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diff --git a/75250-h/75250-h.htm b/75250-h/75250-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7f36c3e --- /dev/null +++ b/75250-h/75250-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9874 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + + <title> + Lefty o’ the Big League | Project Gutenberg + </title> + + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + + <style> + +/* DACSoft styles */ + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +/* General headers */ +h1 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +/* Chapter headers */ +h2 { + text-align: center; + font-weight: bold; + margin: .75em 0; +} + +div.chapter { + page-break-before: always; +} + +.nobreak { + page-break-before: avoid; +} + +/* Indented paragraph */ +p { + margin-top: .51em; + margin-bottom: .49em; + text-align: justify; + text-indent: 1em; +} + +/* Unindented paragraph */ +.noi {text-indent: 0em;} + +/* Centered unindented paragraph */ +.noic { + text-indent: 0em; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Drop caps */ +p.cap {text-indent: 0em;} + +p.cap:first-letter { + float: left; + padding-right: 3px; + font-size: 250%; + line-height: 83%; +} + +.x-ebookmaker p.cap:first-letter { + float: left; + padding-right: 3px; + font-size: 250%; + line-height: 83%; +} + +/* Non-standard paragraph margins */ +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} + +.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} + +.p6 {margin-top: 6em;} + +.sp2em { + padding-left: 2em; +} + +/* Horizontal rules */ +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.chap { + width: 65%; + margin-left: 17.5%; + margin-right: 17.5%; +} + +@media print { + hr.chap { + display: none; + visibility: hidden; + } +} + +hr.r20 { + width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; + margin-right: 40%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; +} + +/* Tables */ +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +td { + padding: .25em; +} + +th { + padding: .25em; + font-weight: normal; +} + +/* Table cell alignments */ +.tdl { + text-align: left; +} + +.tdrb { + text-align: right; + vertical-align: bottom; +} + +.tdrt { + text-align: right; + padding-right: 0.75em; + vertical-align: top; +} + +.pr { + padding-right: .5em; +} + +/* Physical book page and line numbers */ +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + right: 3%; +/* left: 92%; */ + font-size: x-small; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-align: right; + color: gray; +} /* page numbers */ + +/* Blockquotes */ +.blockquot { + margin-top: 1em; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-bottom: 1em; +} + +/* Alignment */ +.right {text-align: right;} + +/* Text appearance */ +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +/* Small fonts and lowercase small-caps */ +.smfont { + font-size: .8em; +} + +.smfontr { + font-size: .75em; + text-align: right; +} + +/* Illustration caption */ +.caption { + font-size: .75em; + font-weight: bold; +} + +/* Images */ +img { + max-width: 100%; /* no image to be wider than screen or containing div */ + height:auto; /* keep height in proportion to width */ +} + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 90%; /* div no wider than screen, even when screen is narrow */ +} + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.tnote { + background-color: #E6E6FA; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + padding: 0.5em; +} + +.tntitle { + font-size: 1.25em; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +/* Title page borders and content. */ +.title { + font-size: 1.75em; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +.halftitle { + font-size: 1.5em; + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +.author { + font-size: 1.25em; + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +.works { + font-size: .75em; + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +/* Advertisement formatting. */ +.adauthor { + font-size: 1.25em; + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + + </style> +</head> + +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75250 ***</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter x-ebookmaker-drop" id="cover_sm"> + <img src="images/cover_sm.jpg" alt="book cover" title="book cover"> +</figure> + + + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="noi halftitle">LEFTY O’ THE BIG LEAGUE</p> +</div> + + + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<figure class="figcenter" id="i_frontis"> + <img src="images/i_frontis.jpg" alt="" title=""> + <figcaption class="caption"> + <p class="noic"><a href="#Page_303">HE WAS SAYING TO HIMSELF: “ONE MORE! ONLY ONE MORE! +I MUST GET HIM—I’VE GOT TO!”</a></p> + </figcaption> +</figure> +</div> + + + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h1>LEFTY<br> +O’ THE BIG LEAGUE</h1> + +<p class="noic">BY</p> + +<p class="noi author">BURT L. STANDISH</p> + +<p class="noi works">Author of “Lefty o’ the Bush,” “Lefty o’ the Blue<br> +Stockings,” “Lefty o’ the Training Camp.”</p> + +<p class="p4 noic"><i>ILLUSTRATED</i></p> + +<p class="p6 noic"><span class="adauthor">GROSSET & DUNLAP</span><br> +PUBLISHERS<span class="sp2em"> </span>NEW YORK</p> +</div> + + + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="noic"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1914, by</span><br> +GROSSET & DUNLAP, <span class="smcap">Inc.</span></p> + +<hr class="r20"> + +<p class="noic"><i>All Rights Reserved</i></p> + +<p class="p6 noic"><i>Printed in the United States of America</i></p> +</div> + + + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> +</div> + + +<table> +<colgroup> + <col style="width: 20%;"> + <col style="width: 70%;"> + <col style="width: 10%;"> +</colgroup> +<tr> + <th class="pr smfontr">CHAPTER</th> + <th class="tdl"> </th> + <th class="smfontr">PAGE</th> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">I</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">Getting in Bad</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">11</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">II</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">A Call-down from the Manager</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">17</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">III</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">The Riot at the Theater</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">24</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">IV</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">One Against Scores</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">31</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">V</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">Friendly Buck Fargo</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">36</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">VI</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">Who Was to Blame?</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">42</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">VII</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">Without Gratitude</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">48</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">VIII</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">The Man Who Knew</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">56</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">