dropped down beside his friend. + +“You know why we didn’t,” he said quickly. “He’d have been fired, and +the varsity would have lost about every other game that season. You +don’t suppose it was on Elgin’s account we kept still after we’d found +how he was trying to throw the blame on me?” + +“I’m not quite a fool. All the same, you were wrong. We might have +dropped a game or two, but you could have jumped into his place, all +right.” + +“You know I couldn’t. I was slaving about ten hours a day to make up +work I missed on account of that beastly typhoid. How long would I +have lasted at Princeton if I tried to play ball, too? No; Bob and I +thrashed it all out, and, though it came mighty hard, we decided it was +the only thing to do, unless we wanted the team beaten to a frazzle.” + +“Why didn’t you come out with it the next year?” demanded Stillman. +“You could have pitched then, all right.” + +“That would have looked fine, wouldn’t it? How would we have accounted +for keeping quiet so long? I will say, Jack, that we were both sorry +more than once afterward; but, having started out, there was nothing +else to do but keep on. I don’t see how Bob came to tell you. It was +understood that we should keep it entirely to ourselves.” + +“It wasn’t till a year after we’d graduated,” the reporter explained, +his face still clouded. “It was one right at the Princeton Club. I +don’t remember just how the subject came up. I suppose he thought there +wasn’t any need of keeping still any longer.” He paused and glanced at +his companion. “How’s he acted since you showed up? Same old Elgin, I +suppose?” + +For an instant Lefty hesitated. He could picture Stillman’s sarcastic +reception of the story of the night before, and, knowing his friend’s +impulsive, quick-tempered nature, he decided that it would be wisest to +keep silent. + +“He wasn’t overjoyed to see me,” he returned quietly. + +The newspaper man arose. “I should say not!” he commented briefly. +“Afraid you’ll let the other fellows know what sort of a rotter he is. +If I were in your place, I’d be hanged if I wouldn’t.” + +“Where would be the sense?” Lefty retorted. “It was all over and done +with years ago. Of course, if he should try anything like the same game +again, it would be different. You’re not thinking of――” + +“It’s none of my business,” Stillman put in. “I don’t want to have +anything to do with the mucker. Let’s go down to dinner.” + +As luck would have it, stepping out of the elevator, they came face to +face with Bert Elgin himself, talking earnestly with big Bill Hagin, +a regular outfielder. For an instant the former stared blankly at +Stillman. Then, with a great affectation of heartiness, he thrust out a +hand. + +“Well, I’ll be hanged if it isn’t Jack Stillman!” he exclaimed. “Glad +to see you, old hoss!” + +The reporter made no attempt to withdraw his hands from his pockets. +He seemed, in fact, to thrust them deeper, and as his eyes met Elgin’s +there was a look of withering, contemptuous scorn in them, which cut +the ball player like a knife. + +“How are you, Elgin?” he said curtly, and passed on toward the dining +room with Lefty. + +For a second Elgin stood staring after them, his face flushed and his +eyes gleaming angrily. + +“Your friend don’t seem choked with joy at seeing you,” Hagin commented +maliciously. + +Elgin came to himself with a slight start, and shrugged his shoulders +indifferently. “No special friend of mine,” he said shortly. “Used to +see him now and then three years ago.” + +Nevertheless, when he dropped into his place at the table a short time +later, his face was still flushed and angry. + +“Stillman was friendly enough at Princeton,” he thought furiously. +“That dog has turned him against me with his lying stories, that’s +what’s happened.” He ground his teeth viciously. “If I don’t put it all +over him, good and proper, I’m a liar!” + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + SOMETHING SUB-ROSA + + +“Five-inning practice game at eight-thirty sharp,” announced Manager +Brennan, at the close of the day’s work. + +Instantly every tongue stopped wagging, and each man turned an eager, +inquiring face in his direction. After nearly two weeks of monotonous +training, the prospect of a real game, even if it was only among +themselves, was very welcome. + +The new recruits, especially, quivered with anticipation. It was a +foregone conclusion that the game would be played between the regulars +and the “Yannigans,” as the cubs are sometimes termed; and the chance +of pitting themselves against their more experienced rivals thrilled +each one of the youngsters through and through. + +The older men were more indifferent. They had played many such games +in past training seasons, and knew that these were organized by the +manager mainly for the purpose of watching the cubs in action and +studying their possibilities. Still, there would be a chance to try +their hitting skill against the bush pitchers, and any ball player +will willingly go without a meal in order to bat. + +“You can try your hand at being field captain to-morrow, Cy,” Brennan +said, glancing at Russell, “and make up your own team.” He pulled +a pencil and rumpled piece of paper from his pocket and turned his +attention to the expectant youngsters. “We’ll see how you make out +bossing a team, Ogan,” he went on, as his eyes lighted on the promising +young first baseman from Ohio. “I’ll want these men to start in +playing. Afterward you’ll use your own judgment about keeping them in +the game.” + +He began calling out the names of nine cubs, with the positions they +were to take, jotting them down as he did so. When he finished with the +words, “Whalen, catcher, and Locke on the slab,” Lefty beamed. + +He had worked hard for two days to atone for the bad impression he +had made at first, and this looked as if he had succeeded. “And I’ll +do even better to-morrow,” he resolved, tossing up his glove in sheer +exuberance of spirits. “I’ll try to show him Toler wasn’t such a bad +judge of pitchers, after all.” + +A glimpse of Bert Elgin’s scowling face only added to Lefty’s good +spirits, and he departed from the field feeling very cheerful indeed. + +At the supper table Jim Brennan was conspicuous by his absence, and +curious inquiries revealed the fact that he had taken a late afternoon +train to Fort Worth, from which he did not expect to return until early +morning. “Pop” Jennings, the oldest and most settled pitcher in the +organization, was the source of this information. He added that he had +been left in charge of the squad, and hoped he would not have to break +too many heads to keep order. + +The announcement caused no immediate effect beyond a certain noticeable +relaxation. There were a few more or less joshing remarks concerning +Pop’s new job, but they were comparatively mild. Before entering +the field of professional baseball Jennings had dallied with the +four-ounce gloves to an extent which gave him something of a reputation +in sporting circles on the Pacific coast. He was noted for a dogged +determination to carry out orders at any cost――a trait which made him +invaluable at the crucial moment of a hard-fought game. The players had +learned from experience that there would be no slurring of Brennan’s +instructions, and that any laxity of training would bring with it swift +retribution. + +Happily, Pop had a praiseworthy habit of retiring promptly at nine +o’clock. Jesters said it was because he was getting old and had to be +careful of himself. The truth was that Jennings, raised on a farm, had +been imbued from earliest years with the value of the old adage, “Early +to bed, early to rise,” and couldn’t help himself. + +During the early part of the evening the behavior of the Hornets was +unexceptionable. Some lounged in the lobby, reading papers, or chatting +lazily. Most of the cubs were gathered in a corner, discussing the +morrow’s game, and perfecting a system of signals for use on the +field. Quite a number of the regulars, gathered about the pool tables, +indulged in an innocent game of penny ante, or shot craps. A few +drifted off early to their rooms. Pop, making a round of inspection +a little before nine, decided that all were harmlessly employed, and +departed to bed. + +Instantly the click of cues and balls ceased, card games languished, +and a state of general restiveness ensued. Lefty and two or three +companions, who had drifted in a few minutes before from the lobby, +wondered what was going to happen. They were not kept waiting long. At +the end of fifteen minutes Bill Hagin sprang to his feet. + +“He’s safe,” he announced. “Come on up to my room, fellows. It’s the +whole length of the house from his, and we can have a little racket +without his getting wise.” + +The response was instantaneous, for the Hornets, as a crowd, were +nothing if not lively. Every regular in the room arose promptly and +started toward the door. The three or four cubs present followed more +slowly. They had been long enough with the organization to learn the +wisdom of not being too pushing. + +Hagin, glancing back from the doorway, sensed the situation, and +grinned. “Everybody come along,” he invited good-humoredly. “We’ll +teach you kids the first principles of draw poker.” + +His remark was general, but his eyes happened to rest lightly on the +face of Lefty Locke in a manner which was distinctly challenging. Now, +Locke was a very normal young chap, and the tone of condescension +rasped him slightly. He fancied he played pretty good poker, and had +an idea that even the famous Hornets couldn’t show him a whole lot +about the game. Consequently he accepted the invitation with alacrity, +and was presently seated at a table in the big double room which Hagin +shared with one of the other members of the team. + +Buck Fargo was on one side of him and Pollock, the red-headed +shortstop, on the other. Cigars were produced and lighted, cards +appeared, and presently, amid the babble of talk and laughter, Hagin’s +voice sounded: + +“What’ll you have to drink, fellows? Speak up sharp, now; the boy’s +waiting.” + +As he cut for deal Lefty glanced up and saw one of the hotel bell boys +standing near the door, order-blank in hand. From the character and +number of the drinks he put down, it became swiftly evident that the +crowd was certainly making the most of Jim Brennan’s absence. Calls for +high-balls, fizzes, gin-rickeys, whisky straights, beers, and ales came +from every side. If there were any scattering orders for soft drinks, +Lefty did not hear them. The Hornets seemed to agree with Red Pollock +that “them soft slops was the worst things a man could put into his +stummick.” + +When his turn came to order, Locke hesitated an instant. With the +examples set him on every side by men so much more experienced in the +game, he need scarcely feel any compunction in taking something he was +used to in moderation. A single glass could scarcely do him any harm. + +“Light beer,” he said, at length. + +Glancing hurriedly over his cards, he quite missed the odd side glance +which Buck Fargo flashed at him. But perhaps it was not meant for him +to see. + + + + + CHAPTER X + + “WHEN THE CAT’S AWAY” + + +The liquid refreshments arrived while they were in the midst of an +unusually animated hand. Everybody had dropped out but Cy Russell, +Siegrist, the first baseman, and Lefty. The latter, with three kings +and a pair of tens, was half conscious that Fargo had taken a glass +from the tray and set it down beside him. It was one of those cases, +however, where one gets an impression without really seeing, and he +could not have told afterward whether it was actually the big backstop +who put it down, or the waiter. And when it came to that, he did not +notice whether it was the hotel employee himself who held the tray, or +some one else. + +He played his hand for all there was in it, and won the good-sized +jackpot. Siegrist groaned as he flung down three queens and a pair of +eights. + +Russell shoved over the chips with a grimace. “I was trying to get by +with two pair, aces up. You don’t work that innocent-appearing face on +me again, kid.” + +Lefty chuckled and took a long drink from the glass as he shuffled +the cards to deal. The beer had an unusual flavor, and he sipped it +again, trying to make out what was the matter with it. “Bum stuff,” he +reflected. “Tastes sort of queer.” + +As the game progressed, however, he gradually drained the glass without +thinking much about it. He was having unusual luck, and played his +cards with a skill which put him away in the lead of the others. + +Presently Hagin sauntered up to the table. “What’ll you have, boys?” he +asked. “Time for a second round.” + +Most of them ordered; one or two declined, among them Lefty. + +“No, thanks,” Locke said firmly, when Hagin pressed him. “I’ve had +enough.” + +“I reckon you _have_ had enough,” put in Buck Fargo, in a tone which +seemed so significant that the cub pitcher glanced swiftly at him. +The big backstop was busy with his cards, and did not look up; but +Lefty noticed that his face was oddly serious. He noticed also the +half-emptied glass of seltzer standing beside Fargo’s scanty pile of +chips, and a sudden qualm struck him. + +“Perhaps I shouldn’t have taken that beer, after all,” he said to +himself. “I thought everybody was drinking something in that line.” + +A quick survey of the table told him that everybody else was, and, +somewhat reassured, he went on with the game. Perhaps the catcher was +a little peevish because he was losing so heavily. Adversity at cards +brings out the good and bad points of a man’s character better than +almost anything else. + +The game progressed. More drinks were brought, more cigars produced +and lighted. No one got befuddled, for the Hornets were a hard-headed +crowd, and each one knew his limit; but there was a general warming up +throughout the room. Joshing and laughter sounded continuously. Now +and then some one would burst into song, only to be sat upon instantly +by three or four others. The tobacco smoke hung in a thick pall midway +between ceiling and floor, stirred fitfully by soft breezes from the +open windows. + +For a time Lefty continued to win. Then gradually luck seemed to turn +against him. He still held much the same run of cards, but several +times he made bad errors in judgment. Presently he became conscious of +an extraordinary sensation of lightness in his head, like nothing else +he had ever experienced. It was not especially disagreeable. On the +contrary, it seemed as if his senses had become suddenly more acute, as +if he could play two small pairs so cleverly that he would bluff out +stronger hands. Instead, he lost, and kept on losing. + +It was most puzzling and annoying. He could not understand it. That +first odd exhilaration passed in a little while, and was succeeded by a +dull depression. His head began to ache. Was it the smoke? he wondered. +Several times he caught one of the fellows eyeing him curiously, and it +brought him up with a jerk, determined to stick it out and let no one +know there was anything the matter with him. + +How long it continued he never knew. For seeming hours he went on his +raw nerve, playing the cards dealt to him instinctively, his whole +being occupied in fighting off a clogging sensation which constantly +threatened his brain like a smothering blanket. + +It was Buck Fargo who made the first move to break up, and Lefty could +have hugged him had he not been so taken up in keeping a grip upon his +consciousness. + +“Well, fellows, I’m going to hit the downy,” the big backstop announced, +with a cavernous yawn. “Let’s settle up.” + +There were protests, of course; but Fargo was firm. + +Released from the tension of playing, Lefty sat stupidly staring at the +three red chips in front of him. He was aroused by Russell’s voice: +“Come across with seventeen bucks, Locke. You made a bad finish.” + +Without a word, the cub pitcher fumbled in his pocket and drew forth a +roll of bills. The numbers in the corners were blurred and indistinct. +He picked out several at random, tossed them on the table, gathered in +the change Russell handed him, and arose slowly to his feet. + +For an instant he stood gripping the chairback. The room was going +around; the floor tilted dangerously. + +“What’s the matter, kid?” came in Fargo’s voice. “You look sort of +funny.” + +Lefty straightened himself with a great effort. “Nothing,” he said, +with laboriously distinct enunciation. “I’ve got a sort of headache. +The bad air, I guess.” + +Then the men drifted over to the other table, bent on breaking up +the game there, and Locke was left alone. He had given up wondering +what was the matter with him. His one thought was to get out of the +room while he could. Slowly he turned and faced the door. A shout of +laughter, followed by the sounds of a good-natured rough-house, told +him that the attention of the others was occupied for the moment. He +let go his hold on the chair, reeled, recovered himself with an effort, +and, with set teeth, slowly, laboriously crossed the room. + +It seemed an eternity before his hand touched the panels and fumbled +for the knob. The next he knew he was in the still darkness of the +hall, steadying himself against the wall. Somewhere in his head a +sledge hammer was beating on an anvil. He wondered hazily how long +flesh and bone could stand it. He took a step forward. Where was his +room? Was it on this floor or the next? + +At last he remembered, and began a slow, painful progress down the +hall. Several times before reaching the stairs he fell, but at last he +struck the bottom step and began to crawl up on hands and knees. + +His room was directly opposite the elevator, or he would never have +reached it. The door was, luckily, unlocked, and he managed to step +in and close it behind him. As his finger instinctively pressed the +electric button close at hand, flooding the room with light, he gave a +sudden stifled cry. + +He was to pitch to-morrow in the first practice game of the season. +The remembrance stabbed through his fading senses like a knife. He +had meant to show Brennan what there was in him. He had planned to +strain every effort in order that the manager should forget his first +unfortunate fiasco. And now―― + +He groaned aloud. Then, with a long, shuddering sigh, he felt his legs +crumple under him. A black curtain fell before his eyes. + + + + + CHAPTER XI + + ALL IN + + +When Lefty came to himself the electric lights were still blazing in +sickly opposition to the bright sunshine which poured through the two +windows. For a moment or two he lay wondering what had happened and +why he was stretched out on the floor, fully dressed. Then the dull, +throbbing pain in his head brought him to a sitting posture, with a +groan. + +He glanced at the bed and saw that it was untouched. He looked up +dazedly at the cluster of lights, then down at his rumpled shirtfront. +The glitter of his gold fob caught his eye, and, with an effort, he +pulled out his watch. + +“Twenty-five minutes to eight,” he muttered. “Time I was getting――” + +He broke off abruptly and drew his breath with a swift intake as he +remembered. The game was to begin at eight-thirty. He was to pitch for +the Yannigans! + +Staggering to his feet, he went over to the washstand and plunged +his face into a hurriedly drawn bowl of water. Nothing had ever felt +so good before. He dashed it on his hair, regardless of the streams +running over his shirtfront. Again and again he dropped his face back +into the grateful, cooling contents of the bowl before he finally +reached for a rough towel. + +He remembered everything now――the absence of Brennan, the adjournment +to Hagin’s room, the cards, the smoke, the drinks, and――last of +all――that horrible attack which had come upon him. + +What had brought it about? It couldn’t have been the beer. That was +wretched stuff, to be sure, but a single glass of it would hardly +produce such an effect. He had thrown his coat hastily to one side and +was ripping the collar from his neck when suddenly he stopped abruptly. + +“Doped!” he exclaimed, aloud. + +It was an almost incredible supposition, but it explained everything +perfectly. No single glass of ordinary beer could have the effect of +that one upon a man in Lefty’s splendid physical condition, and there +was the odd, repulsive flavor which he had set down to the poor quality +of the brew. + +But who would do such a thing――and why? Locke’s first thought was of +Bert Elgin, but the fellow had not even been in the room. Hagin had no +motive――or, so far as he knew, any opportunity. Who else, then, could +have been responsible? + +The answer did not come readily, for Lefty’s mind was working only +by fits and starts as he flung his clothes right and left, threw a +dressing gown over his shoulders, and darted down the hall to the +shower which Brennan had caused to be put in for the benefit of his +men. The tingling reaction of his blood under the icy spray meant much +more to him than breakfast, for an intolerable lassitude seemed to grip +his limbs, while the very thought of food was almost nauseating. + +Lingering under the shower as long as he dared, he dashed back to his +room and began to drag on his baseball clothes. It was not until he +was buckling his belt, however, that the significance of Buck Fargo’s +remark when Lefty refused the second glass of beer came to him: “I +reckon you _have_ had enough.” Why had he said that? Was it because +he knew that the first glass was quite sufficient to do the business? +There had been more to the big backstop’s tone, somehow, than just +plain, casual agreement. + +“Rot!” snapped Locke, snatching up cap and glove and making for the +door. “I’m loony! He hasn’t a single motive, and, besides, he’s not the +sort of chap who’d do a dirty thing like that.” + +Nevertheless, the thought returned to torment him at odd moments during +the hasty choking down of a little breakfast, followed by the jog out +to the field――and afterward. It was the bitter disappointment and +humiliation of that afterward, which Lefty never forgot. + +The cubs were in high spirits, eager for the chance to win their spurs. +As he watched their antics on the way out to the park, Lefty felt a +pang of envy. He would have given anything to have that same snap and +ginger, instead of feeling the lassitude and weariness which gripped +him. + +Several of his teammates asked if he wasn’t feeling well, but he forced +a laugh, and put them off. He would rather have died than give up his +place to Bert Elgin. When the time came for him to go into the box +surely he would brace up and be more himself. + +Halfway out to the field Andy Whalen, the cub catcher, came up, and +they discussed briefly the signals which had been talked over the night +before. Lefty wished desperately that he had gone off to bed directly +afterward, instead of strolling into the pool room and allowing himself +to be drawn into that game in Hagin’s room. + +Regrets were unavailing, however. Though some one had given him the +double cross, Lefty realized that he alone was to blame for making the +opportunity. Then and there he registered a silent vow that nothing +under heaven should ever again induce him to deviate a hair’s breadth +from his manager’s rules of training. And then he wondered whether that +resolution had been made too late. + +The teams had ten minutes’ practice in which to warm up; then the coin +was tossed. The Yannigans won, and, choosing the field, romped gayly +out to their positions, tossing up gloves, yelling persiflage at one +another, and altogether behaving coltishly. + +Lefty was with them, but not of them. He had never in his life felt in +poorer condition for pitching. His head ached, and he was as tired and +drooping as if he had not slept in forty-eight hours. But he could not +bring himself to beg off, and there was no other way out. He caught the +ball from Brennan, who acted as umpire, shot a swift, appraising glance +at the manager’s impenetrable face, and then took the signal from +Whalen. + + + + + CHAPTER XII + + LEFTY’S FAILURE + + +The call was for a curve ball, and Lefty did his best to respond. +Unfortunately he put so much curve into it that the sphere missed the +plate by at least two feet. Whalen looked surprised, but said nothing. +Lefty felt the blood rushing into his face and making his head pound +more than ever. + +The backstop then signaled for a fast straight ball, indicating with +one hand that it was to cross the batter’s shoulders. It was straight +enough, but woefully lacking in speed, and Carl Siegrist promptly hit +it on the trademark and dusted to first. + +Had this been a championship game, the rangy infielder, who had hit +well over three hundred for several seasons, would have made it good +for two bags, or even three. Siegrist, like all the other old men, did +not believe in straining himself unduly, however. He took things easy, +and camped on the initial sack. + +“Rotten!” snapped Ogan, from first. “What in Sam Hill’s the matter with +you, Locke?” + +“Yes,” chimed in Tom Burley, at short; “this isn’t croquet. Wake up.” + +“Let’s have a little of that smoke you had up your sleeve the other +day,” added the third baseman. + +Lefty made no reply to these remarks. He was watching Brennan’s face as +the manager left the plate to take up his position behind the pitcher. +Brennan looked anything but pleased, and, though he made no remark, +Locke fancied he knew what was passing through his mind. + +The next batter drew two balls in succession, and then created a +momentary respite for Lefty by flying out to center field. His +successor, however, smashed the first pitched ball over the infield, +and romped down the line amid a howl of delight from the regulars, +whose interest in the game was warming up. + +Instantly a gatling fire of sarcasm was turned on Lefty by his +teammates. Ogan raced into the diamond and caught the pitcher’s arm. + +“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed fiercely. “Are you trying +to throw the game away?” + +Lefty shook his head. His face was white now, his eye desperate. He +knew he was making a miserable exhibition. He should not have started; +he should have gone to Ogan before the game and told him he wasn’t +in fit condition to pitch. His head was splitting so that he could +scarcely see. He seemed to have no strength left in his arm. + +“Perhaps you’d better take me out, Al,” he muttered. “I seem to be on +the fritz.” + +“You bet you are!” retorted the captain hotly. Then, catching a glimpse +of Lefty’s wretched face, he hesitated an instant. “I’ll give you one +more chance, Locke,” he went on shortly. “If you don’t make good, out +you go. I’m not going to have this game handed over on a silver tray if +I can help it. You’ve got the goods, Locke; brace up and hand ’em out.” + +When Ogan had gone back to his position, Lefty turned and glanced at +the plate. His heart sank when he saw that Buck Fargo stood there, +swinging his bat negligently. Nevertheless, with set teeth, the +southpaw toed the rubber and pitched. + +It was a straight, high ball that cut the plate in half, and Brennan’s +voice droned out “Strike!” as the batter let it pass. Lefty was +heartened, and, at a signal from Whalen, he tried an outcurve. As +before, this curved too far out even to cut a corner. Another ball +followed, and then another strike. Then Fargo swung above a drop ball, +and was declared out. + +As the big backstop tossed his bat aside and strolled, grinning, to the +bench, there was a sigh of relief from the Yannigan infield. Perhaps +their pitcher was taking an almost-despaired-of brace. One or two gave +voice to brief words of commendation; but Lefty did not hear them. +He was staring after Fargo in a puzzled way. No one knew better than +he――unless it was Andy Whalen――how far those deliveries had fallen +short of his usual form. He could not understand why Buck had failed to +make connections. + +There was no time to think of that, however, for Bill Hagin was +strutting to the plate. To Lefty his expression seemed more cocky and +self-assured than ever, and the bush pitcher felt a sudden ardent +longing to send him back to the bench as his predecessor had gone. + +Whalen signaled for a drop, but Lefty had watched Hagin batting the +day before, and felt that a straight, speedy one, placed high, would +bother him more. He notified the catcher to that effect, toed the +rubber, tried to forget his pounding head, gathered every muscle for +the effort, and pitched. + +The horsehide whirled toward the plate with speed enough, but crossed +it a good foot below where Lefty intended. The bat met it squarely, +with every ounce of the big fielder’s muscle behind it, and Lefty +uttered a stifled groan of despairing surrender as the regulars began +to circle the bases blithely. + +What had gone before was as nothing to the roar which rose from the +cubs when they saw three grinning players jog, one after the other, +across the plate. As one man, they turned on Lefty and poured out the +vials of their wrath in vivid, soul-stirring, mouth-filling phrases, +which left absolutely nothing to the imagination. + +Interspersed with these gusts of abuse were yells of: “Take him out! +Take――him――out!” which were quite unnecessary. Lefty realized that he +was done for, and did not even glance toward Ogan as he walked toward +the bench. He heard the latter’s angry voice, however, yelling after +him: “Get off the field, you boneheaded quitter!” And that seemed to +hurt more than anything else. + +He wasn’t a quitter. He had done his best, and it was not his fault +that he had failed. No doubt he should never have gone out there at +all, but how many of those others, face to face with the alternative he +had met that morning, would have decided differently? + +Head down and hands tightly clenched, he made his way toward the bench, +not even looking up as he passed Bert Elgin, racing out to take his +place. He flung himself down on the turf and lay there, chin propped in +his cupped hands, eyes staring blindly out across the diamond. + +More than once the regulars glanced curiously in his direction, but +no one spoke. A little later, when the Yannigans trooped in, having +succeeded in holding down the score, Lefty fully expected a storm of +bitter reproaches to be hurled at him; but nothing came. The fellows +took their places on the bench or the coaching lines without so much +as a glance toward the chap lying there on the grass. For all the +attention they paid to him, he might have been a log of wood. + +As inning after inning passed amid that same studied silence and marked +avoidance, Lefty felt that he would rather have endured sneers, blows, +anything else. His head still throbbed and he was feeling wretched, +mentally and physically. He was a fool not to have left the field at +once; but, being there, his innate stubbornness kept him to the end. + +Presently Jack Stillman came up and chatted casually for a minute or +two, but Lefty was so mortally averse to pity that his replies were +short almost to ungraciousness; and the reporter walked away, a puzzled +look on his face. + +By dint of fast, strenuous playing on the part of the cubs, assisted +by the easy-going ways of their opponents, the regulars were kept from +further scoring, while the Yannigans made two tallies before the end of +the last inning. But for Locke’s errors they would have won the game. +The realization did not tend toward soothing their ruffled spirits. + +As the teams mingled on the field at the end of the fifth inning, the +one crowd grinning and joshing, the other responding with defensive +sarcasm, Lefty caught an angry glare from more than one pair of eyes +among the disappointed youngsters. + +“I s’pose they all have it in for me,” he muttered. + +The next instant he saw Jim Brennan bearing down upon him, his face +more florid than ever, his sharp eyes glinting. + +“Good night!” the southpaw murmured. “Here’s my finish.” + +Instinctively he rose to his feet and stood there, nervously juggling +his glove, his eyes fixed upon the approaching manager, waiting for the +storm to break. + + + + + CHAPTER XIII + + THE DISCHARGED WAITER + + +Lefty drew one sleeve across his perspiring face, and stared at the +square, sturdy back of the retreating manager. + +“Whew!” he muttered. “And then some!” + +On second thought, he withdrew the comment. Jim Brennan had left +nothing to be said, nothing to the imagination. In stinging phrases, +which bit like acid and made the pitcher wince and grit his teeth, he +had told his latest recruit exactly what he thought of such a disgrace +among ball players. + +He applied to Locke every epithet in his repertory――he had a vocabulary +the width and breadth and startling nature of which was unusual even +among Big League managers――and Lefty was obliged to stand there and +swallow everything. He had nothing to say, no excuse to make for his +behavior. He might have explained everything by telling Brennan of the +glass of beer which he was certain had been drugged. But that would +have put the whole crowd in bad, and Lefty was no telltale. + +So he set his jaws, clenched his fists, and took everything the manager +had to say, fully expecting the tirade to end in his being thrown out +of the squad. + +When Brennan finally concluded his spirited monologue with a pyrotechnic +burst to the effect that he proposed taking the blankety-blank bonehead +personally in hand the next morning for the purpose of beating a little +elemental baseball into his thick skull, and then strode away with +eyebrows twitching, it was a full minute before Lefty realized that it +had not come. He had not been fired! + +“Well, I’ll be hanged!” he exclaimed aloud, his eyebrows drawn together +in a puzzled frown. “Why didn’t he do it? What use can he have for me +after to-day?” + +For a while he stood there, trying to fathom the reason. Then he gave +it up and started for the gate. The others had long since left the +park, and he made his way back to the hotel alone, took his shower, and +came down to the dining-room ten minutes late. + +For all the comfort he got out of his companions Lefty might as well +have been alone at the table. From the beginning of the meal to its +long-drawn-out finish not a single word was addressed directly to him. +The others talked over him, around him, at him, but never to him. Among +themselves, but in tones which plainly showed that their remarks were +aimed at Lefty, they discussed that miserable first inning in detail, +pointing out how different the result would have been with any one but +a quitter in the box. They made many other scornful comments, and the +southpaw was hard pressed to maintain a stolid, impassive demeanor. Not +for the world would he have them guess how much they were hurting him. + +By supper time the determined ostracism of his cub companions had so +worked on Lefty that his nerves were raw. He even caught Stillman +regarding him queerly, and that was the last straw. He felt, somehow, +that if he did not confide in some one he would blow up; so, after +supper, he cornered his classmate in the lobby, and poured the whole +story into his astonished ears. + +When Locke had finished, Stillman gave a long whistle of incredulous +astonishment. + +“That’s the rottenest thing I ever heard of!” he exclaimed indignantly. +“No wonder you went to smash that way. But look here, old fellow, are +you certain about the drug part of it? Isn’t it possible that you had +some sort of an attack of indigestion or something?” + +Locke shook his head. “No indigestion would ever give a fellow feelings +like that. Besides, I was fit as a fiddle before I went into that card +game. Something was put into that beer, Jack; take my word for it.” + +“But who would do such a thing? You say Elgin you’re sure wasn’t even +in the room. Did you notice anything queer about any other man’s +behavior?” + +For an instant Lefty hesitated, the thought of Fargo’s odd remark, with +its odder inflection, in his mind. The next instant he gave a start as +the big backstop strolled lazily up and paused beside his chair. + +“Sort of off your feed to-day, ain’t you, kid?” Fargo inquired, with a +grin. + +“I certainly am,” Lefty answered. He hesitated a second, and then went +on with deliberate purpose: “I reckon midnight poker games with all the +fixings don’t agree with me.” + +“Cut out the fixings and the poker won’t hurt a baby,” the catcher +returned swiftly. “It’s all right for the regular bunch to make fools +of themselves swilling hard stuff if they want to, but you kids can’t +afford to do that sort of thing. I was watching you last night and +wondering if you was going to fall for that nonsense.” + +A flash of sudden comprehension leaped into Locke’s mind and brought +the color swiftly to his face. + +“So that was why you said I’d had enough!” he exclaimed. + +Fargo looked slightly puzzled. “Sure! Why did you think I said it?” + +Lefty’s face was brick-red and his eyes dropped before the steady, open +scrutiny of the catcher. “I――didn’t realize you were――paying so much +attention to me,” he stammered. “I might have known, though, when you +struck out to-day――to――to help me out. That was good of you, Fargo.” + +The backstop laughed. “Chase that notion out of your nut right off, +son,” he chuckled. “I ain’t that crazy――yet. Reckon I must have been a +bit off my feed, too, or else you took a spurt while I was up to the +plate. I s’pose the old man sailed into you good and proper. He looked +dangerous when I saw him heading your way after the game.” + +Locke explained briefly that the manager had raked him over the coals +in a manner which left nothing to be desired. “I thought sure he’d end +up by firing me out on the spot,” he confessed in conclusion. + +“Not him,” grinned Fargo. “He’s too sharp. You want to toe the mark, +though, from now on. He’ll have them snappy optics of his on you every +minute of the day to see whether this was a fluke or your regular way +of doing things. You’ll have to show him, that’s all.” + +As the backstop strolled off, Lefty’s eyes followed him for a +moment. He had been a fool to suspect for an instant that this big, +rough-and-ready, but thoroughly straight, dependable fellow could be +mixed up in anything so underhanded. + +Stillman, whose trained mind had missed no point in the conversation, +quickly broke the silence. + +“You surely didn’t think he had anything to do with it?” he questioned. + +“I couldn’t understand why he said something he did last night,” Lefty +explained. “I was an idiot, of course.” + +“You certainly were. Buck Fargo is one of the squarest men in the +crowd, even if he is a little rough outside. He’d do anything in the +world for a fellow he likes, and you’re mighty lucky he’s taken a fancy +to you.” He paused for an instant, his brow furrowed thoughtfully. +“Look here, old fellow,” he went on slowly, “why don’t you get after +the man who served those drinks! I’ll bet he knows a thing or two, and +you ought to be able to sweat it out of him.” + +Lefty’s eyes brightened. “By Jove!” he exclaimed. “That’s a good idea, +Jack. I shouldn’t wonder if he did. At least it’ll be worth trying. He +ought to be on duty now.” + +Without further delay, he arose and walked over to the desk. Though he +did not know the fellow’s name, he remembered perfectly what he looked +like, and the clerk recognized his description at once. + +“Oh, you mean George Miller? Why, the proprietor fired him this +morning, Mr. Locke. He was stewed last night, and had a holdover this +morning. He’s left the hotel, and I don’t know where you can find him.” + +Lefty turned from the desk, with a shrug. “That’s settled,” he thought +disconsolately. “Why didn’t I think of it before? I suppose I wasn’t +thinking of anything this morning, though.” + +As he walked back to where the newspaper man sat, he saw Bert Elgin +crossing the lobby toward the door. For an instant he was moved to +brace the fellow then and there and accuse him of playing that dirty +trick the night before. Almost as quickly, however, he realized how +futile that would be. Though Elgin was the only man with a motive +strong enough to make him suspected, Lefty had no shred of proof +against him. + +“Let him go,” the latter muttered frowningly. “I haven’t got anything +on him――yet. I’ll be hanged if I don’t think he was at the bottom +of it, though, and if I don’t dig up the truth somehow, I _am_ a +bonehead.” + + + + + CHAPTER XIV + + BERT ELGIN’S LUCK + + +Bert Elgin was decidedly a ladies’ man. A pretty face in any of the +front-rows of the grandstand never escaped his attention, and, no +matter in what part of the country his team was playing, he seemed to +have an almost uncanny faculty of scraping an acquaintance with the +best-looking girl in town. + +His teammates growled and grumbled enviously, making sarcastic +references to luck and bluff and working the rah-rah racket to +perfection, but Elgin remained undisturbed by their comments. There was +no questioning the fact that he could be very charming when he chose +to exert himself. He had a ready tongue, the knack of subtle flattery, +and knew how to utilize the glamour which most girls throw about a +prominent athlete who has had a college education. + +Before he had been three days in Ashland Elgin maneuvered an +introduction to Miss Molly Wendell, a charming young person with a +penchant for baseball, and obtained permission to call. Within a +fortnight he had availed himself three times of that permission, and +they were on very friendly terms, indeed. + +This evening he arrayed himself with especial care, and sallied forth +about half past seven, alone, from the hotel. Miss Wendell lived in +the best residential section of town; but, as he made his way thither, +Elgin was not so occupied with thoughts of the pleasure in store for +him as to be blinded to the feminine charms of any chance passers-by. +That was not his way. + +Having bestowed appreciative and very open glances on several +attractive factory girls hurrying along the main street, the cub +pitcher struck into a quieter thoroughfare which led toward his +destination. He had almost reached High Street when a rickety, swaying +hack, looking as if it might have seen its best days in some Northern +city a decade ago, passed him and came to a stop in front of the corner +house. + +Before the negro driver had time to open the door the horse――a big, +raw-boned animal――took it into his head to back. Quite undisturbed and +rather amused at the coon’s flow of language, Elgin watched the ancient +vehicle tilt dangerously until it seemed as if another moment would see +it topple over. Then he came opposite the door, glanced curiously into +the hack, and the next instant became transformed. + +With a single leap he reached the horse’s head, gripping the bit with +muscular fingers and dragging the animal forward a step or two. + +“Get down here and hold the beast, uncle!” he ordered. “You’re a nice +one to take people out behind a dangerous animal like this. Hustle, +now!” + +The colored man hurriedly descended, muttering something about +“interferin’ w’ite trash,” and sulkily obeyed. Elgin sprang to the +door, hat in hand, and held it open. + +“It’s all right now, sir,” he said deferentially. “Just take my arm, if +you please, and let me help you out.” + +An elderly man, white-haired, frail-looking, and dressed in a +clergyman’s suit of black, obeyed tremblingly. He was followed much +more swiftly by a young girl, a glimpse of whose lovely face had been +the cause of that sudden transformation in Bert Elgin. + +She barely touched the pitcher’s arm as she leaped from the cab, the +color bright in her cheeks, a glint of anger in her wonderful eyes. + +“It’s outrageous bringing us up with a horse like that!” she exclaimed +indignantly. “You know I asked particularly if he was gentle, and you +said he was.” + +“’Deed he am, leddy,” the negro affirmed hastily. “Dis hyer am jes’ his +playful way. If dat gemman hadn’t come――” + +“If he hadn’t so kindly come to our help,” the girl put in emphatically, +“we should have been upset.” + +As she stepped forward to pay the cabman she cast a glance of gratitude +at Elgin, which started the blood tingling through his veins. + +“What a peach!” he thought fervently. + +Nothing of this appeared on the surface, however. Instinctively he +schooled himself to retain the same respectful, deferential attitude he +had assumed from the first. Still bareheaded, he seemed to be devoting +all of his attention to the father, who was palpably nervous and upset +by the incident. It was not until she turned from the negro and came +back to them that his eyes met hers. + +“I cannot thank you enough for what you have done,” she said quickly. +“My father is not very strong, and if the cab had upset it would have +been simply dreadful.” + +“It was really nothing,” Elgin protested. “I saw the horse was a +bad-tempered brute, and got to his head in time. I’m glad I happened +to be passing.” + +“You cannot be more thankful than my daughter and myself,” the older +man put in rather weakly. “Your quick wit undoubtedly saved us from +a serious accident. Just now I am too tired after a long journey +to express my gratitude properly, but I hope you will give me the +opportunity at some future time. I am the Reverend John Harting, and I +shall be staying here a week or more with my friend, Henry Forsythe.” + +He held out a slim, white hand, which the ball player clasped firmly +yet not too strenuously. + +“My name is Bert Elgin,” the younger man returned in respectful tones. +“I’ll be very glad indeed to come and see you some evening before you +leave town.” + +“Yes, yes,” the clergyman agreed, with impatience. “Janet, my dear, I +think we had better go in. I am feeling――a little faint.” + +Without a word Elgin took one arm solicitously. The girl sprang to the +other side of her father, and in silence they helped him up the steps +of the veranda. A big, broad-shouldered man of middle age answered the +ring, and, amid the bustle of greeting which followed, Elgin tactfully +departed. + +At the gate he paused, glancing back at the closed door, the remembrance +of a pair of wonderful violet eyes and a perfect mouth curved in a +rather absent smile still vividly in his mind. + +“A queen!” he said aloud. “Molly Wendell can’t touch her for a minute.” +Slowly he moved on a few steps; then he chuckled: “That was a cute +trick, all right, and pulled off to perfection. I ought to hand that +old bag of bones a square feed for giving me the chance. Will I call +to-morrow night and let the old geezer thank me? Will I? Ask me!” + + + + + CHAPTER XV + + THE REASON WHY + + +Out on the field next morning Lefty Locke threw himself heart and soul +into his work. He was conscious that Manager Brennan was watching his +efforts with the eyes of a lynx, and though that made him slightly +nervous at first, it presently came to have the opposite effect, +stimulating him to greater endeavor. + +“Kid ain’t doing bad to-day,” drawled Buck Fargo critically to Jack +Stillman, sitting beside him on the bench. “He certainly was rotten in +the game, though. I wonder what ailed him? Don’t seem like one glass of +beer would knock a fellow out like that.” + +“Depends on what’s in it besides the beer,” the newspaper man replied +impulsively. + +The big backstop straightened up and flashed a keen glance at him. + +“What do you mean by that?” he demanded shortly. + +Stillman hesitated an instant, his face slightly flushed, “I suppose +I shouldn’t have said anything about it,” he returned slowly. “Lefty +didn’t want it to get out, but I can’t see any harm.” + +And forthwith he proceeded to enlighten Fargo concerning the trick +which had been put over on Lefty the night Brennan was in Fort Worth. +When he had finished, the catcher made some vividly picturesque +comments. Then he relapsed into a thoughtful silence. Finally he turned +curiously to his companion. + +“What’s the trouble between Elgin and Locke?” he asked briefly. “Don’t +tell me if it’s a secret, but it sure looks to me as if that was at the +bottom of the whole muss.” + +“There isn’t a doubt of it in my mind,” Stillman answered. “Elgin hates +Lefty like poison, and has every reason in the world to do him dirt. +It happened when we were all at Princeton. Elgin was pitching on the +varsity――pitching mighty good ball, too. He and Lefty had always been +rivals, but Lefty couldn’t go out that year because of the back work he +had to make up on account of an attack of typhoid. Just the same, Elgin +seemed to have it in for him, and he never lost any chance to sneer +about him to other men, and make things generally disagreeable. + +“Well, about the middle of the season a chap named Bob Ferris had his +pocketbook, watch, and a lot of little trinkets stolen. Somebody swiped +’em out of his room while he was at a lecture. He and Lefty were great +friends and were in and out of each other’s rooms all the time. Ferris +couldn’t find a single clew as to who had taken the stuff, but a few +days later Lefty came in from a recitation unexpectedly and caught +Bert Elgin in the hall right outside his door. He didn’t say anything +then, but went in and looked the room over. Nothing seemed out of place +except a table drawer which was a little way open. When he jerked it +out, there were two of the stolen scarfpins lying right on top of a +notebook belonging to Ferris, which he would probably have come in to +get that very afternoon.” + +“The cur!” rasped Fargo. “He put ’em there a-purpose to throw the blame +on Locke.” + +“Exactly. Lefty followed Elgin to his room, told him what he’d found +out, and started to give him a nice comfortable thrashing. In the +process of the scrimmage a watch fell out of Elgin’s pocket. It was +Ferris’ watch. Lefty told Ferris afterward that the sight of it made +him ashamed to be soiling his hands on such a mucker. He let up right +away, told Elgin that unless the stolen goods were returned in +twenty-four hours he’d go to the dean and tell him everything, and got +out. Ferris was in New York that day, but when he got back next morning +the stuff was all on his bureau.” + +Fargo stared at him an instant. “Well?” he queried sharply. “Is that +all? Didn’t they put anybody wise to what the sneak had done?” + +Stillman shook his head. “No. He’d have been fired out of college, and +there wasn’t anybody to take his place on the nine. Lefty and Ferris +talked it all over and decided to keep still for the sake of the +varsity.” + +“Humph!” grunted the big backstop. “I’ll be hanged if I’d have done +it!” He paused a moment, interlacing his strong, brown fingers. “Well, +there ain’t any doubt that’s what started things going here,” he went +on. “Elgin’s sore as a boil, of course, to have Locke around, knowing +what he does about this stealing. How he worked this dope trick gets +me, though.” + +The newspaper man started to explain his theory of the waiter’s +complicity, but in the midst of it the manager roared out an order to +Fargo to get into the game and limber up some. The big backstop obeyed +and was kept busy for the rest of the morning. Later on, however, he +sought Stillman again, to hear the remainder of the story. + +When it had been told he made no comment. His face showed plainly, +however, that his interest was aroused to an unusual degree; and the +reporter congratulated himself on having secured a valuable ally for +Lefty. + + + + + CHAPTER XVI + + THE PURLOINED LETTER + + +It was rather difficult for Lefty to tell what sort of an impression +the day’s work had made on Jim Brennan. That astute individual was +thoroughly proficient in the art of keeping his thoughts to himself, +and it was almost impossible for any one to guess what was going on in +his mind. Those who knew him well had long ago ceased to guess. + +He had watched Locke all day as a cat does a mouse, picking at the +least fault, hurling criticisms in that brusque, snappy way of his at +the slightest opening, and never once giving his cub pitcher a word of +praise. There seemed to be nothing in this to encourage the southpaw. + +Nevertheless, Lefty knew that he was in good form. He felt that between +his work of to-day and that disgraceful exhibition of twenty-four hours +ago there was a vast gulf, and he was comforted. And when, along toward +the middle of the afternoon, he began to notice quite lengthy periods +of silence on the part of his mentor――spaces of five minutes, or even +longer, in which the manager could find absolutely nothing to carp +at――his spirits began to rise. + +On the way back to the hotel several of the older men who had been up +before him during the afternoon paused and made brief, half-joshing +comments on his improvement. Stillman was enthusiastic in his praise, +and even one of his brother reporters delivered himself of a more +guarded opinion, practically to the same effect. To be sure, the +silence of the other cubs was deep and absolute. Not one of them opened +his head to Lefty on any subject, much less to tell him that he was +doing well. Evidently the ban against him was still in force. + +In spite of this, however, Locke was feeling more hopeful, more +assured, more satisfied that he could make good, than at any time since +his arrival at training camp. + +“I’ll write Janet to-night,” he thought, while he was dressing, “and +tell her all about it. I should have done it before, but things have +been pretty uncertain.” + +Janet might have been a sister, but――she wasn’t. Any one observing the +length of the letter Lefty wrote after dinner, and the pains taken +with its composition, would have guessed that instantly. A fellow +rarely sends more than four pages of closely written hotel paper to a +relative, and as for tearing up a nearly finished sheet, and rewriting +it――well, that settled the question. + +When the epistle had been carefully sealed and the envelope directed, +Locke found he was out of stamps, and purchased some at the desk. He +had just affixed one to the letter when Buck Fargo appeared and pounced +on him. + +“Been looking for you, kid,” the backstop announced, taking Locke by +the arm. “Come out with me for a little walk. I want to talk to you.” + +Locke acquiesced readily and, without turning, reached back for the +letter he had left lying on the desk. He was so taken up with wondering +what Fargo had on his mind that his action was really little more than +mechanical. His fingers closed over an envelope which he thrust into a +side pocket, and the two walked briskly away. + +Unfortunately for Lefty the proprietor of the Hatchford was of an +economical turn of mind. Having been considerably fretted by every Tom, +Dick, and Harry in Ashland dropping in and using his letter paper _ad +libitum_, he instituted the system of having a supply at the desk, and +nowhere else. When a guest of the house wanted stationery he helped +himself. A townsman could do the same, if he wished. But the mere fact +of having to face the argus-eyed clerk, instead of slipping quietly to +a well-furnished desk, acted as a strong deterrent. + +When Lefty bought his stamps the supply of envelopes had dwindled to +three, two of them stuck inside the flap of the third. They lay close +beside his letter on the desk, and when he reached back without looking +it was the three empty envelopes, stuck together as one, that he picked +up and put into his pocket. + +His carefully composed epistle lay, face upward, where he had left it. +The clerk was busy with his books, and no one else happened to see +it until Bert Elgin, as immaculately garbed as he had been the night +before, on his way to the street, paused to light a cigarette. + +The match flared up and he had conveyed it halfway to the weed between +his lips when suddenly the motion was arrested, and he stared downward +with widening eyes. For an instant he could scarcely believe his +senses. Before him lay a letter addressed to the very girl whose charms +had so smitten him the night before, and on whom he expected to call +within fifteen minutes. + +There was no doubt about it. “Miss Janet Harting,” written in a strong, +masculine hand, stared up at him like a basilisk. Some one in this +very hotel was corresponding with her――some one who did not know that +she had arrived at Ashland the night before; for the address was a New +England town. + +“Kingsbridge!” The word came hissing through his clenched teeth as he +remembered suddenly that this was the name of the team on which Lefty +Locke had pitched during the past summer. + +The forgotten match burned his fingers, and he flung it to the floor. A +second later, however, he reached over to where a box of them lay, and +struck one, leaning close against the desk as he did so. When he moved +away, the cigarette alight, his face was still slightly flushed, but +his expression was once more composed. The letter had disappeared. + +Once in the street, he hurried along, scarcely able to restrain his +impatience. Twice he hesitated by a lighted window, but each time the +place seemed too public for his purpose. At last he stopped before a +little store on a corner, glanced swiftly and suspiciously around, and +drew the letter from his pocket. + +For a moment he stood scowling at the superscription before he ripped +the envelope open. The frown deepened as he noticed the length of the +inclosure, and then, with narrowed eyes, he sought the signature. + +“Hazelton!” he muttered hoarsely. “I knew it!” + +Rapidly, with now and then a nervous glance around, his eyes flew +over the closely filled pages. The letter had evidently been written +by one very good friend to another. There was little in it which any +one might not have read, yet its very tone, with those references to +past experiences together, to mutual friends, to hopes and fears and +interests held in common, sent Bert Elgin off into a spasm of rage. +He had plumed himself on having, with great dexterity and presence of +mind, obtained the inside track with quite the most fascinating girl +that he had ever seen, only to discover that the man he hated with +every fiber of his being seemed to have the inside track. + +“Confound him!” he cried, crushing the letter between his fingers, “I +can’t seem to get away from him.” + +For a moment he stood there hesitating, his fingers busy tearing the +purloined letter into shreds. Then he turned the corner, and began to +walk hurriedly toward High Street. + +“I’ll beat him yet!” he vowed. “I’ll put him out of the running here, +or I’m a dub!” + + + + + CHAPTER XVII + + GUILE + + +“Really?” exclaimed Janet Harting, her eyes sparkling. Then she laughed. +“It’s luck you didn’t tell father. He has an idea that professional ball +players aren’t quite respectable.” + +Bert Elgin bent slightly forward, a hurt expression in the eyes fixed +upon her face. During the fifteen minutes in which he had labored +strenuously to ingratiate himself with her father, and succeeded +beyond his hopes, he had gathered, by skillful probing, the impression +that the older man was just the sort to look askance on professional +athletics. Not a hint of this now appeared on the surface, however. His +voice was regretful, with just the proper touch of indignation in it. + +“I hope you don’t share his prejudice, Miss Harting?” he said quickly. + +“Not at all,” the girl hastened to assure him. “I adore baseball, and +could never understand why a man shouldn’t take it up just as he would +any other profession. It’s much better paid than many, and I’m sure +it must be a great deal pleasanter than being cooped up all day in a +stuffy office.” + +Elgin’s sigh of relief was unmistakable. “I can’t tell you how glad +I am to hear you say that,” he returned, his face clearing. “Your +father is a clergyman of the old school, and I can quite understand his +prejudice. But professional baseball to-day is very different from what +it was in his time. There isn’t a cleaner, decenter sport going, or one +more free from crookedness. Of course, there are people who look down +on it. There are even players”――his voice took on a sneering tone――“who +go into it under fictitious names, but they’re cads and bounders. I +notice they’re not ashamed to draw their salary checks on the dot. +I’ve played ball ever since I left college, and I can truly say, Miss +Harting, that I’ve never once had reason to regret my choice of a +profession.” + +For a moment there was silence. The girl’s cheeks were faintly flushed +and she was plucking absently at the fringe hanging from the upholstered +chair arm. + +“I’m sure you haven’t, Mr. Elgin,” she murmured presently. There was +another momentary pause before she raised her eyes to his face. “I +believe that what you say about a man’s playing under a false name is +generally true, but don’t you think that once in a while there may be a +perfectly good reason for it?” + +The pitcher shrugged his shoulders. “Once in a thousand times, perhaps,” +he admitted. “It’s easy enough to invent a plausible reason, but I’ve +noticed invariably that fellows do it because they’re ashamed, not of +playing professional ball, but of having their friends know it. There’s +an instance of this right here in the Hornet squad, a chap who graduated +from Princeton the year after I did. He tried making his living as a +lawyer, fell down hard, and then took up baseball. There isn’t an +earthly reason why he shouldn’t use his own name, and yet he’s +masquerading as Tom Locke.” + +“Locke!” the girl gasped, staring in startled amazement. “You don’t +mean to say that Phil Hazelton is _here_?” + +Elgin’s jaw dropped most realistically, and he drew his breath sharply. + +“You――know him?” he faltered. + +“Of course I do. Why, he pitched all last summer for the Kingsbridge +team. That’s where I’ve always lived, you know, until father’s +health began to fail, and he was sent South by one of his wealthy +parishioners. Philip Hazelton is a perfectly splendid fellow, and we’re +great friends.” + +Elgin’s face was the picture of confusion. “I――beg your pardon, Miss +Harting,” he stammered. “I――I had no idea――you knew him, or I should +never have mentioned his name.” + +His expression was so contrite that the girl laughed merrily. + +“Of course you didn’t,” she returned. “How should you when I haven’t +even told you where I lived? I’ll forgive you, though, for otherwise I +might never have known he was here. I’m sure, Mr. Elgin, if you knew +Phil Hazelton as well as I do you’d admit that he was the thousandth +man you spoke of a while ago who has a perfectly legitimate reason for +not playing under his own name.” + +“Very likely,” Elgin returned hastily. “I don’t doubt that you’re +right.” + +His voice was quite lacking in conviction, however. It was the tone of +one agreeing out of mere politeness and because he was anxious to get +away from a disagreeable subject. + +Miss Harting, being keen of perception, noticed this, and her smile +faded. + +“You don’t really mean that?” she said abruptly. + +Elgin spread out his hands depreciatingly. “I wish you wouldn’t,” he +returned. “A fellow can’t help having his opinions, you know. Let’s +change the subject.” + +“But I don’t want to change the subject,” she retorted warmly. “I +insist on your telling me why you don’t agree with me.” + +The pitcher’s long lashes drooped over his eyes, and he bit his lip. + +“I knew Hazelton very well at college,” he began slowly. “We were +friends until――certain things――came up which showed me――” he threw +back his head, and looked her full in the eyes. “I can’t do it!” he +burst out. “Please don’t ask me, Miss Harting. I’ve said more now than +I should have. No matter what my opinion of him may be, I won’t talk +about a fellow behind his back.” + +His attitude of manly embarrassment was so well done that the girl +was completely deceived. She was angry at herself for having led the +conversation into this channel, but her estimation of this man who +would say nothing against another with whom he was evidently not on +friendly terms, increased by leaps and bounds. + +They chatted on various other topics for a little while, but the +conversation could not fail to be slightly constrained, and Elgin soon +took his leave. + +After he had gone Janet Harting returned to the parlor and stood for a +space leaning thoughtfully against the mantel. + +“It’s absurd!” she exclaimed aloud presently. “There’s been some +misunderstanding between them. I won’t believe that Phil is anything +but straightforward and absolutely honorable. He couldn’t do or think a +mean thing. I’ll forget that I ever heard a whisper against him.” + +But this was not quite possible. In spite of her determination, a +nagging little doubt returned more than once to trouble Janet Harting. +Somehow, she could not forget that Bert Elgin had known Hazelton at +college――known him for years probably, with chances for seeing phases +of his character which the intimate life at a big university alone can +give; while her own acquaintance with that selfsame individual was +limited to nine brief months. + + + + + CHAPTER XVIII + + THE MAN IN THE CORRIDOR + + +“Hang such weather!” grumbled Buck Fargo, gazing disconsolately out of +the dripping window. + +It was not a strictly original remark, considering the fact that it +had been uttered, in some form or another, on an average of every five +minutes since breakfast time. Nevertheless, it was fervently echoed +by each one of the players who lounged within hearing distance in the +lobby. + +It had been pouring all day, a cold, driving rain, which kept some +forty-odd active, vigorous athletes cooped up in the confines of the +hotel. + +It was not so bad in the morning, but by the middle of the afternoon +pool had lost its charm, craps failed to interest; and even the +inveterate poker players were becoming satiated with that game. + +“I can feel myself putting on pounds and pounds,” mourned “Splinter” +Jones, one of the outfielders, whose winter of luxurious idleness +had resulted in about fifteen pounds of troublesome and unnecessary +weight. “It’ll set me back a week.” + +“Too bad there ain’t a Turkish bath in this blooming village,” yawned +Cy Russell. “If we was only in little old New York you could sit in a +steam room and lose all the weight you wanted to.” + +Fargo turned suddenly from the window, his eyes sparkling. + +“Gee whiz, Cy!” he exclaimed. “That ain’t a bad idea. Why can’t we fix +up one?” + +The pitcher’s eyes widened. “Fix up what?” he inquired. “A Turkish +bath? You talk nutty, Buck.” + +“Nix! It’s a cinch! One thing good about this hash house is they’ve +always got plenty of hot water. What’s to prevent our hiking up to one +of the bathrooms, stopping the cracks with towels, and turning on the +hot water full. I’ll guarantee in ten minutes you couldn’t see across +the room. Moreover, the radiators are all red-hot to-day, and if we +wrap Splinter up in blankets and set him down on one in the bathroom, +we’ll see him oozing away to a shadow before our very eyes.” + +Jones straightened up in his chair, his lips pursed disapprovingly. + +“Not me,” he declared firmly. “Mebbe I’ve done some fool things in my +life, but I never yet set down on a red-hot radiator without my clothes +on, and I ain’t going to begin now.” + +“You loon!” grinned Fargo. “Did you think I meant without something +under you to keep you from getting scorched? I ain’t got it in for +you that bad. A bunch of bath towels’ll do the trick and make you so +comfortable you’ll be going to sleep. Come on, boy! Be a sport.” + +The others added their persuasions, and at length the stout outfielder +yielded. The thought of parting with five or six pounds at one fell +swoop was irresistible. He presently arose and, escorted by eight or +ten fellows, made his way to the upper regions. + +Lefty Locke did not happen to be in the lobby to see them go. He +had gone up to his room soon after dinner, read several chapters in +a volume of Dickens, and taken a sudden notion to write to his kid +brother. By the time the letter was finished and he had pottered around +a little longer, fretting at the downpour and regretting that he had +not been able to keep up the good work commenced on the field the day +before, it was nearly half past four. + +“Reckon I’ll go down and scare up somebody for a game of billiards,” he +thought. + +As he opened the door and stepped into the hall, he saw the figure of +a man walking briskly away down the corridor. For a moment he paid no +attention to the unknown. Presently something about the set of the +fellow’s shoulders struck him as vaguely familiar, but even then he +would probably have thought nothing of it had not the other swiftly +turned his head, and as swiftly jerked his face around again. + +It was George Miller, the discharged waiter who had served Locke that +fatal glass of doped beer two nights before. + +Without delay, Lefty started to run. The waiter took to his heels, +also, whirled round a corner toward the servants’ staircase at top +speed, and disappeared. + +Sprinting after him, Locke reached the corner just in time to see his +man halfway down the long stretch of carpeted hall. The next instant +a wild yell of pain and rage from somewhere close at hand broke the +stillness with startling abruptness. A door at Lefty’s right was flung +open. Buck Fargo, his face contorted with mirth, rushed out, flung +himself against the door of the next room, and slammed it behind him, +all in the twinkling of an eye. + +Lefty, bewildered, had no time even to wonder what had happened. Close +upon the heels of the flying catcher came a strange figure, clad in +blankets and nothing else, and giving vent to a continuous bellow of +rage. He did not halt or pause. The whole impact of his big body struck +Locke squarely, and they landed together on the floor with a crash +which seemed to shake the building. + + + + + CHAPTER XIX + + NOT QUITE PROVEN + + +“Blue blazes!” roared Splinter Jones, his hands clutching Lefty’s +windpipe. “You bonehead! You mutt! I’ll teach you to pull them towels +from under me! I’m scalded――parboiled――burned to a crisp! Wough!” + +Lefty grabbed the other’s wrists and, with a twist and a wriggle, freed +his throat from the choking grasp. + +“Let up!” he panted. “What do you think you’re doing, Jones? Are you +nutty?” + +The outfielder gasped and grunted with surprise. An instant later he +had rolled over so that the cub pitcher’s face was plainly visible, and +his eyes fairly popped out. + +“By thunder!” he groaned. “I thought you was Fargo.” + +A roar of delight issued from the open doorway. As Lefty sprang up, he +saw that it was crowded with members of the Hornet squad, several of +them in next to nature’s garb, and all convulsed with mirth. Behind +them rose vagrant eddies of what looked like smoke, but had the hot, +suffocating tang of steam. + +“Come and see our Turkish bath, Kid,” invited Cy Russell when he had +recovered his power of speech. “Buck invented it, but something kind of +went wrong, and he beat it.” + +“Went wrong!” snapped Jones, stung afresh by a sense of his injuries. +“The pirate did it on purpose! Just wait till I get my hands on him. +I’ll make him smart!” + +He looked so ridiculous as he stood there, scowling fiercely and trying +to gather the inadequate folds of the scanty blanket around him, that +another burst of laughter commenced. It was cut short, however, by the +whirring of the elevator. + +“Come inside, you loon!” ejaculated Russell, grabbing the outfielder by +the arm and hustling him into the room. “You ain’t decent. What if a +woman should come along!” + +At the suggestion the men all scuttled out of sight. Lefty followed +them. The interruption had given Miller ample time to make himself +scarce, and, besides, Locke was curious to learn more of the trick +which had been played on Jones. + +It proved to be simple to a degree. The improvised Turkish bath had +been an unqualified success, as Lefty realized the instant he entered +the superheated bathroom, where the atmosphere made him fairly gasp +for breath. The water still boiled from the tap, sending up clouds of +steam. In one corner was the fateful radiator that had aided Fargo in +the perpetration of the prank which justly aroused the wrath of Jones. + +Until Buck Fargo’s unfortunate propensity for joking had got the +better of him, everything had gone smoothly. Jones and several other +players who thought they could stand a little less weight stripped, +swathed themselves in blankets, and took turns sitting on the sizzling +radiator, well protected by several thicknesses of bath toweling. +Perspiration streamed from every pore as superfluous tissue oozed away. + +After each man had indulged in several rounds of the sweating process, +it was observed that Jones was monopolizing the newly discovered boon. +Protests were unavailing. He simply sat on the radiator until he +could stand the heat no longer, regardless of the clamorous waiting +list, and Russell was on the point of using force when he received an +unmistakably insignificant wink from Buck Fargo, which made him refrain +from butting in. + +When the outfielder’s turn came again, he carefully adjusted the +blankets about him and approached the radiator. The others were all +gathered around, uttering various joshing comments. The big backstop +leaned carelessly against the wall close to the heated coils. The room +was hazy with steam pouring out of the faucet of the bathtub. + +Cautiously Jones parted the blankets, and let himself down slowly, +quite oblivious to the fact that Fargo had removed the towels with a +dexterous twitch. The next instant a fearful yell rent the air, and +the outfielder shot up as if galvanized, caught sight of the catcher +slipping out of the door, and flung himself after in hot pursuit, with +the resultant upsetting of Lefty Locke’s plans. + +The latter was not quite so entertained by the joke as he might have +been had it not caused him to lose the waiter. He was swiftly becoming +more and more convinced that, if he could only once get hold of the +fellow and bring a little pressure to bear upon him, Miller might tell +him a lot. + +What was the man doing back in the hotel, anyway? Lefty wondered as he +took the elevator downstairs. The mere fact of his presence in that +corridor after he had been fired looked suspicious. + +“It’s a shame I didn’t come out of my room a minute sooner,” the cub +pitcher grumbled to himself as he entered the lobby. “I’d have nailed +him. By Jove, Jack! You’re just the chap I want to see.” He caught +Stillman by the arm, and propelled him toward a couple of empty chairs +near by. “Who do you think I saw up in our corridor about fifteen +minutes ago?” + +“That waiter who was fired yesterday morning,” the newspaper man +returned without an instant’s hesitation. + +Lefty gasped. “What! Did you see him too?” + +“No; but I heard him talking to Elgin. Our rooms adjoin, you know, and +there’s a connecting door which is locked. I was up there, doping out +some stuff to send to the paper, when I began to hear scraps of talk +coming through the door. Didn’t pay much attention at first, for I +wanted to get my story off in the five-thirty mail, but I made out that +somebody was trying to get money out of our friend. That made me sit up +and take a little more notice. The chap wanted fifteen dollars to take +him to Dallas. Elgin balked, of course, and then the waiter said it +would be the last touch he’d make, and, anyhow, it was little enough, +considering all he’d done for Elgin. They scrapped back and forth for +a bit, and then I reckon Elgin shelled out, for I didn’t hear anything +more. + +“The fool part of it was that I never wised up to who he was till +afterward. I was thinking about my news dope, I suppose. Anyhow, it +wasn’t till after I’d got that out of the way that I began to wonder +whether the strange guy might not have been this man we want to get +hold of. It certainly looked a bit like it, his bleeding Elgin that +way.” + +“Didn’t he say anything about what he’d done for Elgin?” Lefty asked +eagerly. + +“No, or I’d have woke up in a jiffy. It was only that he’d done +something which put him personally to the bad. I haven’t a doubt now +as to what that something was, but I’m afraid there isn’t anything you +could call real proof.” + +Locke shook his head. “I’m afraid not,” he agreed slowly. + +More than ever he regretted that he had missed the rascal in the +corridor by a hair’s breadth. Truly, luck seemed to be with Bert Elgin +in everything he undertook. + + + + + CHAPTER XX + + JANET HARTING WONDERS + + +Lefty did not devote much more thought that night to Bert Elgin and +his doings. Just before supper a letter arrived which drove every +other idea from his head. For a second or two he stood staring at the +familiar handwriting, wondering how in the world Janet had found out +where he was. When he hastily slit the envelope and took in the meaning +of the few lines on that single sheet of paper, his astonishment knew +no bounds. + +First he gave a long whistle. Then a wide grin overspread his face. +It did not much matter what had brought the girl to Ashland, the fact +remained that she was here and that he would see her that night. That +was all that really counted. + +He ate his supper hurriedly, oblivious for the first time to the +continued coldness of his companions. His thoughts were elsewhere. +Afterward he hastened up to his room and changed his clothes. Half an +hour later he was running up the steps of the house on High Street. + +Janet received him alone, her father having retired directly after +dinner. To Lefty she seemed prettier than ever, and there was no +mistaking her pleasure in seeing him. After the first greetings were +over, they sat down on the sofa, each eager to hear all about the +other’s doings. + +“Father hasn’t been very well all winter,” the girl explained in answer +to Lefty’s first question. “You remember my writing to you how he +kept catching colds so easily, and couldn’t seem to shake them off? +His rheumatism was worse than it had ever been before, too, and I was +beginning to get really worried about him when one day, about a week +ago, Cyrus King came in, and told father he’d arranged for us to go +South and stay till spring. You know that gruff, positive way he has? +Well, he’d planned it all out before he said a word to us, insisted on +paying our expenses, and wouldn’t even let us thank him. Of course, +he has quantities of money, and he and father are such old friends I +didn’t mind much taking it from him.” + +“It was good of him!” Lefty said warmly. “But how in the world did +you happen to pick on Ashland to come to? That’s what I don’t quite +understand.” + +“We didn’t. At least, that’s not where we’re going to settle down. +Doctor Lansing knew about some wonderful mineral springs at Billings, +farther south in the State, and advised us to go there. We’ve only +stopped off here for a week or ten days to see father’s old friend, Mr. +Forsythe.” + +Lefty nodded and leaned back, his muscular fingers linked loosely over +one knee. + +“I see. But what gets me is how you knew I was here. You could have +knocked me down with a feather when I got your note. I suppose you must +have seen my name in some paper that listed me as one of Brennan’s new +recruits.” + +She shook her head. Her lips were half smiling, but her eyes were fixed +on his face with an odd sort of intentness. + +“No,” she returned quietly. “Mr. Elgin told me.” + +“Elgin?” Locke repeated incredulously. “You can’t possibly mean Bert +Elgin? I know you can’t mean that man!” + +Annoyed by the astonishment and involuntary disapproval in his voice, +she drew herself up the least bit. If there was one quality on which +Janet Harting prided herself it was her judgment, and she had never +allowed any one save her father to criticise a person on whom she chose +to bestow her friendship. + +“Why not?” she retorted. “I like him very much. Besides, he was the +means of saving father and me from a serious accident.” + +She went on briefly to tell how the acquaintance had come about, and +Lefty listened in frowning silence, gnawing his under lip with firm +white teeth. + +Perhaps it was just as well that he had been prevented from giving +vent to that first natural outburst of indignation which leaped +up within him. The discovery that Elgin, of all men, had made the +acquaintance and apparently won the liking of this girl filled him with +intense anger. The cur wasn’t fit even to speak to her, and in that +moment Lefty detested him as never before. Only the impossibility of +interrupting Janet kept him from pouring out an impulsive account of +what he knew about the scoundrel, and the even more contemptible things +he suspected. + +But, with the passing of that first throb of anger, Locke felt that +this would merely make matters worse. Certain as he was in his own +mind of Elgin’s complicity in the plot against himself, he had no real +proof, and anything he might say against the man would seem like the +product of jealousy. + +“He came to call last night,” the girl concluded, “and father was +quite charmed with him.” She hesitated an instant, and then went on +slowly: “I’m afraid you’re not very good friends, are you, Phil?” + +“Oh! You gathered that, did you?” Lefty said stiffly. “I suppose he +blackguarded me to beat the band.” + +“He did nothing of the sort. He never said a word against you. I simply +got the impression from his manner, and thought it was a pity you +shouldn’t be on better terms.” + +“That’s out of the question,” Lefty retorted shortly. He was perplexed +over his inability to let her know exactly what sort of a man Bert +Elgin was, and that added no little asperity to his manner. “We could +never be friends.” + +Janet sighed a little. She was very human, and where is the girl who +is not thrilled by the thought of reconciling old enemies and healing +old sores by her influence? She did not give up hope of some day +accomplishing it in this case. She only realized that nothing more +could be done at present, and, womanlike, tucking it away in her mind +for future use, changed the subject abruptly. + +“You really didn’t deserve to have me write you,” she said more +lightly, “after the way you’ve neglected me lately. You must have got +my last letter over two weeks ago, and I haven’t heard a word from you +since.” + +“I know it,” Lefty acknowledged. “I ought to have written, but +everything came about so unexpectedly, Janet, that I put it off till +I could have something definite to tell you. Just because I’m with a +Big League team now doesn’t mean I’ll stay. I’ve got to make good, and +there were two or three things at first which handicapped me so that I +had very serious doubts of ever doing it. I did write you a long letter +last night, though, but naturally I sent it to Kingsbridge. You’ll +probably get it in a week or so.” + +“Yes; all my mail is forwarded. But of course you’ll make good, Phil. I +don’t see how you can have any doubt of it. Just look at the wonderful +way you pitched last summer.” + +Lefty smiled whimsically. “It’s very nice of you to think that, Janet,” +he said. “But there’s a lot of difference between last summer and now. +This crowd is one of the fastest in the country, and I’ll have to be +on the jump every minute of the time to keep up with them. I really do +think I have a show, though, and that’s what made me write to you.” + +“I’m sure you have,” the girl returned positively. “Do you have any +games? I’m crazy to see you pitch.” + +“There’s a short practice game every day, but I don’t know how soon +they’ll give me a chance on the slab. I’ll tell you what: If I find I’m +going to be used, I’ll tell you or send you word, and you can come out +to see the game. If that doesn’t happen before you leave here, you’d +better come, anyway; for the playing is worth seeing.” + +“Good!” returned Janet. “I’d love to come, and I can bring Jean +Forsythe. She’s awfully nice, and crazy about baseball.” She paused for +an instant, and then went on, more slowly: “I should think, now that +you’re in the Big League, Phil, you’d play under your own name. You’re +not ashamed to, are you?” + +“Great Scott, no!” Lefty exclaimed. “What put that notion into your +head? You know how impossible it was to use my own name last summer, +and, now that I’ve made what reputation I have under the name of Locke, +it wouldn’t be good policy to change. You should remember that I have +a father, also, who is strongly prejudiced against baseball, and I see +no need of dragging the name of Hazelton into it. There’s not much in +a name, anyhow. Many fellows take a different one, or have one thrust +upon them by the fans.” + +There was a note of finality in his voice which made the girl realize +the futility of continuing the subject. She was wise enough not to +try, but after he had gone she could not help remembering Bert Elgin’s +scornful remark that a professional could always find plenty of +plausible excuses for playing under a name which was not his own. + + + + + CHAPTER XXI + + THE YELLOW STREAK + + +“Believe me, fellows,” Bill Hagin said fervently, “that cub, Elgin, is +some scrapper.” + +There was a sniff of incredulity from the half dozen regulars gathered +near the plate waiting their turn. They had heard before of these +pugilistic prodigies, and were inclined to be doubtful. + +“I’m from Missouri, Bill,” drawled Russell. + +“Well, if you’d been up in my room last night, you’d been shown good +and proper,” Hagin retorted. “Elgin put it all over One-round Nolan in +the prettiest way you ever saw.” + +At this announcement several of the men began to sit up and take +notice; for Ed Nolan, the Hornet’s crack third baseman, was also +renowned for his skill with the gloves. + +“Quit your kidding, Bill,” admonished Red Pollock. “You can’t tell me +no cub put it over Ed.” + +“Truest thing you know,” averred the outfielder fervently. “Ask +Monte Harris, or Dutch, if you don’t believe me. We was all talking +downstairs about the match between Kid Baker and Young Glover in +Memphis to-morrow, and Ross――he’s that punky cub fielder――says he’d +back Elgin against any amateur in his class. Nolan picks up his ears, +and, one word leading to another, we goes up to my room to call his +bluff. Take it from me, there wasn’t any bluff about the kid, though. +He’s got science and speed to burn, and the dandiest left hand wallop +you ever saw. It sent Nolan sprawling in the third round as nice as +could be, and Ed ain’t no slouch. I sure wish you all could have seen +it.” + +“Why in thunder didn’t you put us wise, then?” demanded Russell +indignantly. “You’re a hot sketch, pulling off a scrap and letting +nobody in.” + +A chorus of similar reproaches were hurled at Hagin from all sides, +mingled with eager queries about Elgin’s other good points, and calls +for a more detailed description of the bout. + +Buck Fargo alone sat unmoved and apparently incurious, a look of +incredulity on his face. He was thinking of that night in the Palace +Theater when Elgin had slipped away, leaving Lefty to face the wrathy +mob alone. He remembered, also, the story Jack Stillman had told him +of the beating Locke had started to give his college mate three years +before at Princeton, and he smiled a wide, disbelieving smile as he +listened to Hagin’s vivid description of the cub pitcher’s prowess with +his fists. + +But when, later in the day, Monte Harris and Carl Siegrist backed up +the statement, and even Nolan himself admitted sourly that “the kid +wasn’t so worse,” Fargo grew puzzled. + +“Something queer about this,” he thought. “Looks like I’d have to do a +little investigating on my own hook.” + +All morning he was preoccupied and thoughtful, only arousing himself +when Brennan’s eye was upon him, and even then quite lacking in his +usual joshing repartee. Once or twice he noticed with a sort of +absent approbation that Lefty was showing some steam and curves in +the work-out with other pitchers; but aside from that he paid little +attention to anything. + +During dinner his abstraction continued, but afterward, on the way back +to the field, he might have been observed suddenly to slap one thigh +with his hand, and mutter something under his breath. After that he was +the old Buck Fargo again. + +The daily practice game now took place in the afternoon, leaving +the morning for batting practice, throwing, running, and various +other exercises. Ogan, the captain of the cubs, put Redmond, a fairly +promising young twirler, into the box, but at the end of the second +inning withdrew him, and substituted Bert Elgin. + +The latter seemed to be in fine form, and started off by fanning Cy +Russell. The second man up flied out to center field, and then Fargo +came to the bat. Elgin’s first delivery just missed the outside corner +of the plate. He then put over a straight, swift one, and Fargo, +seemingly “playing the game,” let it pass. The cub pitcher then wound +himself up for the elusive curve which was one of his pet specialties. + +The ball whirled toward the pan, apparently heading straight at the +batter. Fargo took a quick step back, then lunged forward. The next +instant he dropped his bat with an exclamation of anger and pain as the +sphere struck his arm with a dull impact. + +His face contorted, the big backstop trotted toward first, rubbing the +injured member, and shooting at Elgin some extremely vivid and forceful +comments out of the corner of his mouth. + +The incident flustered the latter to such an extent that he whipped a +straight one over, which cut the center of the pan, and it was smashed +out by Siegrist. The next man up sacrificed Fargo home, but Elgin took +a brace; and shut out the regulars from further scoring. + +The game progressed in comparative peace and harmony for two innings. +Then, strangely enough, Fargo was hit again by the second pitched ball, +and instantly the air was blue. His previous remarks were as nothing to +the words which now issued from his lips as he glared at the offending +youngster, and they only ceased when Jim Brennan ordered sharply: “Quit +that blackguarding, and take your base.” + +In spite of these two unfortunate happenings, the cubs nailed the game +by a single run; for their opponents had not yet reached the point +where they were willing to exert themselves overmuch. That run was +scored in the last inning by Elgin, cleverly assisted by Ogan and Andy +Whalen; and the instant the game was over the players streaked across +the field toward the gate. + +Elgin alone lingered behind to get his glove, which he had tossed over +near the bench. Oddly enough, it was nowhere to be seen. Having been +much too occupied to notice anything outside the diamond during the +past ten minutes, he had failed to see Fargo scoop up that same useful +article when returning from the pursuit of a foul, and toss it over +into the grandstand. + +Thus it happened that, while Elgin was searching vainly for his +property, the field was deserted by all save himself and one other man. +The latter was Fargo, who had started out with the rest, and then, +halfway to the gate, paused, and turned back. + +He was within ten feet of the cub twirler before the latter glanced up, +giving a slight start as his eyes took in the expression of cold menace +on the big backstop’s face. + +“You common mucker!” rasped the latter fiercely, his big fists clenched +as he strode rapidly forward. “If you think you can put a trick like +that over me a-purpose, you’re a bigger chump than you look.” + +Elgin took a step backward, his face blanching. “I――didn’t do it on +purpose,” he stammered. “It was――” + +“You lie!” snapped Fargo. “Once might have gone, but not the second +time. You’ve got a big thrashing coming, if I can give it to you. Put +up your fists, you boob!” + +His eyes seemed to blaze, and Elgin, after an involuntary motion to +guard himself, dropped his arms and retreated a few steps. He was +trembling and his lips quivered. + +“I tell you――I didn’t――mean――” he stammered, and then was silent. + +“You’re a liar!” was the retort. “Ain’t you going to put your fists up, +or must I make you?” + +There was no reply, and, with a swift forward motion, Fargo lunged and +brought his open palm against Elgin’s cheek with stinging force. The +youngster staggered back, straightened, and stood there, head hanging, +the picture of terror. + +For a moment Fargo stared in silence at the marks his fingers had left +on the now crimson cheek. Then he burst into a laugh so full of scorn +and contempt that the other winced. + +“A quitter!” the big backstop sneered. “A rotten quitter, that’s +what you are! You haven’t got an ounce of grit in your whole hulking +carcass. I thought there was something queer about your being such a +wonder with your fists. If you had any nerve you could have knocked me +endwise――but you haven’t. You’re yellow straight through. I let you hit +me with the ball a-purpose, so’s I could see what you were made of. +I’ve found out. Your glove’s over in the stand, where I fired it.” + +Without another word, he turned and strode toward the gate, leaving +Elgin standing as if rooted to the ground. Bert’s face turned from red +to white, from white to deep, purpling crimson. He gnawed his lips +until the blood came, and his eyes were full of bitter shame at the +humiliating discovery that he had been caught in the backstop’s trap to +test his nerve. + + + + + CHAPTER XXII + + LEFTY’S CHANCE COMES + + +Al Ogan, the promising cub first baseman and captain of the Yannigans, +was not a bad fellow at heart. He had been as disgusted as any of his +companions at Locke’s apparently inexcusable behavior which had lost +them the first game with the regulars, and had joined heart and soul in +the cold ignoring of the southpaw twirler from that time forth. But at +the end of three or four days, during which he had watched Lefty’s work +closely, he began to wonder whether he was right or not. + +“Maybe he was sick or something that day,” he thought to himself late +one morning, as he stood watching Lefty pitching to Buck Fargo. “He +hasn’t been the same chap since. He’s certainly got smoke, and he can +put the stuff on the pill when he tries.” + +Presently a bit of friendly joshing between Locke and Fargo, in which +Red Pollock and another of the regulars joined, made Ogan still +more thoughtful. He kept his eyes open during the dinner lay-off, +and at length he realized that Locke was on friendly terms with +almost the entire regular crowd, and actually chummy with the gruff, +rough-and-ready backstop. + +“I’ll be hanged if I know how he’s done it,” Ogan thought with some +slight annoyance. “They don’t bother much about the rest of us. I +reckon I must have made a mistake. That bunch would never take up with +a quitter.” + +That afternoon he took occasion to speak to Lefty in a careless sort of +way which seemed to indicate he had momentarily forgotten the boycott; +and when Locke answered him without any signs of pique or soreness, +they talked casually for a moment or two. + +At the end of the day Manager Brennan called Ogan to him. + +“I’m going to try an experiment to-morrow afternoon,” he said shortly. +“We’ll lengthen the game to the full number of innings, and about the +first of the seventh I’ll put Elgin into the box for the regulars. I +want to see what he’ll do with that kind of support.” + +Ogan restrained his surprise, and nodded. “I suppose I’d better not use +him early in the game, then?” he said. + +“No; take some of the others. He’d better be fresh when he goes in. +The old boys are waking up and beginning to play ball.” + +This Ogan had observed the day before with some chagrin. Up to that +time the cubs had won every game except that first one, and had come to +have a pretty good opinion of their ability. Yesterday, however, they +had been unaccountably nosed out in the last inning, while to-day their +defeat had been even worse. + +Apparently there was no reason for it. They were in splendid condition +and playing harder than ever. Their opponents did not seem to be +exerting themselves a bit more than they had done from the very first. +They still contented themselves with letting a hit go as a single when +it might have been stretched for two sacks. Time and time again their +pitcher let the bases fill, only to pull out of the hole by some wise +old trick――the product of hard experience――which prevented the cubs +from piling up runs. + +Some of the latter did not realize that they were the victims of inside +baseball; that the regulars were regaining and perfecting the teamwork +which was to count for so much a couple of months later on. But they +would learn it soon, for that was the principal reason why they were +there. + +As Ogan turned away from the manager a sudden thought flashed into his +brain, and he looked swiftly around. The crowd was streaming toward the +gates, intent on a refreshing bath and supper, but Ogan’s keen eyes +soon singled out Locke in the rear, and in a couple of minutes he had +sprinted over to him. + +“Want to go in to-morrow?” he asked abruptly. + +A faint flush stained Lefty’s face, but his voice was perfectly +composed as he answered readily: + +“I sure do!” + +“I’ll put you in at the beginning of the seventh. The old man’s going +to lengthen the game, and wants to run Bert Elgin in to pitch for the +regulars. When he does, you can come out for us. We’ll talk it over +to-morrow.” + +That was all he said, but as he walked away Lefty felt as if he could +have hugged the fellow for giving him this chance. To pitch again for +the cubs was enough in itself, but to be pitted against Elgin was more +than he had hoped for; and it was with difficulty that he restrained +the exuberant joy which welled up within him. + +He could scarcely wait until supper was over, so eager was he to tell +Janet the good news. She was as pleased as he over it, and they were so +busy planning her coming to the field that she quite forgot the little +hint she had intended dropping of how glad she would be if he and +Elgin would only make up their differences. + +The latter had called again the night before and conducted himself so +tactfully that she found him even more pleasant than at first. She +could not believe that either he or Lefty could have done anything +very dreadful. It seemed rather as if there must have been some +misunderstanding to turn them from friends to enemies, and her heart +was set on being the means of bringing them together again. It was only +after Lefty’s departure that she realized her omission and determined +to rectify it on the morrow if even the slightest opportunity presented +itself. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIII + + THERE’S MANY A SLIP + + +In company with Jean Forsythe, a pretty, breezy Texas girl, Janet +reached the baseball park the next afternoon about half past two. They +drove down in Jean’s runabout, and the little car had no sooner come +to a stop on the turf back of first base than Miss Harting forgot +everything but her enthusiasm at the sight she beheld. + +The whole field seemed filled with brown-skinned, clear-eyed athletes +engaged in the usual practice. A number of them were scattered over the +diamond in their regular positions, while some one batted to them. At a +little distance others were practicing bunting. Back by the grandstand +an old pitcher was warming up easily. Farther on a couple of cub +twirlers were doing the same thing, with much more snap and speed. The +crack of wood meeting leather sounded rhythmically, intermingled with +shouts and joshing laughter. Balls curved gracefully into the sunlight. +The air was soft and balmy, and full of the fragrance of growing +things. The sky was a brilliant, cloudless blue, and it was springtime. + +As the girl’s eyes took in the scene, her heart began to beat a little +unevenly; her gloved hands lay quietly in her lap, the fingers tightly +interlaced. + +“It’s splendid!” she whispered to herself. + +It was deeply interesting to one who could delve beneath the surface, +and see a little of what lay under that smiling, sunny crust. Here was +a veteran whose name was famous from sea to sea, and to whom baseball +was the very breath of life, struggling with every fiber of his being +against the inevitable. Perhaps no one else had a suspicion that he +was passing his prime, but some day――and that soon――his throwing arm +would lose its vigor, or his legs fail to take him down to first in the +marvelous way they had done for years. After that the toboggan slide; +back to the minors for a while, and then to the scrap heap. + +To the seeing mind the field was full of little tragedies like this, +which might seem cruel, but which were really inevitable. There is no +sentiment in professional baseball. One unvarying law of the Big League +is the survival of the fittest. As long as a man can fill a position a +little better than any other player the manager can secure――and that +individual is always on the lookout for new material――he stays on the +crest of the wave. Once let him slip back a very little, however, and +he sinks beneath the surface, never, or at least rarely, to struggle +into sight again. + +Happily Janet did not realize all of this, though perhaps she sensed +intuitively a little of the hopes and fears, the jealousies and +heartburnings, which were inevitable in such a gathering. Presently +she saw Lefty waving to her, and answered him with a quick smile and +nod. A little later, when the game began, he hastened over to the car, +bringing Buck Fargo with him; for he was anxious that his friend should +meet the two girls. + +The big backstop could stay only a moment, but Lefty remained for +several innings, enjoying the enthusiasm of the girls over the game. +Toward the end of the fourth inning, however, he arose reluctantly from +where he had been sitting on the step of the car. + +“I’ll have to start warming up,” he explained. “They’re going to put me +in with the beginning of the seventh.” + +They both smilingly urged him to win the game for the cubs, said they +would wait for him afterward, and watched him cross the field with a +lithe, springy step. + +“He’s fine, isn’t he?” remarked Jean Forsythe enthusiastically. “I like +that Mr. Fargo, too. Where’s the other one you were telling me about? I +wonder he doesn’t come over.” + +Janet had been wondering herself. Quite early in the game she had +picked out Bert Elgin over by the grandstand pitching to one of the +youngsters who was not playing. It seemed rather odd that he could not +spare a moment to run over and see them. + +“Oh, he’s warming up,” she explained carelessly. “He’s going in with +the regulars at the seventh inning. It’ll be awfully exciting to see +which does the better.” + +Lefty talked for a moment or two with Al Ogan, and then, corralling a +fellow to catch for him, started to limber up his arm. He felt that he +had never been in better form, and the realization inspired him. So +far the game was very close, for the Yannigans were having a streak of +hitting, of which they took every advantage, so that they were one run +to the good at the end of the fourth inning. + +If Lefty could help them win the game it would be a triumph, indeed, +and would more than atone for his losing the first time. + +At the end of the fifth inning the score remained unchanged. In the +last half of the sixth, however, the regulars secured the tying run. +A little later Lefty slipped into his sweater, walked to the bench, +and sat down. Elgin had stopped warming up a moment or two before, and +stood near; but neither paid any attention to the other. + +As the inning ended, Lefty saw Jim Brennan beckon to Ogan and engage +him in conversation. He seemed to be laying down the law in that sharp, +decisive manner of his, and something in the cub captain’s face sent a +momentary thrill of apprehension through the southpaw. + +He thrust it from him, however, and when Ogan finally turned away from +the manager and walked slowly in, Lefty moved to meet him. + +“Old man changed his plans?” the cub pitcher asked carelessly. + +Something, he knew not what, prompted him to put the question. It never +really occurred to him that Brennan had changed his mind, but afterward +he was more than thankful that the suggestion had come from him. + +“Yes!” snapped Ogan. “He wants Redmond to go in. I told him I’d +promised you, and Redmond’s arm wasn’t limbered up, but that didn’t +make any difference. Sorry, old fellow, but I’ll make it up to you +another time.” + +Lefty turned away with a shrug, and tossed his glove up, catching it +deftly as it fell. Then he laughed. Ogan could have no idea, of course, +how difficult it was to make that laugh sound natural. + +“Sure!” Lefty said lightly. “You won’t want me at all, then?” + +“Not this afternoon. I’ll put you in to-morrow, though, if it takes a +leg.” + +He passed on toward the bench, leaving Locke to follow more slowly, his +face still indifferent, but his mind full of bitter disappointment. +To-morrow! That promise was poor consolation when he had set his heart +on pitching to-day. He would never have another chance like this to pit +himself against Bert Elgin. + +The next instant he raised his head and met Elgin’s eyes fixed upon his +face with a look of malicious satisfaction. For a fraction of a second +Lefty stared. Then he smiled, and, turning, made his way straight +toward the runabout containing the two girls. + +It had suddenly come to him that he would have to go back and explain +to them. He hated the necessity intensely; but, since it had to be +done, it might as well be gotten over swiftly. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIV + + THE UNEXPECTED + + +The remainder of the afternoon was one long trial for Lefty Locke. He +was under the necessity of keeping up an appearance of light-hearted +indifference before the girls, when all the time he simply ached to be +out there on the diamond. + +He saw Redmond pitching the sort of ball to delight the veterans, who +batted him mercilessly. He saw Elgin, backed by the whole strength of +the regular team, make a showing such as he had never made before. He +saw the cubs mowed down, snowed under, beaten to a frazzle; and all the +time he had to laugh and joke and fight down any signs of the bitter +disappointment which filled his soul. + +Janet, knowing him as she did, realized something of what he must be +feeling, and tactfully refrained from any comments on Elgin’s pitching. +Neither did she tell Lefty how sorry she was at the way things had +gone, and for that he was thankful. It seemed as if Janet Harting’s +pity would have been the last straw. + +When the last inning ended, with a score of nine to three in favor of +the regulars, she further won his gratitude by suggesting to Jean that +they leave the field at once, before the crowd started, and take Lefty +with them. + +He accepted with alacrity. When they put him down at the hotel, he said +good-by to Miss Forsythe, then held out his hand to Janet. + +“Thank you,” he said in a quiet voice as she took it. + +The girl smiled understandingly into his eyes. “Come and see us soon,” +was all she said, as the car moved away. + +Of course, the principal topic of conversation that night was the +wonderful exhibition of pitching shown by Elgin. Some of the newspaper +men, in particular, were more than enthusiastic, hailing him as the +most promising youngster Brennan had discovered, and predicting a +bright future for him. The older players had seen too many “infant +phenoms” to be in the least impressed; they knew, moreover, how much +of his success had been due to their own assistance. The cubs were +too downcast over their defeat to think of anything else. Redmond was +wearing a grouch, and Locke’s stock began to soar when Ogan expressed a +belief at the supper table that if the southpaw had been put in, as he +desired, the result would have been quite different. + +Lefty missed Jack Stillman and was beginning to wonder where he was +when the reporter suddenly issued from the elevator, about eight +o’clock, and hurried over. + +“Had to get my copy off,” he explained. “Say! Have you seen old Oggie?” + +“You don’t mean Oggie Wilmerding!” Lefty exclaimed incredulously. + +“Surest thing you know! The old lobster was here when we got back from +the field this afternoon. He’s traveling for the Wood’s Hoisting Engine +Company. Talk about class! Oh, hush!” + +Lefty grinned. “Oggie always did have a hankering for lugs,” he +chuckled. “But he’s all right, just the same. Where do you suppose he’s +gone?” + +“Give it up. He said something about seeing a man the first thing in +the morning, but perhaps he’s hunting him up to-night.” + +This surmise proved to be correct. About half an hour later a tall, +well-groomed, prosperous-looking chap entered the lobby, and was +instantly seized by the two Princeton men and mauled after the fashion +of college mates who haven’t met each other in some time. + +He was unfeignedly glad to see Lefty, and when the first exuberant +greetings were ended they settled down in a corner of the lobby to talk +over old times. + +“You’re fat as a pig, Oggie,” Lefty remarked, with fond bluntness. “I’d +like to have you on the squad for about a month.” + +Wilmerding waved away the suggestion with horror. “No, thanks! I never +took to exercise. I’m very well satisfied as I am. Never did like to +see every bone in a fellow’s body.” He paused an instant, and then +chuckled. “But this is the best ever, running across you three old +Princeton plugs in a bunch. Where’s Elgin? I was talking to him before +supper, and I’ll be hanged if he isn’t a pretty decent chap. Never +cared very much for him at college, but he seems to have improved a lot +since then.” + +The silence which followed his remark was eloquent. Wilmerding glanced +from one frowning face to the other, and raised his eyebrows. + +“What’s the matter?” he inquired. “Have I struck a false note?” + +“You certainly have if you sized up that cur as decent,” Stillman +retorted impulsively. + +“You don’t mean it!” Wilmerding exclaimed. “Why, he seemed very +pleasant. What’s he done to get you two on his neck?” + +“What he did at college was enough to get any self-respecting fellow +down on him, let alone the dirty tricks he’s tried since then.” + +The plump chap looked puzzled. “At college?” he repeated. “I don’t +understand, Jack.” + +“You will when I tell you that he was the one who stole Bob Ferris’ +watch and money, and then tried to put the blame on Lefty.” + +The effect of his words on Wilmerding was extraordinary. The healthy +glow faded swiftly from the plump cheeks, leaving them pale and +mottled. His jaw dropped, and for an instant he sat staring at the +reporter with startled eyes. + +“Impossible!” he gasped at last, in a hoarse, trembling voice. + +“It’s not impossible,” Stillman retorted sharply. “The whole thing’s as +plain as print. Lefty caught him with the goods.” + +Slowly Wilmerding turned his eyes on Locke. The look in them was that +of one who is unable to credit the evidence of his senses. + +“It’s true,” Locke affirmed, wondering curiously what brought that +extraordinary expression into the other’s face. “I saw the watch in his +possession.” + +Wilmerding dropped his lids and swallowed hard. For a moment or two he +sat staring at his lap, where his plump, well-cared-for hands lay, the +fingers tightly interlaced. His mouth was twitching nervously and his +face was still pale. At last he raised his head again and glanced at +Stillman. + +“It isn’t possible, Jack,” he said unevenly. “You’ve made a big +mistake.” + +“Don’t be a fool, Oggie,” the reporter snapped. “There isn’t a chance +of that. What the deuce do you know about it, anyhow?” + +Wilmerding moistened his dry lips. “A great deal,” he said slowly. +“I――was the――thief, myself.” + +“You?” exclaimed both men together. + +Then Locke laughed oddly. “Jove! That was well done, Oggie,” he +exclaimed. “We both bit beautifully.” + +Wilmerding shook his head. His eyes were tortured. + +“You’re wrong,” he said, more clearly. “I’m not fooling; I mean every +word I say.” He reached out, and gripped the edge of a small table +standing beside his chair; somehow, the action seemed to steady him. +“It’s mighty hard to tell you fellows,” he went on slowly. “I thought +the whole wretched business had been buried forever. I never expected +to hear of it again, but I can’t let you go on thinking what you do +about Elgin. As true as I sit here, I stole those things from Ferris. I +didn’t mean to do it, but I took them just the same. Ever since I was +a kid I’ve been cursed with a sleepwalking habit, and not the ordinary +sort, either. When I’m asleep I do things I’d never dream of doing in +my right senses. You remember Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?” + +Lefty nodded silently. He was too amazed to speak. + +“Well, in a way I’m a Jekyll and Hyde. I’ve often thought that, +sleeping and waking, I have two just such different personalities as +those. I’ll never forget the awful sensation of finding out the first +time that I’d been into somebody else’s room and stolen a scarfpin off +the bureau. It was at a summer hotel, and I managed to put it back +without any one finding out. At college I did the same thing every +now and then, but never very much, and always managed to get my loot +back undiscovered. I thought I’d done the same thing with Ferris’ +belongings.” + +“But, Oggie, this is all rot!” Lefty burst out. “You’re worrying +yourself over something which is utterly impossible. I tell you I saw +Ferris’ watch fall out of Bert Elgin’s pocket.” + +“Could you swear to the watch?” Wilmerding asked wearily and without +conviction. + +“Well, it looked exactly like it.” + +“Must have been some other watch,” Wilmerding returned positively. “Did +he ever confess to you that he did the stealing?” + +“N-o, I can’t say that. In fact, he denied it up and down; but of +course he’d do that. I told him unless the things were returned in +twenty-four hours I’d go to the dean. They were back on Ferris’ bureau +the next morning.” + +Wilmerding nodded. “Naturally, when I put them there myself. In my +sleep I had hidden them behind some books on a shelf, and I didn’t +find them until that night. I tell you fellows, you’ve made a terrible +mistake. I never cared much for Elgin in the old days, and had very +little to do with him, but I can’t keep still and let any man suffer +for my own wrongdoing.” + +There was no mistaking the deadly earnestness of his tone, and, as he +realized what the disclosure meant, Lefty experienced an odd, sinking +sensation. Thoroughly upright and straightforward himself, the thought +that he had been the means of branding an innocent man as a thief was +intolerable to him. Moreover, if Elgin was not guilty of that theft, +what proof had they of his complicity in recent underhanded doings? + +With a feeling that the earth was dropping away under his feet, Locke +turned toward Stillman. He saw on the reporter’s face that same +expression of groping blankness which he knew was on his own. + + + + + CHAPTER XXV + + THE STRUGGLE + + +Lefty went to his room rather early that night, but not to bed. +The discovery of the terrible mistake he had made regarding Elgin +bewildered him at first, and then made him feel as if he wanted to get +away by himself to think it all over. + +For three years he had felt absolutely certain of Bert Elgin’s +responsibility for that theft at Princeton. He had felt the scorn and +contempt for his college mate which any decent man would naturally feel +for a person guilty of what Elgin had done. He had, moreover, from the +very first, never hesitated to show those feelings. Now it would seem +that he had been totally in the wrong. + +It was a most disagreeable discovery. Lefty would have felt glad indeed +had there been a chance of believing Wilmerding mistaken, but such a +thing was hardly possible. Oggie had never been on friendly terms with +Elgin in the old days, so there was no earthly reason to suspect him of +making up the story in order to shield the real culprit. + +“And, anyway, he couldn’t have told it the way he did unless it were +true,” Locke thought to himself. “It isn’t in him to fake a thing so +realistically.” + +Frowning, Lefty moved restlessly about the room, picking up an article +here and there and replacing it without a realization of what he was +doing. Of course the only proper course for him to follow was to go +straight to Elgin and apologize for having misjudged him so greatly, +but the thought of doing so was intolerable. + +He detested the fellow as much as ever. His suspicion of Elgin’s +responsibility for the doped beer remained unshaken. Whether the man +had stolen or not, did not affect that question. + +“I can’t do it!” Lefty burst out, at length, a vivid picture of the +sneering reception which would greet an apology on his part flashing +into his mind. “I detest that man, and I won’t give him a chance to +crow over me. He’d seize it gleefully.” + +For a time he deluded himself with the idea that, after all, it wasn’t +up to him to do anything. The matter had never been made public. With +the exception of Ogden Wilmerding, Stillman and Ferris were the only +ones who knew anything of it. It had long ago been relegated to the +past. Why should it be dragged out into the light at this late day? He +would write to Bob Ferris that very night and put him straight about +the matter. That should be enough. + +Deep down in his heart Lefty Locke knew that it was not enough. Because +he was clean and straight and honorable, he knew that it was up to +him to apologize to the man he had so cruelly misjudged, whether he +detested him or not. He had been responsible for the stigma resting on +Elgin’s good name, and that responsibility could not be shirked. Common +decency made it imperative for him to acknowledge his mistake. + +The decision was not an easy one. In fact, Lefty had never struggled +harder against the temptation to take the simple course and let things +slide. If he kept silent, the chances were a thousand to one that Elgin +would never hear a whisper of Wilmerding’s story. The latter was not +likely to repeat it to others, and Stillman would certainly keep the +matter to himself. + +In spite of all these plausible arguments, however, the southpaw knew +that there was really only one thing for him to do, much as he hated +it; and, having come to that conclusion, he lost no time in ridding +himself of the unpleasant duty. + +A glance at his watch told him that it was not yet eleven. Possibly +Elgin might still be up, and if the task could be done that night, so +much the better. + +Stepping out into the corridor, he walked to Elgin’s room, noticed +the light streaming through the transom, and, without further delay, +knocked firmly on the door. + +“Come in!” called a voice impatiently. + +Elgin, partly undressed, stood in the middle of the room. As his rival +entered and closed the door behind him, a look of surprise flashed into +his face, followed swiftly by a scowl. + +“Well, what in blazes do _you_ want?” he snapped with pointed emphasis. + +Lefty bit his lips to keep back the retort he longed to utter. He +realized that it was going to be even harder than he had expected. + +“I’ve found out that I was wrong about that affair at college, Elgin,” +he said stiffly. “I came to tell you that I am sorry for having +misjudged you.” + +For an instant Elgin stared at him in silence, the shirt he had just +taken off trailing unheeded on the floor. His face was an odd mixture +of astonishment and suspicious incredulity. + +“You mean――about the Ferris――business?” he asked jerkily. + +Locke nodded. “Yes; I was mistaken in thinking you mixed up in it. I’ve +been mistaken for three years.” + +Elgin’s brows came together in a scowl. His lids drooped until they +quite hid the expression in his dark eyes. + +“Humph!” he grunted. “And when did you find out what an ass you’ve been +making of yourself?” + +Lefty flushed, and set his jaws. “I learned the truth to-night,” he +admitted. + +Suddenly Elgin’s face relaxed from its rather tense, searching +expression, and he laughed harshly. + +“And so you’re sorry?” he sneered. “That puts you right, I suppose! +Without a shred of evidence, you accuse a man of stealing. For three +years you blackguard him every chance you get, and then, when you find +out the truth, when you wake up to the fact that you’ve been all kinds +of a blackguard, all you can do is to come around whining about being +sorry. Bah!” + +Lefty drew his breath sharply, his self-control strained almost to the +breaking point. + +“What more can I do?” he demanded. + +Elgin’s lips curled. “Oh, nothing――nothing,” he sneered. “It’s what you +should have done before that gets me. Anybody but a fool would have +waited till he could prove it before he called a man a thief. But no; +you had to jump in and show how smart you were without giving a thought +to the damage you might be doing to a person’s character.” + +Lefty felt that argument would be futile. Besides, he knew that if he +stayed any longer he would most certainly blow up and say something he +might afterward regret. + +“I’ve told you I’m sorry, and I am,” he repeated briefly. “I’ll write +to Bob Ferris to-night, and put him straight about the matter. I fail +to see what more there is to do.” + +Without further words, he turned abruptly to leave the room. He had +almost reached the door when Elgin’s sneering voice broke the silence: + +“If you think this squares everything between us, you’ve got another +guess coming. I haven’t forgotten how you’ve slandered me, and I never +will, even if you should crawl like this every day for the rest of the +year.” + +Lefty whirled, his eyes blazing. “I don’t give a rip what you remember +or forget!” he retorted sharply. “I apologized because I had to save my +self-respect. If you imagine I want to have anything more to do with +you than before, get rid of the notion right away. I don’t like you +or your methods. You may not be guilty of stealing, but there are some +other things fully as rotten that you have done.” + +Before Elgin could reply the southpaw had jerked the door open, stepped +swiftly through, and slammed it behind him. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVI + + GAINING GROUND + + +“What the deuce did you go and tell him for?” Jack Stillman demanded +pettishly. + +“Because I had to,” retorted Lefty, with some asperity. He was tired of +the whole subject, and desired to forget it. “Don’t be a fool, Jack. +There wasn’t anything else to do.” + +The reporter shrugged his shoulders. There was a note of finality in +his friend’s voice which he knew better than to disregard. + +“Well, all I can say is I’m thankful my conscience isn’t so blamed +sensitive,” he sighed. “He’ll be so swelled up there won’t be any +enduring him. Heaven knows he’ll be chesty enough, as it is, when he +sees the papers.” + +“What do you mean, Jack?” Lefty asked curiously. + +The reporter scowled. “Same old dope about ‘Marvelous Cub Twirler +Discovered by Astute Manager,’” he explained sardonically. Stillman had +a trick of talking in capitals which made one fairly see the glaring +headlines. “It’s the same every spring, only this year there are a lot +more kids around than usual who can handle a murder case or robbery a +heap better than they can a Big League training season.” + +Lefty grinned. “Oh, you mean they’re giving him a puff on account of +yesterday?” + +“A puff isn’t quite the word. I wish you could have seen some of the +rot Temple, of the _Blade_, doped out. He wanted my opinion on it; +said he was a bit new to this, you know. I smoothed down the story a +little, but I’m dead sure a lot more will rant as bad, or worse. Most +of ’em seem to think because the regulars had a landslide it was due +to Elgin’s pitching. They don’t figure out that Redmond’s bum work had +anything to do with it.” + +“What’s the odds?” Lefty laughed. “You did the same thing last year, +didn’t you?” + +“Not quite. I knew something about baseball to start with, and Johnny +Hargreaves tipped me off to a whole lot more.” + +“Still, Elgin really did do pretty well,” Locke remarked slowly. +“Anybody must concede that much.” + +“No better than he has half a dozen times before,” the reporter +retorted. “That’s all I said in my story, but when I found the way the +rest were piling it on, I had to stick in another paragraph. Otherwise +I’d be getting a wire from the chief to wake up and take notice.” + +“After all, I don’t believe it amounts to a terrible lot,” Lefty said +carelessly. “You can’t fool Brennan, and his opinion is really the only +one that counts.” + +Nevertheless, as he joined the squad a little later for the morning jog +out to the grounds, Lefty could not help feeling a twinge of regretful +envy. If he had only been allowed to go on the slab for the cubs the +day before, he had a notion that Elgin’s performance would not have +seemed quite so brilliant. Those laudatory newspaper notices might have +had someone else as the object of their praise, and, though he knew how +little such plaudits really counted, Lefty was a very human sort of +fellow, after all. + +According to his promise, Al Ogan put the southpaw in the box that +afternoon, and Locke pitched for six innings to such purpose that the +game resulted in a tie in spite of the fact that the regulars were in +as good a form as ever, and seemed to work a little harder than usual. + +From that time on, Locke’s companions began to thaw. Once they realized +that Lefty’s first disastrous exhibition had not been a sample of his +usual form, they endeavored to make up for past unpleasantness. + +Perhaps their new friendliness was hastened by the newspaper prominence +of Bert Elgin. Few men can view unmoved the sudden elevation to fame +of a comrade, especially when they feel that this elevation has not +been especially merited. Newspapers began to drift in from all the big +cities, in which Elgin was heralded as “Brennan’s New Find,” “A Second +Matty,” “By Far the Most Promising Recruit of the Season,” and so on. + +Then followed pictures of the new pitcher in every variety of pose; his +style was dissected and analyzed; his progress was noted; for, having +launched this boom, the reporters felt under the necessity of pushing +it along. + +All of these things were not calculated to soothe the spirits of the +other cubs, whose existence was noted by scant sentences scattered +thinly throughout the sporting columns. They looked askance on Elgin, +and the latter, not bearing up well under prosperity, gave them plenty +to criticize. He developed an irritatingly jaunty air, which was +flaunted at all times. He grew very familiar with most of the newspaper +men, and when on the slab gave decided evidence of mannerisms, which +tried the patience and aroused the ire of his fellow players. + +Unfortunately for them, his ability to pitch increased rather than +lessened, so that their sarcastic utterances rather lost point. A man +can make all sorts of a fool of himself off the slab, he may even go +through ridiculous posings and posturings while winding up, but when +his work is as uniformly good as Bert Elgin’s was, criticism is usually +superfluous. + +The days passed swiftly, with the most of the squad showing an increase +in efficiency. They were hitting better, running faster, and throwing +more accurately. The regulars were rapidly perfecting their teamwork, +and the cubs beginning to learn the importance of something more than +the rudiments of “inside” baseball. Some of them took to it like ducks +to water, and absorbed intricate secret signals and caught on to the +theory of certain movements as if they had been brought up on nothing +else from their cradles. These were the men who would push forward to +the front ranks. The slower-brained recruits were doomed. + +Lefty Locke enjoyed that week more than any similar space of time +he could remember. Baseball as a science had always interested him +tremendously. He had spent a great deal of time studying out different +plays and the reasons for them, but up to now these mental exercises +had been generally limited to the more obvious sort, though he did not +realize that at the time. + +He knew it, however, the moment the Hornets began to pick up and show +what they could do when they were in trim; and, though the discovery +was something of a blow to his self-esteem, it only goaded him to +constant effort and increased mental agility to keep up the pace. + +Therefore his work steadily improved. While, perhaps, not so spectacular +and dashing as Bert Elgin’s, it showed evidence of thought and clear +judgment; and very soon it became apparent that he was crowding his +rival close, if not actually surpassing him in general ability and +resourcefulness. + +The one drawback to an otherwise pleasant period was Janet Harting’s +behavior. She and Lefty had come perilously close to their first +quarrel, and all because of his absolute refusal, not alone to make +up his differences with Bert Elgin, but to tell her of what those +differences consisted. + +After her first coolness she had been very nice about it, but somehow +Lefty had a feeling that she was not quite the same. She was pleasant +and cordial, and went twice to the baseball park to see him pitch +before she and her father left Ashland for the mineral springs at +Billings. In spite of all that, however, Lefty sensed the faint rift in +their friendship, and it troubled him. + +Instinctively he laid it to Elgin, whom he knew visited Miss Harting +almost as frequently as he did, and he despised the man more than ever +for it. It was one of those cases, however, in which a person can +do nothing. Locke simply had to sit still and let events take their +course. He worried and fussed a bit at first, but presently his whole +mind became so engrossed in the struggle to make good and win out that +he ceased to be actively troubled over something which he could not +remedy. + +After all, if he could only manage to outpitch Elgin on the diamond and +prove himself the better player, there was more than a chance of his +showing, at the same time, the girl he cared for that he was the better +man. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVII + + A CHANCE TO MAKE GOOD + + +Jack Stillman lolled in the big cushioned chair, his eyes fixed on the +backs of two men, carrying suitcases, who were just leaving the hotel +in company with half a dozen of their fellow players. + +“Back to the hay fields for yours,” he murmured sardonically. “Another +couple of years, and you may be ready for fast company. This is the +beginning of the exodus, Lefty.” + +For an instant Locke’s face was rather serious. Then he smiled faintly. + +“You’re a stony-hearted ruffian, Jack,” he said. “I feel sorry for +them. After working hard and getting your hopes away up, it’s a beastly +disappointment to be told you haven’t made good. I suppose you’ll think +it’s a joke when I pack my little bag and go forth into the cold world.” + +“I’d laugh myself sick,” chuckled the newspaper man. “At present, +however, I don’t see any chance of that coming about. At the risk of +giving you a swelled head, I’ll tell you, old chap, that you’re liable +to stick around.” + +“This from the oracle!” laughed the southpaw. “I’m overwhelmed. But +seriously, Jack, if I have improved a little, so has Bert Elgin. Of +course, I’d never admit it to any one else, but it’s my private opinion +that he’s the better pitcher.” + +“I don’t agree with you,” Stillman returned decidedly. “There’s no +denying that Elgin’s good. He’s got speed and fine curves and very +fair control, but the combination of all three doesn’t always make a +first-class pitcher. He’s got to pitch with his brain as well as his +arm, and he’s got to have plenty of nerve, both of which qualities I’ve +noticed in you. I’m curious to see what Elgin will do when he’s up +against a real team.” + +“Well, I hope the old man agrees with you,” Lefty returned. “It looks +to me as if it would be a fight between us two as to which will be kept +and which farmed out.” + +“Why shouldn’t he keep you both?” the newspaper man inquired. + +“Look at the corking bunch of regulars he has already,” Locke protested. + +Stillman laughed. “Haven’t you got wise yet to the fact that a team +can’t have too many good twirlers? A Big League season is a whole lot +different from the ball you played last summer. It begins in April, +and doesn’t end till October. It’s fight, fight, fight, week after +week, month after month, with the knowledge that a single game, a +single inning, sometimes even a single play, may start a slump. It’s +hard, grilling work, and Brennan knows well that any minute one of his +star twirlers may be down and out. He’s not running any chances, and +you take my word for it that, if you and Elgin don’t fall down, he’ll +keep you both.” + +“You’re a real comfort, Jack,” Lefty said. “I’ll try not to slump. Wish +I knew who was going on to the slab first to-morrow.” + +“Don’t you?” the reporter asked, with sudden interest. “I thought he +picked the team this afternoon.” + +“So he did, all but the battery. Perhaps we’ll hear before bedtime. +I’d sure like to go in. This will be rather different from the usual +practice game.” + +Stillman nodded emphatically. “You bet your boots! The first game with +an outside team is usually an eye-opener. You fellows think you’re +pretty hot stuff because you’ve trimmed the regulars a few times, +forgetting that the old men take things so easy during training season +that you’d hardly know they were working at all. Cy Russell lets you +hit him a dozen times in a game; so does old Pop. I’ve seen you fan +Dutch Siegrist twice running. Do you s’pose you could do that a month +from now? Forget it! This game to-morrow is going to be a jolt for some +lads, if what I hear about that wild Texas bunch is right. I wonder the +old man would consent to a match so early. They usually aren’t pulled +off till just before we start north.” + +“Buck told me their manager had sent in a challenge, and the chief +didn’t feel like turning it down,” Lefty remarked. “I s’pose he didn’t +want to give ’em a chance to crow.” + +“Very likely. Well, it’ll be some fun, anyhow. I understand their +pitcher has a reputation for rough-and-ready baseball. I’ll be hanged, +old man, if I wouldn’t be just as well pleased to see Elgin up against +that sort of thing if I were you.” + +“I’ll take a chance,” Lefty laughed. “I’ve been up against some tough +characters before, and perhaps even this Texas steer can’t put much +over me.” + +“That remains to be seen,” chuckled Stillman. “The old man’s heading +this way with Ogan, and from the expression on his face I should say +you’d been chosen for the goat.” + +His surmise proved to be correct. + +“You’ll start the game to-morrow, Locke,” the manager said abruptly, as +he halted by Lefty’s chair. “I’m told this Schaeffer is a roughneck, +so look out for squalls. No matter what he does, don’t let him badger +you into anything. I’ll see to it that he’s kept within bounds, but +them kind of ball players is so full of tricks you can’t catch ’em all. +You and Ogan and Fargo better get together to-night and fix up your +signals.” + +After Lefty and the cub captain had departed to hunt up their backstop, +Jim Brennan stood for a moment looking at Stillman out of the corner of +his eye. The latter was one of the few reporters with the squad that +year who knew baseball from the ground up, and the stories he sent home +to his paper usually had the manager’s entire approval. + +“You don’t seem much fretted about putting your cubs up against this +young sagebrush fellow,” the newspaper man remarked presently. + +Brennan’s eyes twinkled a bit. + +“I ain’t,” he admitted. “Likely they’ll get the pants licked off ’em, +but that’ll do ’em good.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXVIII + + A BAD BEGINNING + + +As the Broncs spread out on the field for preliminary practice, their +opponents looked them over with undisguised interest. They saw nine +husky, sunbrowned fellows, quick, lithe, and snappy in their movements, +who scooped up grounders, smothered flies, and lined the ball from +one to another without any bungling, hesitation or wooden headwork. +They had been playing all winter in the Southern States, and certainly +showed the fact in their efficiency and teamwork. They were not really +Texans, although posing as such, but, instead, players gathered from +various parts of the country. + +“Looks like a pretty swift crowd,” Al Ogan remarked to Lefty. “If any +one should ask me, I’d say we had our work cut out for us.” + +Locke smiled faintly. + +“I reckon we can handle them,” he returned. “With Fargo and Pollock in +the infield and Hagin at center, I’m not worrying. Each one of those +men hit over three hundred last season.” + +“Exactly,” the cub captain said significantly, “but that was last +season. Their averages have been pretty punk this spring. I’m not so +sure that the team is strengthened a whole lot by running them in at +the last minute.” + +“Personally, I’m mighty glad to have Fargo behind the pan,” said Lefty. +“Whalen isn’t bad, but there’s not another backstop in the country who +can teach Buck anything. Well, there goes the umpire. It’s up to us to +show these bucking broncs that they’re not the whole shooting match.” + +Though he spoke confidently, Lefty did not feel quite as nonchalant and +undisturbed as he pretended to be. + +The Hornets had the field, and it was up to their pitcher to keep the +heavy hitters, who would almost certainly head their opponents’ batting +list, from doing too much damage before he had discovered the strength +and weakness of each man, and could govern himself accordingly. + +Lefty knew that Fargo would help him out to the best of his ability, +but even the experienced backstop could not be counted on to gauge +accurately the batting capabilities of men he had never set eyes on +before. There was nothing to do but proceed cautiously, sounding the +batters as best he could and relying on his support to take care of +the hits. + +The first man up was “Cinch” Brown, one of the Texan outfielders, a +tall, rangy fellow with a hawklike nose and a pair of keen, dark eyes +which seemed to miss nothing. For a second the southpaw hesitated, +trying to fathom just what sort of a ball would be “meat” to this +Southerner. + +Something――intuition, perhaps――gave Lefty the notion that a low, +straight one, close to the knees, would be less palatable than any +other, and his judgment was strengthened when Fargo crouched behind the +pan and made a signal beneath his huge mitt. + +Without delay, the southpaw put it over, straight, swift, and cutting +the near corner just above the batter’s knees――and Brown lashed it out +as if he preferred that kind of a ball to any other. + +But for the fast fielding of Bill Hagin, the hit would have been good +for two cushions. The Big League man, however, got after the ball in +splendid style, and made a running, one-handed stop, which prevented +the sphere from getting away into the remote distance of center field. + +“That’s the stuff, Cinch!” came in a harsh voice from a little to the +left of the plate. “That’s the way to start her off. This kid’s easy +fruit. We’ll have him going. Smash it out, Bull; you can do it.” + +There was an odd, unpleasant quality to the voice which made Lefty +dislike it intuitively. He cast a swift, curious glance in that +direction, and saw, as he had surmised, that it came from the notorious +Zack Schaeffer. The Texan twirler stood with his hands on his hips, his +powerful legs spread wide apart. When his eyes met Lefty’s, a slight +sneer curved his full red lips, and, with an unpleasant laugh, he +turned to say something to the man near him. + +That sort of thing did not bother the southpaw in the least. With an +inward determination to settle Schaeffer’s hash if he possibly could +when the latter came to the bat, he turned his attention to Bull Kenny, +the backstop of the Broncs. + +The latter looked dangerous as he squared himself at the plate, poising +his bat over his shoulder. He was a big, square-jawed, heavily built +fellow, and wielded a massive club. Ordinarily Locke would have looked +for a bunt, but it was evident from the way he held himself that Kenny +had no intention of sacrificing. + +He quite ignored a coaxer which Lefty tried him with, and the latter, +taking a signal from Fargo, sent over a whistling high inshoot. + +Kenny smashed it full and fair, driving it out on a line over the head +of Sandy Rollins at second. Then he dug his spikes into the ground, and +went flying down the line to first at a speed which showed that hitting +was not his only accomplishment. + +As before, it was Hagin who raced forward, scooped up the ball on the +run, and lined it to second. Brown had taken a fair lead, however, and +made the second sack by a hair’s breadth, amid a cloud of dust. + +“Got ’em going, boys!” yelled Schaeffer. “They’re e-easy. Now, Pete, +you know what to do.” + +Nevens, third baseman, evidently did. He was prepared to sacrifice, +but Locke kept the ball high so that it was difficult for him to bunt +effectively. He was finally forced to hit, and hit he did, though not +safely. Nevertheless, he pounded the ball into the diamond, and the two +runners advanced, while he was thrown out at first. + +“That’s the stuff,” laughed Schaeffer, as he stepped out with his bat. +“Here’s where we pull the Hornet’s stinger.” + +He had a peculiar swaggering gait, and carried himself in a manner +which showed how thoroughly he appreciated his own ability. Lefty +felt an intense desire to fan the fellow, who seemed so cocksure of +himself. He was glancing at Fargo, ready to take the signal, when he +saw that Schaeffer had crowded up to the plate, his toes well over the +box line. + +“Get back,” Locke said sharply. + +“Aw, pitch the ball!” snapped Schaeffer. “What’s bitin’ you?” + +“You’re out of your box,” declared Lefty. “I’m liable to hit you.” + +“I’ll take a chance, Willie,” the Texan retorted offensively. “I ain’t +seen you pass up anything very dangerous so far.” + +Nevertheless, at the umpire’s command, he edged back grudgingly, but +persisted in keeping a bit of his toes over the line. + +“The close ones for him,” Lefty decided swiftly. “With that reach of +his, he can hit anything a foot outside the pan.” + +He therefore shook his head when Fargo signaled. When the big backstop +changed the sign, Lefty, after a glance at the base runners, used a +short, swift delivery, and passed up an inshoot, intending to keep the +ball close to the knuckles of the batter. + +Schaeffer stepped in, and was unable to dodge that shoot. It caught him +glancingly, high up on the body, and made him stagger a bit. Then, +growling a few choice epithets, he obeyed the umpire’s signal to take +his base. + +“That man stepped out of his box, Mr. Umpire,” Fargo protested. “He +wouldn’t have been hit if he’d kept his place.” + +“Aw, cut that out!” snarled Schaeffer, limping in an exaggerated +manner. “I was hit a-purpose. Just wait, my young squab,” he added out +of the corner of his mouth to Lefty. “I’ll get _you_.” + +The umpire refused to reverse his decision. + +As he took the ball from Fargo, Lefty’s blood was tingling, and his +face flushed. He managed to keep a grip on his temper, however. With +the bases full and only one out, coolness was at a premium. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIX + + TAKING A BRACE + + +“Sickening!” growled Bert Elgin sitting on the bench. “But what can you +expect with a dub like Locke on the slab?” + +Andy Whalen, a little sore at having been left out of the game, nodded +absently. Next instant, however, he turned his eyes from the diamond +for a second to glance at his companion. + +“It isn’t altogether his fault, though,” he said. “It’s no cinch to +start in pitching to a perfectly strange lot of batters, and Schaeffer +shouldn’t have had that base.” + +“Don’t you believe it,” snapped Elgin. “If we had a real pitcher――” + +“A hit!” Whalen cried. “No, it isn’t, either. It’s going straight at +Burley.” + +Springing to his feet, he watched the ball soaring out into left field; +saw Tom Burley running back to get under it; held his breath as the +white sphere dropped swiftly, apparently straight into the fielder’s +hands; and then sank back on the bench with a groan as the fellow +muffed miserably. + +“Butterfingers!” he said bitterly. “Why didn’t you hold it, you chunk +of solid ivory!” + +Cinch Brown trotted easily over the plate, and Kenny, covering the +ground with tremendous strides, rounded third, and was urged on by the +coacher. + +Lefty knew the sphere would be relayed. Disappointed by the unexpected +muff, it seemed to him as if the ball would never reach the diamond. In +reality, Burley, trying to atone for his miserable error, made a swift +throw which sent the horsehide straight into the baseman’s hands; and +Daly, whirling, lined it to the waiting backstop. + +“Slide! Slide!” shrieked the spectators. + +The advice was unnecessary. Kenny had already launched himself, feet +forward, at the plate, and so great was his speed that he almost +overreached it. He managed to stop himself with one leg across the +rubber just as the ball plunked into Fargo’s big mitt, and he was +declared safe. + +Amid the yell of delight which greeted this decision, Locke turned just +in time to see Schaeffer streaking toward third. Apparently he hoped to +steal the base in the general excitement. + +Lefty shouted warningly to Fargo, but the big backstop, on the job, had +already lined the sphere to Terry Daly. The latter caught it astride +the base, but Schaeffer slid feet foremost straight for the sack, and +spiked Daly, who dropped the ball. + +A chorus of protest arose from the Hornets. Schaeffer got up, slapping +the dust from his clothes and volubly voicing his regret at the +incident. + +“Too bad,” he said, as Daly limped off the field. “Accidents will +happen, you know. He should have watched out for spikes, anyhow.” + +As he spoke he caught Locke’s eye, and the latter brought his teeth +together with a click. He felt sure that the thing had been done with +deliberate intention, and, in the fleeting glance he exchanged with the +Bronc twirler, a sudden determination filled him to repay the man in +the way it would hurt the most. + +As he walked slowly back to the slab and stood waiting for Brennan +to send out a new man to take Daly’s place, a curious calm descended +on him. The outfielder’s error, coming on the heels of all that went +before, had brought Lefty to a state of nervousness which would have +been fatal had it continued. + +It did not. In a flash it had vanished, leaving him cooler and more +composed than he had been at any time since the game began. His face +was so quietly indifferent that more than one player, catching a +glimpse of it, frowningly recalled the day he had thrown away that +first game to the regulars, and wondered with sinking hearts whether he +really was the quitter they had thought him then. + +“He’s done for,” muttered Elgin on the bench. “They’ve got his goat. +He’s given away the game in the first inning.” + +Andy Whalen made no reply. He was watching Lefty keenly, and something +in the southpaw’s face made him doubt if Elgin was right. There was +no question of the sudden change which had come over the pitcher, but +whether it was for better or worse seemed a question. With furrowed +brow, the cub backstop dropped his chin into his hands, and waited. + +Tony Vegaro, the wiry little Mexican shortstop, was at the bat. +Schaeffer jumped away from third as Locke pitched, making a fake start +for the plate. He stopped short, and retreated almost instantly, but +behind him, Monte Harris, the experienced third baseman whom Brennan +had put in, streaked to the sack like greased lightning, and was ready +for business. Lefty had pitched the ball high to prevent bunting, thus +sending it into Fargo’s hands in such a way that the backstop did not +have to waste a fraction of a second in lining it to third. + +There was a shout of warning from the coacher, but it came too late. +Schaeffer flung himself back with outstretched hand, but the ball +plunked into Harris’ grasp, and he tagged the Texan an instant before +the latter’s fingers reached the sack. + +“Well, what do you think of that?” chuckled the delighted Whalen. +“Locke’s not so worse, after all.” + +“He had nothing to do with it,” snapped Elgin, concealing his +disappointment with an effort. + +Schaeffer arose with a fierce scowl, protesting that he had got back +to the base safely. When the umpire motioned him toward the bench, he +snarled out something about robbery, and moved grudgingly away. + +Lefty then proceeded to fan the next batter with swiftness and +dispatch; and the Hornets romped in from the field, their spirits +beginning to rise at this unexpected finish of the inning. + + + + + CHAPTER XXX + + THE TRICKY TWIRLER + + +Lefty approached the bench in a very dubious state of mind. He was not +at all sure that this first inning might not prove his last, and when +he saw Ogan hurry up to the manager and say something in a low tone of +voice, he fully expected to be told that he might ornament the bench +for the remainder of the game. + +He tried to gain some idea of what was passing through Brennan’s mind +by watching his face, but swiftly came to the conclusion that this +was hopeless. A mask of carved and painted wood could not have been +more impassive. The manager listened to what the cub captain had to +say, without moving a muscle of his face. Then he spoke a few rapid +sentences, and Ogan turned away with a nod. + +“You’re up, Buck,” he said shortly. “Start us off with a good one, old +fellow.” + +Fargo grinned, sauntered to the plate, and tapped the rubber indolently +with his war club. Then he stood back, when Schaeffer, who seemed +to have been unnecessarily slow in starting, requested permission to +limber his wing a bit. The reason for this was soon apparent. The first +ball fairly made the air smoke, and it cut the plate in half. The next +was quite as speedy, but took a sharp hop as it neared the pan. The +third was a whizzing curve. + +“Showing off,” Fargo commented, as if to himself, but in a voice which +penetrated to Schaeffer’s ears. “I thought that was it.” + +Then he stepped into the box again, smiling at the Texan twirler in a +manner which seemed to aggravate that individual not a little. + +With a sneering uptilt at the corners of his mouth, the slab man took +Kenny’s signal and whipped the ball over with terrific speed. The speed +was so great, in fact, that Fargo, in spite of the exhibition he had +witnessed a moment before, struck a bit too late. + +“Ho! Ho! Ho!” shouted Pete Nevens from third. “He didn’t know it went +by, Zack, old Bronc!” + +“Give him another sample,” urged the player on first. + +“Mebbe you’d like him to toss you one,” suggested Kenny. “He’s got a +nice little lob ball that mebbe you can hit.” + +Buck Fargo simply smiled that wide smile of his, and waited quietly, +his eye on Schaeffer. + +“Look out!” shouted the pitcher, as the ball left his fingers the +second time. + +Fargo dodged instinctively, for the horsehide had started straight at +him with burning speed. Only by bending swiftly and holding his bat far +over the plate did he escape being hit. + +This was one of Schaeffer’s little tricks to disturb the nerve of a +batsman. With the finest sort of control, he could usually put the ball +wherever he desired, and he chose on this occasion to send it as close +to Fargo as possible. He shook his head with an air of relief as if he +had feared he might hit the backstop, and was glad he had not. + +As he straightened up, Fargo made no comment. He still smiled a little, +but a close observer would have noticed that his jaw was a bit firmer +and his lids slightly more drooping. If Schaeffer had only stopped to +think, he might have realized how many, many times this Big League +player had faced just such tricky pitchers before, and how perfectly he +must have learned how to treat them. + +This thought did not come to him, however. Balancing himself on his +toes, he took a wide swing of his arm for speed, and lined the ball +over. It seemed to start exactly as the last one had, but, as Fargo +quite expected, it took such a sharp shoot that it cut the plate almost +in twain. + +The big backstop was ready for it. He met it directly over the pan, and +sent it whistling above the head of the Texan first baseman, who leaped +desperately and in vain for it. + +By rapid work, the right fielder got the ball in time to cut the hit +down to a single. + +Bill Hagin stepped blithely to the pan, and Fargo danced away from +first. + +The Hornet backstop was a fast man on the paths. To play for Jim +Brennan a single season a man had to be that, and Fargo had been three +years with the organization. Quick as a cat on his feet, he seemed to +know by intuition just when the pitcher meant to deliver the ball to +the batsman. For this reason he was able to get under headway in base +stealing even before the horsehide left the pitcher’s fingers. Although +Schaeffer drove him back several times, Fargo got his start on the +first ball handed up to Hagin, and was off like a racer. Kenny made a +fine throw the length of the diamond, but it was a fraction of a second +too slow. + +Warned by the disastrous results of the last attempt, Schaeffer made no +effort to intimidate the second batter. Hagin had the look of a man who +eats speed, and his record quite bore out that impression. The Texan +worked so carefully that he succeeded in getting two strikes on the +outfielder, but this seemed simply to put the latter on his mettle. He +finally placed his bat against the horsehide with precision and force +for a long drive into deep center, which the fielder missed by less +than a foot. + +Hagin was ready to take second on the throw-in, while Fargo, hitting +the high spots, rounded third, and was urged home by the coacher. The +ball was sent to second, and Hagin was driven back to the first station. + +“Here’s where we tie up!” cried Ogan jubilantly. “Here’s where we take +the lead! Smash her out, Sandy.” + +Rollins, second baseman, stepped up with the expression of one who has +every intention of making connections with the horsehide. Schaeffer had +recovered from his momentary annoyance, and was on the job. He pulled +the batter with the first ball pitched, which curved beyond Rollins’ +reach. Then came a foul tip, that counted as a strike, and Sandy +flushed a little as he stepped into the box again. + +“This time he’ll send over a hummer,” he thought, taking a fresh grip +on his stick. + +Schaeffer went through the movements which seemed to indicate that he +was going to whip the ball over with terrific speed, but now, instead +of a scorcher, he sent in a ball that seemed to hang and drag in the +air, and Rollins struck too soon. + +“You’re out!” said the umpire. + +“That’s the goods, Zack!” laughed Kenny, pounding his mitt. “They can’t +touch you. Put this sorrel-top in cold storage for me.” + +“Only one down!” cried Fargo. “Show this bunch of panhandlers what you +can do when you try, Red.” + +Pollock stepped briskly to the plate, waited for a ball which looked +good to him, and smashed it out for a single. + +Hagin, fleet as the wind, had been held at second. When Tom Burley +came up, determined to atone for his fielding error, the runner took +advantage of the catcher’s fumble of the first pitch, pilfering third +for all of the backstop’s quick recovery and fine throw to the sack. + +Burley evidently wanted to bunt, but Schaeffer kept the ball too high, +finally forcing the batter into popping a weak infield fly, which was +smothered with ease. + +“It’s up to you, old man,” Fargo said, in a low tone, as Lefty passed +him. “We’ve got to tie up the score, anyhow.” + +As Lefty faced the Texas twirler, the latter’s lip curled in that +irritating sneer, and he promptly returned to his tactics of trying to +get the batter’s nerve. Unfortunately for him, Locke did not rattle. +He ducked a couple of whizzers sent straight at him, and then, when +Schaeffer handed up his famous inshoot, he lashed a sharp grounder into +the diamond, which smacked the pitcher squarely on the instep. + +There was a roar of pain, followed by a volley of furious language from +Schaeffer. Then, recovering himself, he dove after the ball, secured +it, and lined it home. + +It is probable that he had lost his head for an instant. Had he +remembered that two men were out, he might have thrown to first and +stopped the score; for he could have caught Lefty. Apparently he seemed +to think that the only way to stop it was to put the ball to the plate. + +Bill Hagin had not been napping, however. At the first crack of leather +meeting wood, he shot like a rocket toward home, slid feet foremost, +and Kenny got the ball on him only when his spikes were shining above +the platter. + +In his rage Schaeffer poured forth a volley of blackguarding language +which got the umpire after him, and he might have been put out of the +game had not his backstop hustled out into the diamond and grabbed him +by the arm. + +“Don’t be a fool, Zack!” he snapped. “Keep your trap shut, or you’ll be +canned. Can you go ahead with the game?” + +The twirler, managing to choke down his wrath, limped around the slab +a few times, and then toed the rubber again. He was still furious, +however, and Al Ogan landed on the first ball for a line-drive over the +head of the shortstop. But for a phenomenal catch by Cinch Brown the +Hornets might have scored more tallies. + +As Lefty came in from the field, he passed close to the disgruntled +pitcher, and if looks could kill he would have been finished then and +there. + +“I’ll get you yet, you swelled-headed squirt!” Schaeffer hissed. “Wait, +that’s all――just wait!” + +Locke smiled blandly. “Quit your beefing,” he advised. “You’re making +everybody tired.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXXI + + ONCE TOO OFTEN + + +The Hornets were in high spirits as they took the field. To be sure, +the score was no more than tied, but the expedition with which those +two runs had been made was most encouraging. The sudden and effective +brace Locke had taken in the last inning removed, in a measure, the +fears some of his teammates had entertained concerning his ability to +handle the situation; and, as they scattered to their places on the +field, they urged him to “go in and eat ’em up.” + +Apparently that was just what Lefty meant to do. The first batter +seemed unable to connect fairly with any of the balls passed up to him, +and he finally hoisted a foul back of the pan, which Fargo smothered +without difficulty. + +When his successor, Gash Benkard, fanned, it looked as if that half of +the inning was going to be a tame one. + +In any game it is unwise to make predictions of that sort, however. +Games have been won with no men on bases and two out, and this one was +still young. + +Cinch Brown walked up to the pan, cool, confident, ready to duplicate +his performance of the inning previous. He did not find it quite so +easy, however. He slashed ineffectively at two balls pitched to him, +but finally succeeded in dropping a dopy little Texas leaguer over the +infield. + +Kenny followed him. He, too, had done well on his first trip to the +plate, and hoped to do better now. He declined to nibble at Lefty’s +teasers, but stood, grimly immovable, waiting for one which suited him. +Nevertheless, the southpaw fooled him with two handsome shoots, and +then, having a bit of leeway, tried a high, wide one. + +Kenny did an unexpected thing. Reaching far over the plate, he caught +the ball within an inch of the end of his bat, and sent it into deep +right field. + +With perfect handling, it would not have been dangerous. “Dolly” Walker +had taken many such drives with ease, but perhaps he was too confident. +At all events, the ball did not strike his mitt quite squarely, seemed +to hesitate an instant, and then trickled unaccountably over the edge +of the leather, falling to the turf. + +By the time the amazed and discomfited fielder had snatched it up and +lined it to first, Kenny was safe on the sack, while Brown, who had +apparently forgot that two were “down” already, slid to second just +ahead of the flying horsehide. + +Schaeffer was exultant. “Got him on the run!” he jeered. “He’s a cinch. +Get in there, Pete. A little single is all we want. A little safety’s +the goods! You know where to put it.” + +Nevens hit into the diamond. The inning would have ended then and there +had not Sandy Rollins, at second, fumbled the weak grounder and spent +valuable time chasing it around his feet. + +Lefty felt a hot rush of anger stir within him. Two such errors are +enough to try the temper of any pitcher, especially when he is working +his hardest. The inning should have ended minutes before, and now +the bases were full, and Zack Schaeffer was swaggering to the pan, a +confident grin on his face. + +The sight of him cooled Locke as swiftly and completely as it had done +once before that day. He shifted the ball in his fingers, taking his +time. He hoped to fan this fellow. + +Suddenly he pitched, and the ball shot upward with a little jump, +rising over the Texan’s bat as he struck. + +“Strike!” droned the umpire. + +“That’s the stuff!” cried Ogan from first. “Got him swinging like a +garden gate, Lefty.” + +Schaeffer set his teeth, and the flesh seemed to harden over his jaws. +His eyes gleamed. + +As before, Lefty took his time. When at length he poised himself on his +right foot, flung back his arm, and brought it forward with a whiplike +motion, the sphere came humming over with speed which almost made the +air smoke. + +Schaeffer struck again. This time he missed, as before, but even as he +swung he let go his hold on the bat, which went spinning through the +air straight at Locke. + +“Look out!” cried Fargo. + +The southpaw ducked just in time to let the bat pass over him. When he +straightened up, he stood for an instant, his eyes fixed on Schaeffer’s +face with an expression in them which showed a little of the contempt +that filled him. + +“Beg pardon,” mumbled the batter. “Accident.” + +Lefty knew the Texan lied. To be sure, a man sometimes throws his bat +in striking, but almost never straight out into the diamond. Besides, +Schaeffer did not have the least appearance of regret, unless it was +regret that the stick had missed its mark. + +Locke made no comment, however. After the man had recovered his bat, +the southpaw stood for a moment, ball in hand, looking fixedly at him. +When he finally pitched, he used a delivery which seemed to promise a +swift one, but instead it was the slowest sort of a slow ball. In spite +of everything he could do, Schaeffer struck too soon. + +As the umpire’s voice sounded in his ears, a snarl broke from the +Texan’s lips. For an instant it seemed almost that he meant to launch +his bat again straight at Locke’s head. Perhaps he might have done so +had it not been for the warning clutch of Gash Benkard’s fingers on his +shoulder. Then, with a furious motion, he cast the stick to the ground, +and walked out to the slab. + +“Looks devilish, don’t he?” commented Whalen, on the bench. “I wouldn’t +be surprised if he picked a fight with Locke after the game.” + +“Wish he would!” growled Bert Elgin. + +He had been growing more and more disgruntled as the game progressed. +The first ten minutes had filled him with satisfaction at the +apparently poor showing made by his rival, but as the latter improved +Elgin’s temper became more and more unrestrainable. + +“You seem to have it in for him,” Whalen remarked pointedly. “Strikes +me he got out of that hole pretty neat.” + +“Bah!” retorted Elgin. “What did he get into it for? Any pitcher who +knows his business would never let the bases fill with two out, the way +he did.” + +“Wow-wow!” barked the cub backstop. “I s’pose it’s his fault that +Walker dropped that fly and Sandy muffed a grounder that any kid should +have nailed. Whew! Did you see that? That fellow had better be careful. +One of these days he’ll bean a batter and put him out of business. Sore +as a crab, I reckon, at being fanned.” + +Schaeffer was certainly vicious. Twice Monte Harris had barely escaped +balls sent straight at him. He was no quitter, but he had a notion of +his own value in the Big League, and did not relish being put out of +business by a wild busher who had lost his temper. Having protested to +the umpire without avail, he reached for a wide outcurve, popped a weak +fly into the diamond, and retired to the bench. + +“That gink is going to get his one of these days,” he remarked to +Brennan. “Why don’t you make him behave, Jim?” + +The manager made no reply, but, rising to his feet, walked slowly +toward the plate. He had not taken half a dozen steps when the accident +happened. Dolly Walker had stepped into the box, and apparently +Schaeffer sized him up for easy meat. He promptly launched one of his +cannon-ball whistlers at him, and the fielder was either too slow or +too obstinate to get out of the way. + +There was a sickening thud; a smothered sound, half groan, half cry. +Half a dozen men leaped forward to catch the swaying figure, from +whose nerveless fingers the bat had slipped. No one was quick enough. +It was the startled backstop of the Texans who thrust out his arms +instinctively, and then stood helplessly holding the limp body and +staring down at the white face resting against his chest protector. All +could see that the man was seriously hurt. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXII + + THE SPIKING OF SCHAEFFER + + +Instantly the whole field was in an uproar. The Hornets, fighting mad, +invaded the diamond in a body. Schaeffer, his face white as that of the +unconscious man, half turned as if to run. Then he straightened up and +faced the music. + +“It――wasn’t my fault,” he stammered. “He was out of his box. He +couldn’t get away from my inshoot.” + +“You lie!” said Buck Fargo. “You tried to hit him. You’ve played that +trick once too often, and I’m――going to hand you something!” + +He lunged at Schaeffer, who stepped back swiftly and threw up his +hands. In an instant the crowd surged around him, shutting out those of +his friends who were racing to his assistance. Fargo was on the point +of swinging at the Texan’s jaw when suddenly the fellow staggered, his +face contorted with pain, a yell issued from his bloodless lips. + +“I’m spiked!” he cried furiously. “Lemme get my hands on the dog that +did it! I’ll――” + +His eyes met those of Lefty Locke, who stood close beside him on the +right, and in a second both arms shot forward, his muscular fingers +fastening with a convulsive grip on the southpaw’s throat. + +“You hound!” he frothed, emphasizing each word by a vicious shake. +“You’ve put me out of business. I can’t play for weeks. It’s my left――” + +At this point Locke recovered from his astonishment, and, with a +desperate effort, managed to tear the hands from their choking hold. + +“I never touched you,” he denied. “I wouldn’t――” + +Wild with pain and rage, Schaeffer frothed out an insult, and Lefty +promptly dealt him an open-hander on the mouth. + +Cries of approval greeted the blow. Fargo was trying to get into the +mix-up, and others showed their desire to have a hand in the Texan’s +punishment. The latter’s fist shot out, but Locke parried skillfully. +Three or four of the visiting team arrived on the run, and a general +fight was imminent. The crowd was suddenly thrust aside, and Jim +Brennan appeared. + +“Stop that!” he roared, grasping Lefty’s wrist and stepping between the +men. His face was purple with anger, and his eyes glowed like twin +sparks. “What do you think you’re doing?” + +“He spiked me!” snarled Schaeffer. “The cur spiked me! Look at that +foot.” + +The manager glanced downward, and saw instantly that Schaeffer was +not bluffing. Across his left shoe, the gouging marks of spikes were +plainly visible. On one of them a faint crimson smear was showing. +Brennan frowned and raised his eyes. + +“Somebody stepped on you by accident,” he said shortly. + +“It’s a lie!” rasped Schaeffer. “He done it a-purpose. I felt his foot +jab down on me. He had it in for me all along.” + +“Who are you talking about?” Brennan asked. + +“Him!” retorted the pitcher, glaring at Locke. “I knew he’d be up to +some dirty trick.” + +Lefty met the manager’s searching glance with perfect calm. “I never +touched him,” he averred emphatically. “I was itching to smash one into +him for knocking Dolly out, but spiking isn’t my style.” + +“Humph!” Brennan’s keen eyes roved around the circle of faces. “Anybody +know anything about this?” he demanded. + +There was a chorus of denial, and the manager turned back to Schaeffer. + +“I’ll look into it,” he promised. “I’ll stand for anything but dirty +business, and any man who’d do a thing like this gets the gaff, I don’t +care who he is.” + +He hesitated for an instant, and his jaw squared. “As for you,” he went +on harshly, his keen eyes boring the Texan’s flushed face, “you’re +rotten. Talk about dirty playing! If I’d had any idea what sort of a +cheap roughneck you were, this game would never have started. You can +bet your boots I’ll take pains to let people know just what you are, +and I kind of think you’ll have a hard job finding a decent team after +this that’ll have anything to do with you. See?” + +He stood glaring at the Texan, who for once had nothing to say. +Presently Brennan’s eyes swept the circle again. + +“No rough-house!” he snapped shortly. “You boys better beat it back +to the hotel. There won’t be anything more doing to-day. Dolly’s come +to and gone along with a couple of the men. This game’s finished. Get +started now. There’s been enough monkey-shines to-day.” + +Reluctantly, and with many savage glances at Schaeffer, the Hornets +obeyed. It came hard to leave the scoundrel that way, but they knew +Brennan meant what he said, and so they gave in. + +“Serves him good and right,” said Andy Whalen, as he caught up with +Elgin. “I’m blamed glad the cur got something to cook him, and I’ll be +hanged if I blame any fellow for spiking him. Wonder who it was? Didn’t +you see anything, Bert?” + +He looked curiously at Elgin, who shook his head promptly. + +“Not a thing,” the latter answered. “First I knew anything was wrong +was when he yelled he was spiked. I wouldn’t wonder if it was an +accident, anyhow. With everybody pushing and shoving, somebody likely +stepped on him without meaning to.” + +“Nix!” retorted the cub backstop. “I took a good look at his foot, and, +believe me, it wasn’t no accident. It was a good hard stamp, done on +purpose.” + +This seemed to be the opinion of those who had been near the Texan when +the incident occurred, and much curiosity was expressed as to who could +have been the perpetrator of the affair. + +The general sentiment was that Schaeffer had been well repaid for his +dirty work on the slab; but the more thoughtfully inclined, knowing +Jim Brennan’s temperament, wondered what would happen if the manager +ever found out who had done the spiking. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIII + + THE TELEGRAM + + +The days passed without the truth coming to light. At first Brennan set +about systematically interviewing every man who had been on the field +that day, but without avail. Having failed to arrive at the truth in +this manner, and other and more important matters coming up to take +his time, he seemed to drop the subject. Those who knew him, however, +realized that it would always remain tucked away in some corner of his +brain until he had finally solved the mystery. + +The work of training proceeded rapidly and successfully to its +conclusion as the end of March approached. Each afternoon the cubs +fought out their losing battle with the regulars on the diamond. The +latter were getting into splendid shape, and their opponents had almost +forgotten what it felt like to win a game. + +Nevertheless, they never gave up, or slackened their efforts, for the +net was drawing closer and closer about them day by day. Every now and +then a youngster would drop out of the race. He was not yet ready for +the big game, and had either been sold by the manager, farmed out to a +minor league, or released unconditionally. + +Of the cub pitchers, only two remained, Locke and Elgin. They were both +remarkably good in their way, and the other players were divided as to +their relative merits. The almost universal conclusion was that Brennan +would keep both with the organization unless something unexpected +occurred to give him reason for changing his mind. + +Lefty worked strenuously without a let-up. He knew his doubtful points +almost as well as the manager himself, and strove with all his might to +correct them. + +Hard as the labor was physically, the southpaw found it anything but +disagreeable. He was well liked by most of the regulars and a great +many of the cubs. In Buck Fargo he found a real chum whom he came to +admire and think better of every day. When the diminishing number of +players made a readjustment of rooms at the hotel desirable, Locke +accepted with alacrity the big backstop’s invitation to come in with +him, an arrangement which proved pleasant and satisfactory. + +With Bert Elgin and his little group of cronies, the southpaw had +nothing whatever to do. The former had apparently resigned himself to +the inevitable, and, since it looked as if both cub pitchers were going +to be retained, he seemed to have given up his efforts to injure his +rival. + +There were just two things which marred Lefty’s pleasure and absolute +peace of mind. The first was Jim Brennan’s attitude of noncommittal +impassiveness. Try as he would, the southpaw found it impossible to +break down the barrier of reserve between them. No matter how good +a showing the cub might make on the field, he never succeeded in +eliciting a word of praise from the manager. The latter always gave +the young twirler an impression of withholding judgment, a feeling +that he was continually searching for something in Locke which he was +constantly expecting but had failed to find. + +At first Lefty thought it was simply his ordinary manner. Then, when he +noticed the manager unbend time after time to others, he reached the +conclusion that Brennan had never forgotten the circumstances of the +recruit’s arrival at training camp, and that he still felt resentment +at the manner in which Locke had been, as it were, thrust down his +throat. + +The explanation of this latter fact had been absurdly simple. Lefty +learned in a roundabout way that Jimmy Toler’s letter had traveled to +Ashland, Tennessee, and drifted on to the Texan town a couple of days +after the busher’s arrival. It seemed incredible that any man could +harbor such a thing so long, but Brennan was peculiar in many ways, and +Lefty could think of no other reason for his conduct. + +The other matter which marred his contentment was the fact that Janet, +while actually in the same State, was just beyond his reach. It was +more tantalizing than if she had remained in that far-away New England +town. They corresponded regularly, of course, but letters are always +more or less unsatisfactory. Only once had he obtained permission to be +away over Sunday, and Brennan’s grudging acquiescence to his request +made him resolve never to repeat it. + +And so the time passed until there remained less than two days more at +Ashland. On the twenty-fifth the training quarters would be deserted, +and the teams, separating, would commence their homeward march by easy +stages and different routes, playing exhibition games with minor-league +organizations along the way. + +The days had sped with such swiftness that Lefty could scarcely believe +the end to be so near when he arose that morning, and could say that +to-morrow they would start. There was no doubting the fact, however, +and, what was more, that very afternoon, a game had been arranged with +one of the most prominent teams of the Southern League. It was the +first chance the Hornets had been given to play against outsiders since +that brief, disastrous contest with the Broncs, and they were agog with +eager anticipation. The Flamingoes were in quite a different class from +the bush organization of so-called Texans, and the game was likely to +be exceedingly close. Lefty was to start off on the slab, so Brennan +had briefly informed him the afternoon before. The youngster wondered +whether the manager had any special motive in picking him. + +As the squad started for the field after breakfast, Lefty discovered +that he had forgotten his glove, and hurried upstairs for it, telling +Fargo that he would be along shortly. When he came down he raced +through the lobby and almost upset a small boy in uniform who was +coming up the steps. + +“Say, mister,” the latter inquired, as he recovered his balance, “is +Tom Locke inside?” + +“That’s my name,” Lefty answered swiftly. “What is it?” + +The boy drew a yellow envelope from his pocket, and Locke snatched it +with that queer, sinking feeling which an unexpected missive of the +sort usually arouses. Tearing it swiftly open, he brought forth the +sheet and unfolded it with a single motion. + +As his eyes took in the contents at a glance, he drew his breath +swiftly, his face turning a shade less brown. The message had been sent +from Billings, Texas, that morning. It read: + + Father is dying. Come at once. I am all alone. + + JANET. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIV + + NOTHING ELSE POSSIBLE + + +“Any answer?” + +Lefty raised his head and stared stupidly at the boy for an instant. +Then he came to himself. + +“Yes! Give me a pencil――quick!” + +Snatching the stub from the other’s hand, he turned the message over, +placed the paper against the side of the building, and hastily scrawled +a few words. + +“There!” he exclaimed, thrusting it at the boy; “send that off right +away. Don’t lose a minute. Here. Keep the change.” + +It was a silver dollar he handed the boy. Without waiting for thanks, +he darted back into the hotel, hastily secured a time-table, and found +that there was a train leaving in less than half an hour. It was only +after he had reached his room and begun to strip off his baseball +togs that he realized he must let Brennan know in some way of what he +planned to do. + +“There’s no ’phone at the park,” he muttered, throwing a shoe into a +corner. “I haven’t time, anyway.” + +He tore off his stockings, flung shirt and trousers on the floor, and +made a dive for his street clothes. + +“Still, they’ll all be back here for dinner,” he went on aloud. “If I +leave a note with Buck, he’ll put the old man wise. It’s tough! Poor +little girl!” + +His voice broke just the least bit, but he went on rapidly with his +dressing, and in less than ten minutes was ready to go. He gave no +thought to the consequences of his leaving in this manner and at this +time. Janet had called him for help; he must go to her. Besides, even +Brennan, though he might growl and grumble a little, would understand +how impossible it was for him to take any other course. + +Finding a sheet of paper, Lefty hastily scrawled a note to Buck, +telling his chum where he had gone and why, and asking him to inform +the manager. Having folded the paper and written Fargo’s name on +the outside, he placed it on the middle of the table, where the big +backstop could not fail to see it the instant he entered the room. + +That finished, he snatched his hat, and darted down the stairs without +waiting for the elevator. At the station he had nearly fifteen minutes +to wait, but at last the train pulled in. + +Lefty thought that the journey would never end. The train seemed to +crawl along at a snail’s speed, stopping at every little hamlet by the +way. He blamed the doctor at Kingsbridge for having suggested such an +impossibly out-of-the-way place as Billings. He kept looking at his +watch till he might better have held it in his hand. He bought a paper, +and tossed it away unread. He opened a magazine, only to fling it aside +impatiently. And all the time the thought of Janet, alone and helpless +in this terrible situation, never left his mind. + +At Flat Rock Junction he had to change to another road. There was an +exasperating wait of three-quarters of an hour, during which he nearly +wore a rut in the wooden platform. Another weary, interminable hour +followed; but at last, shortly after one, he flung himself off the +still-moving train at Billings, and dashed up the main street. + +The air was soft and warm and caressing. Trees and shrubs were bursting +into leaf; flowers were everywhere. Here and there a bird caroled +joyously, and the sound stabbed Lefty like the thrust of a knife. How +could any living thing be joyful when her father lay dying? + +Rounding a corner, he scarcely dared look at the house where they had +taken lodgings. Perhaps he had come too late. Perhaps it was all over. + +He reached the wooden gate and thrust it open. A rustle of skirts +sounded on the vine-clad porch, the quick catching of a breath, then a +cry of glad surprise: + +“Why, Lefty!” + +She started up from the rocking-chair, her face pink and her eyes +sparkling. A little smile curved the corners of her tender mouth, +bringing out the dimple which had always fascinated him. + +The man stared up in petrified astonishment. What did it mean? Was he +dreaming, or had she gone daft? + +“Why, Lefty!” she exclaimed again. “This is splendid! How did you ever +manage to get away?” + +He swallowed hard and, without knowing what he did, wiped beads of +perspiration from his forehead. + +“I came,” he gasped. “Your――father, Janet?” + +A little frown of perplexity came into her forehead. + +“Father?” she repeated. “Why, he’s all right. The springs are doing him +no end of good. He’s taking his nap just now. Did you――” + +“You didn’t send me a telegram this morning, then?” Locke interrupted +in a strange voice. + +“No, of course not. Why should I? I wrote you last night, but it was +only―― Lefty! What is it? For goodness sake, tell me what has happened.” + +The skin over his jaws was hard as marble. The blood had rushed into +his face, turning it a dull crimson under the brown, and bringing out +a throbbing vein in his temple in bold relief. His lips were pressed +tightly together, and the eyes fixed on the girl were not his eyes. +They were wide open and almost black, full of cold, consuming wrath. +They frightened Janet Harting, and made her step back involuntarily. + +“Lefty!” she cried again. “What is it? What makes you look so?” + +For an instant he did not answer. He had realized the bitter truth. The +telegram was a forgery, sent for the sole and only purpose of getting +him out of the way at the very time of all others during his baseball +career that he should have been on the job. In a flash an illumination +which comes too seldom to a man told him that Brennan’s reason for +putting him on the slab to-day was in the nature of a final test of his +ability. The other game had shown the manager nothing. This would have +been the ultimate proof of his fitness to be retained as a member of +the squad――and he would not be there to take advantage of the chance. + +Swiftly he glanced at his watch, the girl staring anxiously at him +the while. He took out a crumpled time-table. The first train left at +two-twenty. As he thrust the time-table back into his pocket, his face +relaxed a little and a faint smile twisted the corners of his mouth. + +“There’s been an unfortunate――mistake, Janet,” he said quietly. “I’ll +come up and tell you about it.” + +He had remembered the one consoling feature of the whole miserable +business. Buck would surely find the letter and explain the matter to +Brennan. The manager would doubtless be angry, but, after all, it was +not as bad as if no word at all had been left. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXV + + FOR WANT OF A LIE + + +Locke would scarcely have been so self-contained had he known what had +taken place at the hotel about the time he was feverishly pacing the +platform at Flat Rock Junction. + +Through some pretext, Bert Elgin managed to leave the ground a few +minutes ahead of the others. He had concealed his nervousness all +morning, taking hope from the nonappearance of Lefty on the field, +and reveling in Brennan’s openly expressed anger at the puzzling +occurrence. But now he felt that he must find out something definite. + +Arriving at the hotel, he hastened up to the corridor above his own, +taking care to use the stairs for the last flight, and made his way to +a certain door, which he pushed open without ceremony. + +For an instant he stood staring curiously around the disordered +room. Then a triumphant smile curved his lips, and his eyes danced +maliciously. + +“Looks like the kid worked it, all right,” he said, in a low tone. “I +was afraid he might slip up on something. What’s this?” + +Striding over to the table, he picked up the note addressed to Buck +Fargo, opening it without hesitation. Having read it hastily through, +he smiled again and thrust it into his pocket. + +“‘Tell Brennan all about it,’” he quoted, in a jeering voice, “‘and +make him understand how I had to go.’ I guess we won’t tell anybody; +it’ll be lots more fun to keep ’em guessing till you come back.” + +He hastened to the door, and stepped out into the hall. “I should say +your goose was cooked nice and brown,” he muttered, with venomous +satisfaction. “I wouldn’t give a whole lot for your chances with the +Hornets after this little performance.” + +Happily for Lefty’s peace of mind, he guessed nothing of all this. +As it was, he had worries enough to keep him company during that +maddeningly slow trip back to Ashland. Time and again he went over +the situation from the beginning, trying his best to see it from Jim +Brennan’s point of view, and always he ended by a despairing grasp +on that one frail straw: the manager might forgive the desertion as +long as the absent man had done his best to let him know about it +beforehand. + +Stepping off the train shortly after seven, the southpaw went at once +to the hotel. The first man he ran into in the lobby was Buck Fargo. +The expression on his chum’s face made Lefty’s heart sink into his +boots. + +“Where the deuce have you been?” the backstop inquired directly, and +with force. “How’d you happen to duck?” + +“For Heaven’s sake, Buck,” the young pitcher appealed fervently, “don’t +tell me you didn’t get my note?” + +“If it explained what in thunder made you do such a fool trick as this, +I most certainly didn’t,” Fargo returned. + +Locke groaned aloud. “I left it on the table. I told you just what had +happened and why I had to rush off. I asked you to explain to the old +man――” + +Catching a sudden warning in Fargo’s eyes, Lefty stopped abruptly and +turned slowly around. Brennan stood just behind him, his hands on his +hips, an expression on his square, heavy-jowled face which even the big +backstop had rarely seen there before. + +“Well?” he questioned in an ominous voice, his sharp, deep-set eyes +boring into Lefty’s brown ones. “Did I hear you say anything about an +explanation? Strikes me it’s about time something of the sort was +dished up.” + +His voice, cold, hard, and unrelenting, sent a flicker up and down +Locke’s spine. If the man had only flared out at him, roared, bellowed, +it would have been better than this. But that harsh, flinty, absolutely +pitiless tone struck a chill to the youngster’s heart, and quenched the +last spark of hope in him. + +“I had――a telegram――this morning,” he explained unevenly. “It came just +as I was leaving for the field. It was from――a close friend of mine who +is at Billings, with her father. She said that her father was dying, +and asked me to come at once. She was all alone in a strange place. +They knew no one. They had been in the South only a few weeks. I _had_ +to go.” + +He hesitated an instant, glancing desperately at Brennan’s face. +Something in it――the flicker of an eyelash, perhaps, or the faintest +possible relaxing of that steely, set expression,――made a tiny spark of +hope revive in Lefty’s breast. + +“Well, go on,” growled Brennan. + +“There wasn’t time to send you word,” Locke continued. “I had to make +the nine-five train. So I wrote a note to Fargo explaining things, and +asked him to tell you about it. I left it on the table in our room. +You must have missed it, Buck, or didn’t you go to the room?” + +He turned eagerly to his friend, but the latter shook his head. + +“There wasn’t any note,” he said slowly. “I was up there at noon and +again to-night. There ain’t nothing on the table but a couple of +magazines and a lamp. Mebbe it got blown off.” + +“Perhaps that was it,” Lefty agreed. “I wrote it and stuck it up where +you’d see it the first thing.” + +He glanced again at Brennan and met the man’s searching gaze +unflinchingly. For an instant there was silence as the manager scowled +deeply to hide his annoyance. + +“You’d ought to have sent word,” he snapped. “You knew you was to pitch +this afternoon. Why didn’t you leave a letter with the clerk, addressed +to me?” + +“I never thought of that,” Lefty apologized. “I was so shaken up and +worried and rushed that I couldn’t seem to think of anything but making +that train.” + +The spark of hope had been fanned into a little blaze. Brennan was +certainly relenting. Everything about him pointed to that. He stared at +the cub pitcher from under his bushy eyebrows for a moment or two as +if vainly searching for something more to find fault with. + +“You seem to have got back mighty sudden,” he said presently, in a tart +voice. “Must have taken the first train. Didn’t your friend’s father +die?” + +It had come, the question which Lefty had been dreading from the +beginning and trying to get away from! For an instant he was +tempted――desperately tempted. The manager was plainly influenced in his +favor. If he lied and told some plausible story of Mr. Harting’s sudden +recovery, all would be well, and the matter would probably be dropped. +If he told the truth and admitted that no message had ever been sent―― + +In that second of hesitation, many things flashed through his mind. He +was already morally certain that he had Bert Elgin to thank for the +trick. He told himself that a lie which would result in foiling the +plotter would be no lie at all. The very words of a glib falsehood were +on his lips when suddenly he brought his teeth together and threw back +his head. He would tell the truth at any cost. + +“He was never sick at all,” he said swiftly, his face rather pale. + +Brennan stared. “Never sick!” he repeated sharply. “Then what in time +did she send the telegram for, I’d like to know?” + +Lefty thrust both hands behind his back, gripping the fingers tightly +together. His eyes met Brennan’s squarely. + +“She didn’t. She knew nothing about it. It was sent by some one else.” + +“What for?” + +The words came from Brennan’s lips like bullets. Suspicion, +incredulity, anger, showed in his piercing eyes. + +“I don’t know,” Lefty answered. “It looks as if some one wanted to get +me away from the game.” + +Brennan’s laugh was harsh and mirthless. “That’s likely, ain’t it? +That’s a clever idea, that is! Where’s the telegram? Show it to me.” + +With leaden heart, Locke remembered what he had done with it. “I +haven’t――got it,” he stammered. “I wrote a message on the back――and +gave it to the boy to send.” + +“Is that so?” sneered the manager. “Did it get to the girl? Did it come +while you were there?” + +“N-o.” + +“I thought so. It never went. Just so the other never came.” + +“But it did come,” protested Lefty, though he had a feeling that +further words were futile. “The boy handed it to me on the steps. I +opened it, and wrote an answer right there. That’s the truth.” + +“Is it?” retorted the manager incredulously. “Just you wait a minute +and I’ll find out if it is or not.” + +Turning abruptly, he hurried over to a telephone booth and shut himself +in. The instant the manager’s back was turned Buck Fargo groaned. + +“What the devil did you tell him for?” he said sadly. “I’m afraid +you’ve gone and done for yourself, kid. I have never seen the old +man in such a temper since Billy Smith sold a game to the Pinks last +spring.” + +“I wanted to lie,” the youngster confessed, “but I simply couldn’t, +Buck.” + +“You’re awful particular! Who do you s’pose done it, that cur Elgin?” + +“I can’t think of any one else equal to it,” Lefty answered. “It +wouldn’t be the first miserable trick he’s worked.” + +He broke off as a door slammed and Brennan came striding toward them, +his eyes savage and his face the color of a beet. + +“I knew it!” he said. “No such message went through the office.” + +He paused a second, his legs spread wide apart, regarding Lefty with a +cold, contemptuous scrutiny. + +“I’m through with you!” he burst out, at length. “I can put up with a +lot, but I haven’t any use for a quitter. I thought you was one when +I first saw you, but now I know. You skipped out to-day because you +were afraid――nothing else. You pretty near pulled me with that tale of +yours――but not quite. You fooled me with that dirty spiking trick, too, +but I’m wise now. I’m done with you! Go back to the bushes or the hot +place, whichever you prefer!” + +He wheeled round and took a few steps across the lobby. Suddenly he +turned back. + +“Mebbe you’re thinking of that fine offer you say was made by the Blue +Stockings?” he sneered. “I wouldn’t give much for your chances with +Jack Kennedy.” + +Lefty’s eyes were blazing. His lips parted for a hot retort, but he +seemed to change his mind and choke it down. For an instant he stood +absolutely still. Then, slowly, he turned and looked at Fargo. + +Neither man spoke. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVI + + DROPPED OUT OF SIGHT + + +The quickness with which a man can be forgotten is never flattering to +his self-esteem. For a full month Lefty Locke had been a member of the +Hornets’ training camp squad. During all that time he had been well +liked by the majority of the older men, and admitted by some to terms +of intimacy which are rarely accorded a new recruit. Ever since the +strenuous contest with the team of Texas bushers his fellow cubs had +also made him one of them in every sense of the word. + +Then came the catastrophe. For a brief space his name was in every +mouth. The players took sides on the question of Brennan’s judgment, +some contending that the manager was right, others voicing their +continued faith in the disgraced player. + +But with the departure of Locke from Ashland, followed swiftly by +that of the entire squad, the subject soon palled. There was so much +else of vital personal interest that even those who had championed +the unfortunate pitcher’s cause became more and more indifferent. +Some, even, hearing the cleverly phrased traducements which Bert Elgin +never lost a chance to utter regarding his former rival, came to the +conclusion that they had been deceived. Jim Brennan rarely made a +mistake in sizing up a man. There must, after all, have been a yellow +streak in the young pitcher which he successfully concealed from all +save the lynx-eyed manager. + +So at the end of one short week it is doubtful whether more than three +men out of all that number wasted a single thought on the youngster who +had, a brief time before, been so popular with them. + +Buck Fargo did not forget; he was not built that way. Esteemed as +he was among players generally, and adored by the fans, it was, +nevertheless, a fact that the big backstop did not usually make friends +quickly――that is, what he called real friends, as opposed to pleasant +but casual acquaintances. + +Somehow, Lefty had attracted him from the first. He liked the way the +boy had taken Elgin’s part that night at the Palace Theater and stood +up unflinchingly against heavy odds. He liked Locke’s attitude with his +fellow recruits when they started the boycott against him early in the +season. The way the southpaw set out to conquer his faults and improve +his playing appealed strongly to Fargo, who had been obliged to labor +quite as steadily and strenuously himself before reaching his present +enviable position. And when, little by little, he had come to know the +youngster better, the Big Leaguer’s liking changed to something deeper +and more abiding, which made it quite impossible for him to forget. + +At first he had been openly angry. He berated Brennan for a blind +idiot, and had to be forcibly restrained from punching Elgin’s head. +Then he wanted Lefty to stay with the crowd on a chance of the manager +coming to his senses. He soon saw, however, what an impossible +condition of affairs that would bring about, and reluctantly, though +with much outward brevity, said good-by. + +“You’ll write, of course, and let me know how you make out?” he urged. +“I ain’t much of a hand with the pen, but I’ll guarantee to answer +every letter right off.” + +There was a queer expression in Lefty’s eyes. He was finding the phases +of the situation even more difficult than he had supposed. It was not +easy to keep in place the mask of indifference he had assumed the night +before. + +“I’ll write when I make good, Buck,” he returned quietly. “There won’t +be anything to tell you till then.” + +Argument was futile. His mind was made up. He told no one his plans. +It seemed doubtful whether he had made any. He simply said good-by and +went his way, leaving behind ripples of discussion and conjecture, +which swiftly spread out with ever-lessening volume until, like the +departed pitcher, they vanished as if they had never been. + +Fargo’s one consolation was in Jack Stillman. He found the newspaper +man’s feelings in perfect accord with his own. There was one +difference, however: while the big backstop was ready and eager to do +anything in his power to rehabilitate his friend, no way occurred to +him; it was Stillman’s brain, trained by three years of reporting on +a metropolitan newspaper, which hit upon the only possible manner in +which that could be done. + +“We’ve got to find the boy who delivered that message,” he said tersely +as they left the station. “If we can get hold of him and manage to +choke the truth out of him, we ought to be able to nail this crooked +trick fast to the man who put up the job.” + +He began working to that end at once. But the time was very short. The +two squads――cubs and regulars――were leaving that very afternoon, and +the task of finding an unknown boy in the few hours remaining, even +though he had been foresighted enough to obtain an accurate description +of the fellow from Lefty, was next to impossible. + +As it was, Stillman risked a call-down from his editor by staying over +a day at Ashland. When he finally left to catch up with the team he was +scheduled to accompany North, he had found no clew, but had placed the +matter in the hands of a retired member of the San Antonio police force +living in the smaller town. + +William Bowers was shrewder than the ordinary run of officers. He had +been a sergeant for years, and time hung heavily on his hands. He might +succeed, and he might not. Stillman felt that the result would be a +toss-up. But it was the best he could do. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVII + + OPENING THE SEASON + + +Slowly and leisurely the Hornets zigzagged their way northward, pausing +here and there to play an exhibition game with some minor-league team, +which was usually won by headwork and experience rather than by any +extraordinary display of hitting. Even after the regular period of work +at the training camp, the big fellows were not wielding the hickory +with special effect. + +They shaped rapidly into condition, however, and, when the time came +to face some of the stronger teams of the minor-league clubs above +what was once known as Mason and Dixon’s line, they did not disgrace +themselves. + +Finally, with much rejoicing, the metropolis was reached and the two +squads reunited. Jim Brennan, his mind finally made up after weeks of +close watching and weighing, proceeded to discard the few remaining +recruits who, in his opinion, had shown themselves not quite ripe. + +Then, with the squad trimmed down to the number at which it would +remain throughout the season, a week or more of hard, strenuous work +ensued. A new infielder had to be broken in by his veteran comrades +to the finer intricacies of the game. New signals were devised and +perfected. Various pitchers were tried out, one after the other, in +a full nine-inning game, and their condition studied by the astute +manager. The batting order was decided on. In fact, everything was +done which could be done in preparation for that great occasion to +which many thousands of enthusiastic fans had been looking forward so +ardently――opening day. + +It came at last, with its tricky April breezes giving the lie to +cloudless skies and brilliant yellow sunshine. There were the same +joyous, pushing crowds, the same blaring bands. Some of the men +had heard them many, many times before; but even they, though they +might dissemble and pretend a careless nonchalance, were conscious, +nevertheless, of that indescribable, irresistible thrill which they had +always felt, and would continue to feel to the end of time――their time. + +Their opponents were the Terriers, an organization of scrappy players +who had fairly won their name. The fans got the worth of their money in +a snappy game which was not decided till the ninth inning, and then +only by an infielder’s error, which let in the single tally made that +day. + +The second game was lost by the Hornets; but they made up for it by +having a streak of hitting in the third contest, and hammering out six +runs to their opponents two. + +It was during this last game that Brennan tried out his cub pitcher, +Bert Elgin, for a couple of innings, and was so pleased with the +showing made by the youngster that he determined to put him on the slab +two days hence when they met the Blue Stockings for the first time that +season. + +“I’m going to take a chance with him, and do the unusual thing,” the +manager confided to Jack Stillman while talking it over afterwards, +as he had a way of doing with this particular reporter. “I need a +youngster to work now and then until the old men get their wings well +oiled up, and I’ve _got_ to take the chance. I’m banking on Elgin.” + +“Hum!” muttered Stillman. + +The manager detected the doubt in Stillman’s mind. “You’ll have to +allow that he’s shown form and class for a youngster.” + +The newspaper man shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll admit that, all right,” +he returned. “Still, that doesn’t prove him Cy Russell’s equal, for +instance.” + +“Did I say he was? All the same, I wouldn’t be surprised if he pushed +Cy pretty hard one of these days. What you got against him, anyhow? +He’s speedy, and he’s got a fine change of pace. He’s brainy, too, that +boy.” + +Stillman raised his eyebrows. “Well?” he drawled. + +“Well, what?” retorted Brennan. “What more do you want than speed, and +control, and brains?” + +“Sand,” the reporter said succinctly. + +The manager laughed. “I ain’t seen any signs of his lacking grit. He +was up against some proposition to-day, too, and he pulled out. I guess +I ain’t making any mistake trying him out against the Blue Stockings. +He’s as good as any of Jack Kennedy’s string of cripples. He ain’t made +of the same stuff as that quitter, Locke, I fired in Ashland.” + +A faint touch of color tinged Stillman’s face. + +“You’re right there, Brennan,” he said briefly. “There’s no comparison +between them. Well we’ll see how he pans out on Saturday.” + +As he turned away, a frown wrinkled his smooth forehead. He was +thinking of Lefty, and wishing fervently that he might be there. What +a chance it would have been! There wasn’t a question that, if he had +remained with the Hornets, Locke might have had the opportunity which +had been given to Elgin. Stillman knew baseball, and there was no +shadowy doubt in his mind as to which of the two was the better man. He +felt that Brennan could not have failed to see it, too, if he had not +been tricked into turning the southpaw away. + +However, that was all over and done with. Not only had Locke been +fired, but at this moment Stillman had not the least idea where his +friend was. He had heard nothing from him since the day they parted at +the Ashland station. The pitcher had promised to write when he made +good, but he had not written. + +“Maybe he’s working for some fourth-rate bush league,” Stillman thought +regretfully. “I can’t say I blame him for not wanting us to know. Maybe +he hasn’t got any job yet. I’d give a farm to get that crook Elgin +where I want him, and show Brennan what a mistake he’s made.” + +Unfortunately the ex-sergeant at Ashland had, so far, failed signally +in finding a single clew to the mystery, and Stillman was beginning to +grow discouraged. It looked as if Bert Elgin had won out, in spite of +the fact that truth and honor and decency were all opposed to him. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVIII + + THE TWO MANAGERS + + +A door opened, and a tall, thin man, with a slight stoop, stood on the +threshold, looking down upon the manager of the Hornets. His dark eyes +glimmered and a smile stretched his wide mouth, which transformed the +almost homely face into one that was positively good-looking. + +At the sight of him, Jim Brennan sprang up from his desk so hurriedly +that he came near upsetting the revolving chair, and leaped toward the +newcomer with hand outstretched. + +“Well, well!” he exclaimed. “Put it there, Ken, old boy! It sure does a +man good to see your smiling face again. How’s things?” + +“Fine!” returned Kennedy, of the Blue Stockings, gripping the other’s +hand. “Couldn’t be better, in fact. You’re looking blooming yourself, +Jim. Taken on a few pounds over the winter, haven’t you?” + +“A few, maybe. I can stand it, though. Once fat, a little more never +cuts any ice. Sit down and rest your face and hands. I see you’ve had +a clean sweep so far.” + +Kennedy dropped into a chair beside the desk, crossing one long leg +over the other. Though antagonists on the diamond, in private life the +two men were the best of friends, and always enjoyed talking things +over in this way whenever they met. + +“We have,” rejoined the taller man when Brennan had settled himself at +the desk again, “won four games straight, which isn’t so bad to start +in the season with.” + +Brennan grinned. “Well, you’re up against a team of real ball players +to-day, Ken,” he chuckled. “Doing some stunts with a bunch of has-beens +on the firing line. I’ve a sort of hunch that we’re going to break up +that streak of luck.” + +“I should worry,” smiled Kennedy. “I’ve never seen the men in better +shape. We’re going to make ’em all take our dust this year.” + +“Humph!” grunted Brennan. “That remains to be seen. Who you going to +dish up for us to knock the stuffing out of――Pete Grist?” + +“Nope. I’ve got a man I had farmed out to a Southern independent team, +with a string attached. He turned out to be a regular bush wonder, so I +pulled the string the other day, and yanked him in here to try him out +on you. It’s always best to give a youngster something easy to start +with.” + +Brennan laughed. “Say, Ken, that’s sort of funny, though. I was +counting on putting in a dark horse myself. He’s a kid I picked up +last fall. I’ll guarantee right now that he’ll lick the pants off your +Southern wonder.” + +“If it wasn’t so much like highway robbery, I’d make you back your talk +up with cash,” Kennedy returned calmly. “As it is, I’ll have to content +myself with a sight of your face after the game.” + +Brennan was scoffing at Kennedy’s folly in imagining he could take a +fall out of the Hornets with a raw busher on the slab, when suddenly he +stopped abruptly, frowning. + +“Say!” he burst out the next moment. “Did a fellow named Locke come +around for a job within the last month? I meant to drop you a line +about him, but I’ll be hanged if I didn’t forget it. He’s a southpaw, +and I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he applied under another name.” + +Kennedy shook his head. “No, he didn’t change his name. He couldn’t, +seeing as I knew about him before. He blew in the day before we broke +camp in Georgia; but I was a bit wary when I found out you’d dropped +him that way. He didn’t stay long.” + +“Well, I’m glad you didn’t get stuck with him,” Brennan exclaimed +emphatically. “I’d sort of felt it was my fault if you had, seeing as +I forgot to put you wise about him. Believe me, Ken, he isn’t any use, +but he shows up good at first. It took me the whole training season to +get on to the fact that he’s yellow right through――one of the worst +quitters I ever saw. We’re both well rid of him. Say, look at the time! +I didn’t think it was so late.” + +He sprang up as he spoke, and slammed his desk down. Kennedy arose more +leisurely, and together they left the office for the dressing rooms of +their respective teams. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIX + + THE MEETING IN THE GRANDSTAND + + +Three games had been insufficient to take the edge from the enthusiasm +of the fans, intoxicated with the wine of spring and bubbling with the +joy of looking down once more upon that diamond after their long winter +deprivation. + +Moreover, in point of strength there was no comparison between the +Blue Stockings and the Terriers. To be sure, the latter had made a hot +start this year, but the former were old rivals of the Hornets, who, +year after year, had pushed them close in that desperate fight for the +pennant, and last season had beaten them out by a hair. Consequently +this first struggle between them drew almost as many spectators as the +game which had opened the season a week before. + +The day was perfect. A sweep of blue sky, clear save for a few wispy +clouds, was overhead. A trifling little breeze lurked here and there at +sharp turns or corners, but it blew from the south, and held no chill +undercurrent which was not offset by the warm, grateful sunshine. + +The fans rejoiced as they sped toward the grounds by every possible car +line and conveyance. Those of them who had witnessed the opening game +told one another how much better this one was likely to be. + +Long before one o’clock great throngs had assembled at the gates, +and when those gates were finally opened there was a wild rush past +ticket-takers into the clattering emptiness of the vast stands. Down +over the tiers of seats they stumbled, struggling for the desirable +front rows. Hats were smashed here and there, and there were occasional +wordy altercations; but, as a rule, laughter and joshing and +good-natured horseplay prevailed. + +By two o’clock, the bleachers were crowded, and the more expensive +seats were filling fast. Half an hour later it looked as if every +place, save in the reserved sections, was occupied; and still the crowd +streamed in like a swollen river. + +Tramp, tramp, tramp! Regular, rhythmic, the sound of their marching was +like the thunder of a great army. Ogden Wilmerding, hurrying toward +a coveted place in the lower stand, felt the thrill which that sound +brings to the heart of every fan who has hibernated reluctantly for six +long months. + +“Nothing like it,” he chuckled as he was swept along. “This looks a lot +like opening day,” he went on, peering over the top of the last row of +seats. “I’m not so sorry as I was over getting back too late for that.” + +He soon saw that it would be impossible to get the seat he wanted. The +section directly behind the plate was filled in solid. For a moment +he stood there peering down at the reporters’ bench in a vain hope +that some one he knew――Jack Stillman, perhaps――might find room for him +there. He saw places enough; but neither Stillman nor any other of his +newspaper friends had yet appeared. + +“Hang it all!” he muttered. “Why didn’t I start half an hour earlier, +or wire from Boston for a box?” + +“Because you’re the same lazy old slob you were three years ago,” +chuckled a voice in his ear. + +Wilmerding whirled, his eyes popping, stared for a second in speechless +amazement at the young man against whose shoulder he had been almost +leaning. Then he fell upon him with a roar of delight. + +“Well, I’ll be hanged!” he gurgled. “Snow, you old cut-up, where in +time have you been? I thought you’d croaked years ago. Shove along and +give me a chance. You’re spread over two seats, easy.” + +Snowden Pell obeyed laughingly. The man beside him, taking in the +situation with a good-natured grin, likewise moved, and Wilmerding was +accommodated with a seat. + +“It takes a lot to put me out of business,” Pell chuckled when his +friend had settled beside him. “I’m very far from being a dead one, as +they’ll tell you out in Seattle.” + +“But why didn’t you write and let somebody know how you were getting +on? Last I heard, your father failed, or something, and you slipped +out of Princeton right in the middle of the spring term without saying +a word to anybody. To this day I never knew how much of the tale was +truth and how much fiction.” + +“It was pretty much all truth,” Pell returned quickly. “My governor’s +partner got playing the Wall Street game, and smashed the business to +bits. There wasn’t enough left even for me to keep on and finish the +term, and when I found out how bad things were I just faded quietly +away. I didn’t want any of the boys to be sorry for me, or to think +that I was an object of charity, the way――” + +“Rot!” broke in the stout chap emphatically. “You make me sick! At +least, you might have said a word to your old friends. Look over in +the bleachers. They’re firing one of those sandwich-chewing-gum-cigar +baskets at each other. Next thing you know they’ll be tossing some kid +around.” + +For a moment they watched the wicker basket rise and fall as the +bleacherites employed their time in playing a sort of handball with it. +Here and there in a distant part of the stand men were throwing paper +at one another, sporting with the inevitable straw hat which some one +always seems to bring along for the purpose, and otherwise enjoying +themselves. + +Presently Wilmerding turned again to his friend. + +“Well, where’d you go?” he asked. “What you been doing ever since?” + +“I had a job offered me in Seattle, which I snapped up. It was a good +opening for me, and I’m certainly glad I got with that particular +concern, even if I had to borrow money to get out there. I had +the first letter from them the very day I left Princeton; and, by +Jove, Oggie!”――he threw back his head and laughed at the sudden +recollection――“you came mighty near being the goat.” + +“What do you mean?” the stout fellow inquired tartly. “You didn’t +touch me, that I remember. Of course, I’d have turned you down”――his +tone was one of heavy sarcasm――“but at least I’d liked to have had the +chance.” + +“You were the first person I thought of when I realized I’d have to +sting somebody,” Pell laughed. “Trouble was, I couldn’t locate you. +Went to your room, and stayed a deuce of a while in hopes you’d come +in. Then, when I couldn’t wait any longer, I hunted up Victor Wood, and +he did the business.” + +He hesitated an instant, and then went on swiftly, a note of sudden +curiosity in his voice: + +“That reminds me of something I’ve always wanted to ask you. What sort +of a game did you and Bert Elgin have together about that time?” + +Wilmerding stared. “Game?” he repeated blankly. “Bert Elgin? I don’t +get you, Snow. Elucidate.” + +“Well, I thought it was a joke of some kind,” Pell returned. “Only +it seemed funny that all of a sudden you should be as chummy as that +with Elgin. While I was waiting for you, I strolled into your bedroom +to brush my hair. I was standing before the bureau when I heard the +outside door open. Thought it was you, of course, until some one called +out your name. I didn’t feel in the mood for gassing with any one +else, so I said nothing and slipped back to one side of the door. + +“To make a long story short, I heard the fellow moving around the +sitting room, and pretty soon I happened to catch sight of him in the +dressing-table mirror. It was Bert Elgin, and he was heading for the +bookshelves in the corner.” + +Wilmerding gave a slight start, the color flaming into his face. + +“Go on,” he urged, as his friend, glancing at him, paused in his +narration. “What――happened?” + +“He took something out of his pocket and dropped it behind the books,” +Pell continued. “I didn’t see what it was; but as it fell there was a +clink that sounded like metal――a chain or―――― Great Scott! What is it, +Oggie? What’s the matter with you?” + +The color had vanished from Wilmerding’s face, and he was staring at +his companion with a strained, incredulous expression in his eyes which +testified to the emotion he was undergoing. + +“What――books――were they?” he gasped at length, in a hoarse voice. + +“The books he put the stuff behind, you mean?” queried Pell. “I don’t +remember, but I think it was the second shelf from the top. I know +they were over on the extreme right-hand end of the case.” + +Wilmerding drew his breath with a whistling sound. For an instant he +sat silent. Then he moved his hand unconsciously, and caught Pell’s arm +in a grip which made the man wince. + +“What day was that, Snow?” he breathed. + +“The twenty-sixth of May,” was the quick response. “I don’t think I’ll +ever forget that date. It was about three in the afternoon. But what in +thunder was it all about, Oggie? I never supposed it was anything but a +joke. Can’t you put a fellow wise?” + +The big man at his side did not answer. He was staring out across the +diamond toward the bleachers, black with their crowds of restless fans. +He saw nothing, heard nothing. He could not speak for the joy which +filled his soul as a realization of the truth came to him at last. + +He was not a thief! + +For years he had been so absolutely convinced that it was he who +had――unconsciously, perhaps, but still none the less certainly――stolen +those things from Bob Ferris’ rooms, that Pell’s story struck him as +almost incredible. + +There could be no mistake, however. The details fitted too perfectly to +admit of a coincidence. Lefty had been right, it was Elgin who was the +thief, not he. And Elgin it was who had done a thing which would have +been impossible in Wilmerding, waking or sleeping; he had deliberately +stolen, and as deliberately planned to throw the blame upon an innocent +man. + +Sudden, furious anger flamed up within the Princeton man. He felt as if +he must search out that contemptible coward and give him a little of +what was coming to him. He half rose from the bench, his face livid; +and then he realized that all around him a wild uproar had arisen. Men +yelled and cheered themselves purple; they stamped and shouted and +waved their hats. + +Pell’s hand caught Wilmerding by the arm and dragged him down, but not +before the angry man had caught a glimpse of the line of athletes in +their immaculate uniforms, leaving the shadow of the distant bleachers +and trotting briskly into the brilliant April sunshine on the field. + + + + + CHAPTER XL + + THE SURPRISE + + +Amid the roaring of the crowd, the Hornets made their way across the +diamond. Brennan was in the lead, with Cy Russell beside him; and, at +moments when the scurrying phalanx of photographers permitted, the +manager talked to his star pitcher in low tones. + +“You’d better keep your arm limbered, Cy,” he said. “I shall send you +in if they get to Elgin. The gink Kennedy’s going to open with ought to +be soft for us.” + +“Who is he?” Russell asked curiously. + +The manager paused until a camera had been snapped and the reporter had +retreated to a little distance. + +“Some busher,” he explained. “Ken seems to think he’s a find, but I’ve +seen them kind before. Grist’ll take his place when we bat him out, and +we want to get away to a flying start.” + +As they neared the bench, the fans gave a yell for Russell, and several +newspaper men came up to inquire perfunctorily whether it was not true +that he was to go on the slab first for the Hornets. + +“You boys’ll find that out in time,” Brennan returned evasively. “Don’t +you know that I ain’t the kind to give out that information before the +announcer? Chase yourselves.” + +He turned to Bert Elgin, who was standing not far away, looking as cool +and nonchalant as if he had never played on anything but a Big League +team, and proceeded to give him a few last bits of advice. + +While this was going on, another cheer went up from the stands as the +Blue Stockings’ contingent appeared and rapidly crossed the field. + +Brennan’s back was towards them, and he was consequently surprised to +see Elgin give a sudden start and stare fixedly at the approaching +squad. + +For an instant Elgin’s face remained fixed; then into his eyes there +leaped an expression of such utter astonishment, mingled with hate, +that the manager’s words ceased abruptly, and he grasped the young +pitcher by one arm. + +“What is the matter with you?” he asked sharply. + +Elgin swallowed hard, and his face, which had turned slightly pale, now +flamed crimson. + +“Look there!” he said hoarsely. + +Brennan whirled and stared at the approaching players. For a second he +saw only the line of blue-stockinged men, headed by Jack Kennedy. Then, +as his eyes focused on the tall, lithe, graceful figure walking beside +Spider Grant, the famous first baseman of the rival organization, his +jaw dropped. + +“I’ll――be――hanged!” he gasped. “Tom Locke!” + +It was Lefty, browner than he had been a month ago, and with, if +possible, an easier swing in his carriage. His face glowed with health. +His teeth gleamed as he smiled at some sally of his companion. He +showed no trace of the awkwardness or embarrassment which one might +naturally expect at his first encounter with the team from which he had +been dropped in such disgrace. True, his brown eyes flashed a single +questioning glance at one man among the Hornets, but it was seen by no +one save that man, who leaped forward as if propelled from a catapult. + +“Lefty, you old lobster!” he cried, as he gripped both of the +southpaw’s hands in his. “What you deserve is a good larruping; and I’d +like to hand it to you right now.” + +There was an odd expression on Lefty’s face as he grasped Fargo’s big +fists firmly. For an instant he did not speak. + +“I didn’t make good, Buck――honest I didn’t,” he said at length in a low +tone. + +“G’wan!” retorted the backstop. “What you giving us? Ain’t you with the +Blue Stockings?” + +“Yes; but I’ve been with them only two days. Kennedy farmed me with the +Badgers, down South. I never knew what he thought of me, or what he +meant to do, till I got a wire telling me to come on at once. I had a +streak of great luck down there, and I suppose――” + +“Luck be hanged!” interrupted Fargo forcibly. “You made good, just as +you would have with us if that miserable sneak―― Say! You ain’t going +into the game to-day?” + +Locke hesitated an instant, and then nodded. “Yes,” he said, lowering +his voice. “Kennedy’s going to give me a chance.” + +Fargo grinned. “Glory be! The old man’s going to put Elgin on the slab. +You’ll be up against him at last; and, if you don’t make him look like +a rotten lemon, it’s all up between you and me.” + +For a second Locke stood looking at his friend, with sparkling eyes and +swiftly reddening cheeks. His face took on a look of firm, indomitable +purpose. Unconsciously both brown, muscular hands, hanging straight +down at his sides, clenched themselves until the knuckles showed white +through the skin. Then he pulled himself together with an effort, and +laughed. + +“You’re a hot ball player to talk like that,” he joshed. “You sure +don’t want your own pitcher to fall down, do you?” + +“I’m not keen about losing the game,” Fargo returned. “But I shouldn’t +shed tears if Elgin was hammered out of the box.” + +Up on the reporters’ bench a telegraph instrument had suddenly ceased +clicking, and a rush and bustle followed as a slim fellow in a long tan +coat and rakish soft hat pushed hurriedly past his fellow reporters. + +He paid no heed to their comments and questions, but, reaching one of +the gates, thrust it open, and hastened out upon the field. A moment +later he, too, was shaking hands with Lefty and upbraiding him in +unmeasured terms. + +Presently several more of the Hornets’ players strolled up and joined +the little group about the young twirler. The fans, realizing that +something was doing which they did not understand, gave vent to caustic +comments and various sarcastic remarks about the folly of delaying the +game. + +Brennan, still scowling, called peremptorily to his men, and sent +them loping on to the diamond for preliminary practice. Locke took a +position over to one side, and commenced warming up. The field was +soon a picture of animated motion. + +“What kind of a game is this you’re giving me, Ken?” Brennan inquired +tartly as Kennedy strolled up a moment later. “You told me you’d thrown +down that fellow Locke when he applied for a job.” + +“No, I didn’t, Jim,” retorted the Blue Stockings’ manager mildly, a +faint twinkle in his dark eyes. “I said he didn’t stay with me long. +He didn’t. I let the Badgers have him. Hadn’t time to bother with him +myself, so I shipped him to them for a try-out, with one of my scouts +to keep an eye on him. The boy won every game he pitched, and did such +brainy work that I pulled him in. The reason I didn’t tell you his name +was because he asked me this morning not to say anything about him to +any of your crowd.” + +“Humph!” growled Brennan. “Thought he was goin’ to jar me, I suppose. +So this is the bush wonder you were telling me about. I wish you joy +with that quitter. Better have an anchor ready to hitch to him about +the third inning. You’ll need it.” + +“We’ll see if you’re right,” smiled Kennedy. + +Brennan turned away, grumbling incoherently. Evidently he was still +feeling somewhat sore. The gingery fielding practice continued to the +delight of the spectators, who applauded every snappy throw or pretty +catch. + +When the Blue Stockings took their places on the diamond their efforts +were cheered almost as much as had been those of the home team. The +great crowd seemed to be in a jovial, good-natured mood; though, when +the practice was over and the batteries for the day announced, there +was a concerted growl at the discovery that two unknowns were to take +the slab instead of the old favorites. + +Nevertheless, there was no great amount of kicking. The game was +about to begin; that was the main thing. Besides, it would be rather +interesting to see which of these cubs proved himself the better man. + +The photographers were shooed away and the field cleared. The Hornets +pranced out upon the diamond like a lot of colts, eager for the +fray. Elgin got a cheer all to himself for the cool, confident, and +business-like way in which he took the slab. The umpires got into +position, one of them tossing out a clean, new ball to the young +pitcher. The fans yelled again, just for the sake of letting off steam. + +Then came a tense, breathless hush as they waited for the first ball to +be pitched. + + + + + CHAPTER XLI + + THE BEGINNING OF THE GAME + + +Rufe Hyland, the visitors’ right fielder and one of their crack +hitters, stood at the pan, calm and smiling, swinging his stick with a +short, gentle motion, which seemed to denote tense muscles and a brain +alert and ready to take advantage of any pitched ball that should nick +the platter. + +In spite of his seeming coolness, Bert Elgin had really never been more +nervous in his life. He took his time, even after Fargo had given the +signal, and, as he dug away the soil near the pitcher’s rubber with his +copper toe, he heard his teammates coaching behind him. + +He was heartened by the sound of their friendly voices; but, +nevertheless, the straight, low one he sent over seemed to lack his +usual cannon-ball speed. Hyland lashed it out in a manner which sent +the pitcher’s heart down into his boots. For an instant he thought it +a two-bagger, at least. Then, as he whirled round, he saw that Dutch +Siegrist, sprinting at full speed, had scooped it right off the blades +of grass. + +The superb catch brought a yell of delight from the Hornets’ rooters, +and seemed to brace Elgin amazingly. He took a long breath, and his +nerves ceased to flutter as he surveyed the next batter. He felt a +new confidence in himself in the realization that the team was behind +him, ready to back him up with their wonderfully perfect organization. +He lost instantly that sense of isolation he had been conscious of at +first――the feeling that the entire weight and responsibility of the +game lay on his shoulders. The boys were there, ready to cover any +blunder or mistake he might make; and, though this did not bring about +laxness in his pitching, it was infinitely consoling. + +Again he took the signal from the big backstop, but this time the ball +he put over had burning speed, and a little jump to it which completely +fooled Pink Dalton, the Blue Stockings’ second baseman. + +It was followed by an incurve that cut the corner of the plate. + +Dalton fouled back of the pan. + +Then came a couple of teasers which the batter ignored; and finally, +with two and two, the Blue Stockings’ man hoisted a high fly into left +field, which was easily caught by the guardian of that pasture. + +The roaring approval of the crowd caused the blood to tingle in Elgin’s +veins. Before the end of the game he meant to have them shouting his +name as loudly as they had yelled for Russell, or Pop Jennings, or any +other of the old favorites, on the opening day. It wasn’t such a hard +matter, after all, to pitch in a Big League contest. + +By carefully following Fargo’s signals, he struck out Brock, the +visitors’ center fielder, and then walked toward the bench with a +little, unconscious swagger. One or two of his fellow players told him +how well he’d done. Brennan, even, added his approval. + +Elgin fancied that he had made a very good start, indeed, and that +there wasn’t a doubt of his form improving as the game progressed. He +was quite satisfied with his cleverness in letting only three batters +oppose him. He gave no thought to how much the man behind the pan had +contributed to this result. Neither he nor any one else had the least +conception of the fight which had gone on in Buck Fargo’s mind between +loyalty to his team and the contempt and hatred he felt for the pitcher +his brains and experience were helping so greatly. + +The caustic comment and jeering criticism which had greeted Elgin’s +appearance were as nothing to the disparaging chorus that arose when +Lefty walked out into the diamond. Baseball fans are extremely +partizan, and the supporters of the Hornets outnumbered those of their +opponents ten to one. + +The southpaw could not help being a bit affected by the unflattering +remarks hurled at him from the bleachers and grandstand, even though he +knew how little such things counted and how fickle the average rooter +is. He felt, too, and rather painfully, the lack of encouragement from +his own team. He knew he was not one of them. They had shown him that +only too plainly. With the exception of one or two, they had made him +perfectly aware of the fact that they regarded him as a man who had yet +to win his spurs, and on whom the honor of opening the first game with +the Hornets had devolved more by accident, or through a whim of their +manager, than from any real worth or proven merit. Their silence as he +toed the slab was in vivid contrast to the behavior of their opponents +in the first half of the inning. + +It made him set his teeth and resolve desperately to make good; to +show them that he had something in him; to vindicate Jack Kennedy’s +judgment; incidentally, to prove to the latter how grateful he was for +having been given this chance. + +For a second he waited for his catcher’s signal, but none came. Dirk +Nelson seemed to be occupied in settling down behind the pan and +making sure that his mitt was in place. Lefty wondered whether the +backstop’s well-known chumminess with Pete Grist, the popular Blue +Stockings’ twirler, had anything to do with this unusual state of +absent-mindedness. Grist had shown unmistakable signs of ill humor on +discovering that he was not to start on the slab to-day. + +There was but a momentary hesitation. Bill Hagin was at bat, and Lefty +had played too many practice games against the capable outfielder not +to know pretty well his strong and weak points. Unfortunately the +latter were few. The southpaw was satisfied, however, when he finally +got Nelson’s belated signal. A slow floater was what he handed up for a +starter. + +Hagin, doting on speed, could not restrain himself, and struck too +soon. Lefty then tried a curve. The batter swung at it, making +connections and bumping a slow grounder towards short. + +Eddie Lewis made the mistake of waiting for the ball, and was then +forced to throw hastily in order to get it across the diamond in +time. That hasty throw was wide, and Spider Grant had to leap off the +cushion. Hagin was safe because of bad judgment and an error. + +The crowd cheered, and urged Dutch Siegrist to carry on the good work. + +The first baseman of the Hornets took no chances. In spite of Lefty’s +efforts to prevent it, he managed to lay down a bunt which corkscrewed +along the base line, ever threatening to roll foul, but in the end +coming to rest a couple of inches on the right side. Locke snatched it +up and lined it to Grant, but the delay had made it possible for the +German to reach the sack in safety. + +Jim Brennan smiled significantly. He had watched Locke closely and +expectantly, waiting for signs of the yellow streak to show. With two +men on bases and none out, it looked very much as if the southpaw’s +first inning would be his last. + +“We’ve got him going,” the manager of the Hornets muttered jubilantly. +“Ken’ll have to yank him sudden. I reckon he’ll have more faith in my +judgment after this.” + +When Nolan, his left fielder, presently sent a foul back of first and +was put out by Grant’s wonderful sprinting and equally amazing catch, +Brennan’s conviction was in no wise altered. This was pure luck, helped +on by the skill of the first baseman, and reflected no credit on Locke. + +Buck Fargo was advancing to the plate, too, which boded well for the +Hornets. + +“You know what to do, Buck,” the manager said, in a low tone, as +the backstop passed him. “We’ve got this green portsider on the run +already.” + +It was a curious situation. The two men facing each other were friends. +Fargo’s sympathy for the young pitcher was such that he wanted him to +make good almost more than he desired a victory for his own team. The +big backstop could help very materially, if he wished, without any +risk to himself; and he realized that this was a crucial moment in the +inning when a hit might mean a run, while an out would go far toward +killing the Hornet’s chances for scoring. + +To his honor, he walked to the pan with the fixed determination to +forget that Lefty was pitching, and to give his manager the very best +that was in him. + +And now Locke realized that the thing which had hitherto been in his +favor was going to work the other way. If he knew intimately the likes +and dislikes, the batting strength and weakness of each member of the +opposing team, the man who faced him now was in a position to know +quite as much, or more, about himself. + +Lefty’s face was a shade less brown as he toed the rubber, but his +nerves were quite steady, his courage unabated. He would do his best; +no man could do more. + +The cheering and comments in the stands had ceased. Even the murmur of +voices died away as the spectators bent forward in breathless suspense. + +The first one was not over, and Fargo refused to go after it. + +“Ba-a-ll!” drawled the umpire. + +“He’ll put it over now,” thought Fargo, swinging his stick gently. +He had ceased to think of Lefty as his friend; he was now simply the +pitcher of the rival team. + +He was mistaken, however. Though it seemed to be Locke’s intention to +cut the pan, Fargo saw the ball break for a curve which would carry it +just outside, and again he refrained from swinging. + +“Two-oo!” said the umpire. + +In the silence of the breathless crowd some one was heard to say: + +“He’s afraid of him. He don’t dare let him hit it.” + +These words did not reach the southpaw’s ears. The latter, however, had +no intention of pitching himself into a hole if he could help it. He +bent over a sizzler. + +Fargo swung and missed, although he almost fancied that he felt the +bat lightly touch the whistling ball. A murmur rose from the Blue +Stockings’ rooters. + +A moment later, Lefty shot the ball back with a quick return, and, +though he was not taken off his guard, the batter missed again. + +The murmur rose. + +Then Locke tried that slow, lingering ball which he could so cleverly +deliver after going through movements which seemed to promise great +speed. + +Unfortunately Fargo had seen him try that same trick more than once, +and he refused to be fooled. Watching the horsehide as it came up and +dropped toward the ground, he let it settle into the catcher’s hands +without having moved his stick. + +The Hornets’ fans had a chance to yell, but their uproar was swiftly +cut short. Now was the moment of greatest suspense. The next ball +delivered would be decisive. + +After what seemed an eternity, but which was, in reality, the briefest +sort of pause, the southpaw pitched. + +Fargo met the sphere on the trademark and sent it humming out on a line +with the speed of a bullet. + + + + + CHAPTER XLII + + THE TRUTH AT LAST + + +Like a flash, thousands of fans were on their feet. The roar which +reverberated back and forth in the great inclosure was enough to shake +the row of eagles ornamenting the roof of the grandstand. Hagin was off +like a rocket. Siegrist was not far behind. Fargo himself showed that +backstopping was not his only strong point. + +As for Lefty, after that first awful moment of sinking which had +followed the fatal crack of leather meeting wood, he brought himself +together with a jerk, and whirled round. + +Rufe Hyland, in right field, had not wasted an instant. Covering the +ground with tremendous strides, he scooped the ball cleanly, spun +around, and threw even while still in motion. It was meant to be +a straight throw to the plate, but in a second Lefty saw that the +fielder’s forced turn had lost him every particle of body motion which +might have helped out his arm, and knew the sphere would fall short. + +Like a flash, the southpaw darted to one side, leaped into the air, +and forked the ball with one hand. As he did so, Hagin, running like a +racehorse, flung himself feet foremost to the ground, and slid over the +plate. + +Siegrist had raced down to second, and crossed the sack at full speed. +When he saw Lefty intercept the ball and whirl toward third, he sought +to turn back. Locke whipped the sphere straight into the hands of +Pink Dalton, who was covering the second anchorage; and the latter, +after jabbing it on to the lunging German, snapped it to first with a +lightninglike motion, not even taking the time to straighten up. + +It was one of the most surprising double plays ever seen on the New +Grounds. Fargo, having rounded the sack and seen the ball speeding +apparently toward the plate, naturally did not halt until he was nearly +halfway to the second hassock. Even then he might have got back safely +had it not been for the extraordinary accuracy of Dalton’s throw. As it +was, the finish of the play was close. The keen-eyed umpire declared +Fargo out. + +The applause of the Hornets’ rooters suddenly ceased. It was followed +by the cheers of their rivals. The home team had made a run, to be +sure, but this abrupt and unexpected ending of the inning rather took +the wind out of their sails. They gave vent to their annoyance by +heaping abuse on the umpire. + +As Lefty walked to the bench his eyes sought the face of his manager +questioningly. He felt no doubt that only for the success of this last +play he would have been taken out of the game at once. Only one hit had +been made off him, to be sure, but he knew that a pitcher is frequently +removed when the game is going wrong through no fault of his own. Jack +Kennedy showed no such intention, however. + +“That was a heady play of yours, Lefty,” he said. “I saw the ball +would fall short the minute it left Hyland’s hand. If you hadn’t had +your thinker working, we’d likely have had more than one tally to buck +against.” + +“It was Dalton who put a kibosh on them,” Locke returned. “That was +some throw of his to first.” + +“Sure. But you used your nut and made it possible. One minute, Grant. +You’d better――” + +His voice dropped to a whisper, and Lefty walked away, his face +slightly flushed, his eyes bright. Jack Kennedy was a manager who never +hesitated about blowing up his men, and he could do it in a cutting, +caustic manner much more thorough than mere loud-mouthed ranting. He +had also the much rarer trait of judicious praise, which was, perhaps, +one of the reasons why he was so popular with his players. + +The second inning presented no such spectacular features as had +appeared in its predecessor. Elgin, cool, confident, and a little +cocky, did not let a man pass second. The fans were beginning to yell +rough pleasantries at him, and reporters who had been with the Hornets +through the spring training harked back to the prophecies they had sent +home regarding this youngster’s exceptional ability. + +Locke, on the other hand, was touched up for two singles, and had men +on first and third with only one out. One of these was caught while +trying to steal second, and put out by Nelson’s beautiful throwing. The +other was cantering toward the home plate, with the full expectation of +scoring, when he discovered that the southpaw had reached forth a bare +hand and plucked the batted ball out of the air, thus spoiling a base +hit and ending the inning. + +“Great work,” chuckled Jack Stillman, up at the reporters’ table, as he +reached for his tobacco pouch. + +“Great luck, I should say,” retorted the newspaper man next to him. +“Looks to me like a fine case of horseshoes.” + +“I’m not so sure about that,” put in the sporting editor of the +_Blade_, who sat on Stillman’s other side. “The boy seems to have a +little gray matter, and there’s a bulldog expression about his mouth +and chin which makes me think he’ll stand the pace longer than this +Elgin, who’s beginning to strut a little already. You saw quite a +little of him down at Ashland, didn’t you, Jack?” + +Stillman did not answer. With the leather pouch, he had pulled from +his pocket a crumpled envelope bearing the postmark of that very +Texas town. For a second he stared at it in a puzzled way. Then he +remembered. The hotel clerk had handed it to him just as he was +leaving for the game with a bunch of fellows, and he had put it aside, +intending to read it later, only to forget its existence completely. + +With a swift jerk of one finger, he tore the envelope open. There was +a long letter in the cramped, laborious handwriting of William Bowers, +the ex-sergeant, but that was not what his eyes were fixed on with such +curious intentness. He had received many of those letters in the past +month, and all to no purpose. What he had never had before was this +inclosure, an affidavit bearing the seal of a notary public and signed +by one Edward Black, and several witnesses. + +With a swift-drawn breath, Stillman fairly raced through the document, +his face flushing, his eyes snapping, an expression of the most intense +satisfaction swiftly overspreading his countenance. + +“By Jove!” he breathed, when he had finished. “He’s got him at last! I +knew that cur Elgin was responsible, and this proves it.” + +He half rose from his seat, only to drop back into it again as he +realized the impossibility of reaching Brennan now. + +“Afterward will do as well,” he muttered. “If this doesn’t blow the +scoundrel clean out of water, I’m a lobster!” + + + + + CHAPTER XLIII + + THE LUCKY SEVENTH + + +Unconscious of the gathering storm, Bert Elgin continued his fine work. +Inning after inning he held the visitors down, rising to his highest +pitch of excellence in the fifth by striking out the opposing batters +in one, two, three order. + +His rival was equally successful so far as results went, but his +methods were not as spectacular. He seemed not to exert himself until +forced to the wall, and then, as likely as not, his manner of getting +out of the hole was such that the bulk of spectators put it down to +luck or the wonderful support back of him. + +Thus it was that, while the metropolitan fans were howling themselves +hoarse with praises for Elgin, the Blue Stockings’ supporters could +never be quite sure that the southpaw was not on the verge of “blowing +up,” and their rooting was more for the team as a body than for the man +on the slab. + +There were a few in the vast crowd, more observant than their neighbors, +who realized the truth. Elgin was clever, to be sure, but little by +little they saw how much of his success on the mound was due to the +knowledge and experience of his fellow players. + +Buck Fargo was a born backstop. Absolutely perfect in the mechanical +side of his position, he was able to give his whole attention to the +batter and, therefore, seemed to possess, almost uncannily, the power +of sensing the sort of ball which would be, at any particular moment, +most distasteful. Happily for Elgin, the pitcher had the sense to +follow his catcher’s signals implicitly. + +In addition to this, the others of the team were in thorough sympathy +with their pitcher. He had been one of them from the beginning of the +season, and had deported himself with cleverness that won the liking of +not a few. There were no jealousies and heartburnings to combat. They +were beginning, also, to feel a certain measure of confidence in him, +and their support was of the finished Big League sort, plus enthusiasm, +which was a joy to see. + +It was quite the contrary with their opponents. Though they might not +realize it, the majority were still sore at having this busher put +on the slab for such an important game. They had no confidence in +his ability to pull out successfully, and, though their playing was +mechanically perfect, their support was that of men who are thinking of +themselves and their averages. + +During the last of the sixth the Hornets scored another tally on an +error of the opposing shortstop, and the fans sat back comfortably, +assured that the game was safe. + +With the opening of the seventh, there was a sudden billowing up of +the crowd throughout the entire circle of stands and bleachers. They +stretched themselves and stamped their feet until the noise was like +the deafening rattle of stage thunder. The visitors, though fearful of +defeat, nevertheless raised the stentorian cry of “Lucky seventh! Lucky +seventh! Here’s where we do it!” + +Eddie Lewis, the Blue Stockings’ shortstop, was the first man up. +Elgin eyed him critically, and, remembering that he had caught the man +with an inshoot once before, decided to repeat the trick. He had been +growing more and more cocksure as the game progressed, so, when Fargo +called for a straight, fast high ball, Elgin responded with his own +views on the subject. It was time, he decided, that he cut loose from +the backstop’s apron-strings. He had been hitched to them too long +already. + +Fargo repeated his signal, but Elgin shook his head obstinately. +Finally he got the signal he wanted. Lewis stepped swiftly back; +there was a ringing crack; the horsehide whizzed straight at Elgin, +who――ducked! + +He had never done such a thing before, but the total unexpectedness of +the hit, and the fact that the sphere was humming straight at his head +with the speed of a cannon ball, deprived him for a second of reason, +and made his act instinctive. + +Lewis got to first easily. The entire Hornets’ infield made various +caustic comments. From the stands the fickle crowd showered insults +which brought the color flaming into Elgin’s face and made him drop the +ball when he received it from the outfielder. + +The incident so disturbed him that he proceeded to present Nelson +with a free pass, which brought loud cheers from the Blue Stockings’ +rooters, and more unflattering comments from the upholders of the home +team. + +“He’s going up! He’s going up!” chanted the visiting fans, grasping at +a straw. “Send him to the stable! Put the blanket on him!” + +Elgin gritted his teeth and faced Jack Daly as he toed the scratch, +bland and smiling. Men were yelling advice to the batter; others +flinging taunts at the man on the mound. The tumult was increasing +steadily. Fargo, catching a glimpse of Elgin’s face, dropped on one +knee and deliberately adjusted his shoe-lace. + +Daly let a wide one pass, and then banged out a grounder which, but +for splendid fielding, would have been a hit. As it was, Dirk Nelson, +forced from the initial sack, was put out at second by a hair. Daly +reached first safely, and Eddie Lewis executed an impromptu jig on +third. + +By this time a perfect pandemonium had broken forth all over the +stands. The visiting rooters, seeing hope for the first time, seemed +trying to rattle the pitcher, while the fickle metropolitan fans howled +at the unfortunate twirler they had been cheering so vociferously a +short time before. + +“Take him out! Take him out!” they bawled. “Russell! We――want――Cy!” + +Amid this turmoil, Lefty Locke approached the pan, his heart pounding +unevenly and his face glowing dully under the tan. So far he had +shown little ability with the stick; nevertheless, the hopeful Blue +Stockings’ adherents greeted him uproariously. + +“Kill it, Locke!” was the stentorian cry. “Kill it, old boy!” + +The sound of their voices thrilled the southpaw. Only an abnormally +cold-blooded youngster would have felt no thrill. It exalted him and +made him confident that he could hit anything Elgin ventured to whip +over. + +There was a momentary pause as Fargo hurried into the diamond and spoke +a few reassuring words to the white-faced twirler. + +While he waited, leaning on his stick, Lefty cast a casual glance along +the wide sweep of stands and boxes crowded with yelling, cheering +humanity. The next instant his heart stood still. He was staring +fixedly at an upper box that was filled with a gay party of men and +women. As Lefty gazed with unbelieving wonder, a woman suddenly arose, +straight and slim and girlish, her face flushing and her eyes bright. +Smiling down at him, she waved a tiny handkerchief. + +It was Janet Harting! + +His face crimson, Lefty pulled off his cap a little awkwardly. How +she happened to be there he had no idea. Who she was with he did not +know――or care. She was watching him pitch his first Big League game, +watching his trial by fire, and she believed in him. He toed the slab, +believing more than ever in himself. + +Elgin’s face was still pale and set. A moment before he had caught a +glimpse of Brennan talking earnestly with Cy Russell, after which the +pitcher peeled off his sweater and loped across the turf, beckoning to +the second catcher. It looked as if the end were in sight. + +Nevertheless, he ground his teeth and scowled fiercely at the hated +Locke. He must get him――he must! The words rang dully through the +pitcher’s brain until he wondered whether he was speaking them aloud. +He paused, looking beseechingly at Fargo, who repeated the signal. + +Reluctantly Elgin wound up and pitched. + +The southpaw’s bat met the horsehide with a smash that sent it flying +over Nolan’s head toward the left field bleachers. + +With a mingled cry of anguish and joy, the spectators leaped to their +feet and followed the progress of the flying sphere with straining +eyes. For a moment it looked as if the fielder might get it by fast +sprinting, and Lewis halted an instant on third, head twisted, gauging +the rapidly falling dot of white. + +Then it was seen that Nolan must fail to make the catch, and the +runner was sent home with a rush, while voices accelerated Daly’s +flying progress from first. The latter rounded second without a pause +just as the fielder made a beautiful recovery and lined the ball to +third. There were frantic shrieks of “Slide! slide!” which Daly obeyed +without hesitation, skimming over the ground amid a cloud of dust, to +hook the hassock with his foot as the sphere smacked into Monte Harris’ +mitt. + +The latter sent it humming back to second, for Lefty was coming down +the line with the speed of a racehorse. But he, too, slid safely; +and the breathless stillness was rent by the loud rejoicings of the +great crowd of Blue Stockings’ admirers who had come over from the +neighboring city to watch their team open against the Hornets. + +“Oh, you Locke!” they shrieked fondly. “What’s the matter with Lefty? +He’s――all――right!” + +When the thunder of their accompanying stamping had died away, they +turned their attention to Elgin, calling for airships and the like, +until their voices were drowned by the howls of the disappointed +opposition: + +“Take him out! Take him out! Take-him-out! He’s yellow!” + +The pitcher, white-faced, beads of perspiration besprinkling his +forehead, stood shifting about near the slab, with downcast eyes and +lips which trembled in spite of his efforts to steady them. Once he +cast a swift glance toward the manager, but received no hoped-for sign. + +He wanted to be taken out. He was afraid. + + + + + CHAPTER XLIV + + THE LEADING RUN + + +Brennan’s reason for not doing at once the thing which was inevitable +was not quite apparent. He had an obstinate streak in his make-up, +and no doubt it went very much against the grain to see the man he +had depended on and boasted about fall down so disastrously, though +ordinarily that would have made no difference. + +At any rate, he held his hand, and it cost him another run. Rufe Hyland +landed on the second ball pitched, and sent out a long fly to right +field. The moment Johnny Burns caught the ball Daly darted for the +plate. + +There was a momentary lull in the excitement as Burns made a great +throw to Buck Fargo. Then the racket broke loose again as Daly slid +over the dish in the nick of time; for Fargo had made a fruitless sweep +of the hand to tag him. + +With the score tied and Locke on third, the visiting fans yelled +without interruption as Pink Dalton came to the plate. Fargo again +tried to brace Elgin up, but with poor success; and it was no credit +to the pitcher that Red Pollock scooped up a red-hot grounder and lined +it, sizzling, to the sack in time to end the inning and prevent further +scoring. + +A storm of hoots and catcalls greeted Elgin as he walked slowly and +dejectedly toward the bench. Brennan said nothing, but the look he cast +at the twirler was more expressive than many spoken words could have +been. Elgin, his face as flaming now as it had been pale, hurried past +him, and slunk thankfully to the obscurity of the bench. + +When Lefty took his place on the slab, a roar of applause greeted him. +He shot a glance at that upper box, and was even further heartened +by the wave he received in return. His form was so perfect, and the +support of his backers so full of new life and snap, that he retired +the Hornets without letting a man reach second. + +A lull followed. Cy Russell, in splendid shape and aching to retrieve +the blunders made by his predecessor, easily disposed of the batters +who faced him during the eighth and ninth innings. + +Lefty was equally fortunate; and the tenth inning opened with the +spectators on tiptoe with excitement, and some of them so hoarse they +could scarcely speak above a whisper. + +Again it was Eddie Lewis who came up first, and the sympathizers with +the Blue Stockings seemed to take it as a good omen. All around the +field the visiting rooters were waving hats and yelling like demons. +Russell put the first ball squarely over for a strike, and followed +it with another. Lewis cracked the third one to left field for a +two-bagger. + +With a concerted yell, every fan leaped to his feet. When Lewis made +second safely they seemed to forget to sit down, so great was their +excitement. + +“Lay down a bunt, Dirk,” Kennedy said quietly, as Nelson came up. + +The catcher obeyed the injunction to the letter. He bunted the ball +within two yards of the plate just as Lewis started for third. Russell +was on the alert and ready, and, rushing swiftly toward the horsehide, +he snatched it up and shot it with the speed of a bullet into Harris’ +hands. Lewis beat the throw, however, and was called safe, while Nelson +reached first without difficulty. + +“Here’s the run! Here’s the game!” came from the crowd as Jack Daly +walked coolly to the plate. “Lewis will score!” + +A safe hit or a long fly meant victory, if Locke continued his fine +work and shut out the home team in the last half of the inning. Lefty, +swinging two bats to make one seem lighter when he should hit, felt his +heart thudding like a trip-hammer. + +On all sides men were waving their arms wildly and making a tremendous +tumult. If only Daly could do it! Locke followed Daly, and he wondered +vaguely whether he could make good if the third baseman failed. + +Russell’s first ball went wide of the plate. Another one came across +waist high, and Daly fell on it with all his might. There was a twist +on the sphere, however, and, instead of a smashing line drive, a short +fly to right field resulted. + +Burns called out that he would take it, and Russell raced behind Fargo +to back up a throw to the plate. Burns made the catch easily, and was +ready to throw Lewis out if he attempted to score. + +The Blue Stockings’ fielder was taking no chances, however. He stuck to +third, waiting for something safer to take him home. + +The witnesses who favored the Hornets applauded the catch, while the +opposition strained their lungs rooting for Locke. + +The latter felt a queer tightening of his throat as he toed the line. +Again the opportunity had come for him to show what he could do. + +Russell had never been cooler or less flurried. He worked skillfully +until two strikes and as many balls had been called. The fear came to +Lefty that he was going to whiff, and he set his teeth, watching the +pitcher like a hawk. + +Russell took his time. As the sphere left his fingers, Locke suddenly +remembered a certain fast curve he had seen the Hornet man working up +down in Texas, but which he had not used thus far in this game. The +conviction flashed into his mind that it was being used now, and in an +instant he had taken a single step forward, bringing his bat around +with a powerful swing as he did so. + +The connection was perfect, and the ball went curving out toward the +left wing of the grandstand, looking for a second or two like a home +run. It was too high for that, however, and fell in front of the stand +a couple of yards inside the foul line. + +The fielder got under it and smothered it effectually, making a long, +powerful throw to the plate, toward which Lewis had sprinted the +instant the catch was made. The ball went wide, however, and Lewis slid +across the rubber in safety with the leading run. + + + + + CHAPTER XLV + + LEFTY’S TRIUMPH + + +Again the crowd cheered and yelled like lunatics, shouting Locke’s name +over and over as he walked toward the bench. His teammates surrounded +him, patting him on the back and uttering brief, friendly words of +praise. He was one of them now. He had won his spurs and fairly earned +the right to their esteem. + +But the game was not over. Russell fanned the next batter with swift +precision, and the Blue Stockings took the field. Their supporters in +the stands urged the southpaw, in frantic terms, to “Hold ’em!” + +The Hornets’ sympathizers were equally vehement in their entreaties +to the home team to “Get in there and smash it out!” The uproar was +deafening. It subsided only when Ed Nolan walked up and squared himself +at the plate. There were a few last shouts of encouragement, and then +silence, tense and absolute, fell upon the vast inclosure. + +Lefty knew that the Hornets’ fielder was a man to fear. He could hit +almost any kind of ball with ease. In fact, the southpaw, in spite of +his having played so many practice games against the fellow, had never +yet fathomed his hitting weakness. He wished that almost any other man +in the batting list could have been the one to face him now, but there +was no use pining for the impossible, so he proceeded to send over a +tempting feeler. + +But Nolan declined to be fooled. He disdained the first two balls, and +the crowd began to shout for a free pass. + +Then Lefty whipped over a good one, following it with a whizzer with +a perplexing jump just before it reached the pan. But the batter was +there with the goods, and, though he did not strike the horsehide quite +squarely, he lashed it out between second and short. + +Lewis lunged for it, and his fingers almost touched the sphere, but not +quite. Nolan rounded first to the accompaniment of much joyful clamor. + +And now came Fargo, the man who knew Locke’s methods better than any +other on the team. The southpaw worked him with the utmost care, +pitching as he had never pitched before; and then, just as he fancied +he had the backstop in a hole, Buck suddenly and unexpectedly bunted, +sending the ball rolling slowly toward first. + +Lefty got the sphere, but secured it in bad position to throw. Without +attempting to straighten up, he jerked it past Fargo, who was making +the final long strides for the sack. + +Grant should have caught it, for the throw was good. Perhaps he was +too confident. Perhaps there was no excuse at all, for even Big League +players make errors of that sort now and then. At all events, he +dropped the ball. The spectators fairly made the stands shake with +their raucous joy. + +“Hit it out!” they shrieked. “Smash it on the nose! Here’s where we get +two runs and the game!” + +Pollock did his best, but only succeeded in sending up a high fly into +short center which the fielder secured with ease. Then Johnny Burns +hurried up, eager to help things along, and confident that he could do +it. + +Lefty felt that the man was positively itching to hit. He could read +it in the fellow’s face and manner, and he determined to play upon +the batter’s eagerness. A high drop across Burns’ shoulder deceived +him, but did not shake his confidence. It was followed by another high +ball, which was, however, an inshoot, and again the Hornet fielder +missed. + +“Hit it, Johnny!” pleaded the local fans. “Don’t let him fool you. +Smash it out.” + +“Fan him!” shrieked the Blue Stockings’ supporters wildly, their hopes +beginning to rise again. “Fan him, Lefty! You’ve got to do it.” + +Lefty hesitated a second, his face cool and impenetrable, the muscles +of his jaw sharply defined. He felt that the batter would expect him to +try a coaxer; for, with no balls called, most pitchers would feel that +they could afford to waste one or two. + +He glanced round, his foot on the slab. When he turned back, he pitched +without the slightest preliminary swing, sending over a high, straight, +speedy ball. It had been his object to catch Burns unprepared, and he +succeeded. The batter struck a second too late, and the ball spanked +into Nelson’s glove. + +“Out!” called the umpire. + +But the word was not heard because of the deafening roar which rose +from the delighted visitors. + +Lefty was scarcely conscious of the turmoil. It sounded faint and +far away, like the beating of breakers on a rocky coast, and mingled +insensibly with the words he was saying over and over to himself: + +“One more! Only one more! I must get him――I’ve got to!” + +He dared not risk a glance at that upper box. The moment was too +tense. And yet in his mind he pictured the girl leaning breathlessly +over the railing, her tiny gloved hands clasped rigidly together, her +face a little pale, her violet eyes wide open and almost black with +excitement. She must not be disappointed――she should not! + +How Sandy Rollins missed the first ball he reached for was something he +never understood. When he struck, he felt absolutely certain that he +would meet it full upon the trademark. His failure brought a ludicrous +expression of surprise to his face. + +The Blue Stockings’ rooters yelled madly. Most of them were on their +feet now, staring down into the diamond. The opposing fans, beginning +to lose hope, divided their efforts between hurling caustic comments at +the batter and trying to break the pitcher up. + +In this latter attempt they were unsuccessful. Locke paid absolutely +no attention to them. It is doubtful whether he was conscious of their +presence. He was not faltering now. He was wasting no time, yet he did +not hurry. He put over an erratic curve that fooled Rollins even more +than had the first one. Indeed, the ball seemed actually to dodge the +bat as the Hornets’ baseman slashed at it. + +Another roar went up which drowned the umpire’s voice. Nolan, quivering +with eagerness, held himself ready to run, working off third. Lefty +drove him back. + +A hush settled upon the field. It almost seemed as if each little human +atom of the thousands which overflowed the wide sweep of stand and +bleacher had ceased to breathe. Even the coachers were silent for the +instant――and Locke pitched. + +Rollins’ judgment told him that the ball would cut a corner when it +broke. He was not mistaken. It came over; but, instead of crossing the +outside corner, as he expected, it took such a sharp, amazing shoot +over the inside that the batter missed cleanly. + +“Out!” shouted the umpire, flinging up one hand. + + + + + CHAPTER XLVI + + HOW IT ALL HAPPENED + + +Cheer after cheer went up from the throng of visiting fans. Hats and +canes and newspapers were thrown into the air with careless abandon. +Men brought their fists down on shoulders and heads of persons they +had never seen before; and these persons merely pushed out the tops of +crushed derbies, and grinned. + +Down from the stands they poured like a cataract, yelling Locke’s name. +They caught and surrounded him before he could flee to the shelter of +the clubhouse. + +Jack Stillman was one of the first to reach the field. Though he +longed to hurry over to Lefty and shake his friend’s hand, there was +something more important which must be done first. He headed straight +for Brennan, who, with gloomy countenance, was about to leave the field. + +“Wait a second, Jim,” the reporter called swiftly. “I’ve got something +to tell you. You fired Lefty Locke because you thought he was a +quitter,” he went on when they came together. + +“You needn’t rub it in,” snapped the sorely tried manager. “If that’s +all you’ve got to say――” + +“It isn’t,” returned Stillman quickly. “Locke said he never wrote that +fake telegram which called him away from Ashland the day of the game +he was to pitch. He told the truth. It was sent by one of his own +teammates, who hated him and wanted to put him in bad.” + +“What?” exploded the stocky manager. “I don’t believe it!” + +The reporter pulled a folded paper from his pocket and handed it to +Brennan. “There’s the proof,” he said quietly. + +The manager jerked it open and cast his eyes hurriedly down the sheet. +Wrath clouded his face. + +“Elgin!” he growled throwing back his head. “Where is he? Just let me―― +Hey, you Elgin! Come here!” + +His voice and manner had drawn several curious players near, among them +Buck Fargo. The disgruntled pitcher, hearing his name uttered in that +tone, came reluctantly over, expecting a call-down for his work on the +slab. What followed was totally unexpected. + +“You can pack!” Brennan snapped, eying the fellow with a look of +scathing contempt. “I’m going to send you down to the ‘Lobsters.’ They +want a pitcher, and they can have you――for keeps, if I can’t sell you.” +The Lobsters were a much scoffed-at minor league club. + +Elgin’s jaw dropped and his face flamed scarlet. “You’re going to send +me down to the――the Lobsters?” he stammered. + +“I am. I’ve found out the dirty trick you played on Locke in Ashland, +and I wouldn’t have a scoundrel like you on my team if you was the best +pitcher in the country――which you ain’t, by a long shot.” + +For an instant the pitcher stood staring at him, an indescribable +expression on his face. He cast a single swift glance at the players +standing around. Then, without a word, he turned and walked hastily +away through the gathering crowd. + +“Good riddance!” growled Brennan. + +He stood chewing meditatively on the stub of an unlighted cigar. After +a moment he shrugged his shoulders and pushed his way through the crowd +to where Lefty and a few of the Blue Stockings were hemmed in by the +throng. + +“You did a fine job, kid,” he said gruffly, thrusting out a square, +stubby hand. “Shake!” + +Without hesitation Lefty gripped his fingers. Brennan’s treatment +had caused him some bitter hours, but this was no time to harbor +resentment. The short manager turned to Kennedy, his mouth twisted in a +wry smile. + +“You can kick me good and hard, Ken,” he said. “I sure fell flat on +this deal.” His eyes twinkled, and the smile broadened to a grin. “I +sort of think this boy belongs to me. I had the first rights to him, +and I reckon I’ll pull him back now.” + +“Not if I know it!” laughed Kennedy. “You were thick enough to release +him unconditionally. He belongs to me now, and you bet he’s going to +stay.” + +But old Jack could not foresee the approaching wave of change that +was to leave him stranded as a baseball manager. Nor was Lefty Locke, +in spite of the splendid beginning he had made, to find it all fair +sailing in the Big League. With Kennedy retired and Lefty missing, +following his suspension by the new manager, the Blue Stockings were +destined to have their troubles in the fight for the pennant. How old +Jack and the young southpaw star returned to the field of battle barely +in time to save the day is dramatically told in “Lefty o’ the Blue +Stockings,” the third volume of The Big League Series. + +Brennan chuckled a little over Kennedy’s retort, and then turned to +Lefty, his face suddenly serious. + +“I’ve found out about that fake telegram,” he said, in a low tone. +“Jack Stillman ferreted out the truth, and the Hornets won’t have any +further use for Elgin.” + +He walked away without waiting for a reply, leaving Lefty almost +bewildered at the events which were coming so thick and fast. In the +midst of everything, however, he kept thinking of Janet and wondering +whether there was any possible chance of her coming down upon the field. + +The question was swiftly answered by the appearance of Jack Stillman, +elbowing his way through the crowd. + +“Some pitching for a starter in the Big League, old man,” he laughed, +his face glowing; “you were pretty fair! I can’t keep you now, though; +there’s somebody over by the stand who wants a word with you. See you +in the clubhouse, later.” + +Taking his friend by the arm, he piloted him through the throng, now +beginning to stream toward the gates, to a point from which he could +see the girl he had been thinking about so much. She stood near one +of the lower boxes of the center stand, a slim, graceful figure in a +blue tailor-made gown. At a little distance her friends were gathered, +watching the animated scene interestedly. + +Janet herself was talking earnestly to Buck Fargo, but her eyes were +quick to spy out Lefty as he approached. The glad smile she gave him +was something to be treasured long in his memory. + +“Lefty!” she exclaimed, in a low voice, which vibrated with emotion. +She took a quick step forward; their hands met. “I can’t tell you how +glad and proud I am――and sorry.” + +The man held her hands for an instant. His face was puzzled. + +“Sorry?” he repeated. “What have I done to make you sorry?” + +Her lovely eyes were fixed earnestly on his. Fargo had slipped away. + +“Nothing,” she returned hastily. “What you have done is +splendid――wonderful! It’s what I did that makes me sorry. Mr. Fargo has +just told me everything, and I hate myself when I think how I――liked +that dreadful Mr. Elgin――and tried to make you friends, and――and――” + +She stopped abruptly and bit her lip. Lefty looked around. Never before +had he detested a crowd with such intensity. His eyes flashed back +to hers, and something in their expression brought a vivid rush of +crimson flaming to her face. + +“You mustn’t think about it,” he urged softly. “You weren’t to blame, +and, anyway, it’s all over now. Everything’s turned out right. Please +forget it.” + +His fingers tightened about hers. Her lids drooped. They had forgotten +the crowd pouring out of the field. The clatter and tramp in the +swiftly thinning stands, the last few cheers from the departing +rooters, fell upon deaf ears. In that single moment they were conscious +of nothing else in the whole wide world but just each other. + + + THE END + + + + + Transcriber’s Notes: + + ――Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_). + + ――Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected. + + ――Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved. + + ――Inconsistent hyphenation and compound words were made + consistent only when a predominant form was found. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75250 *** |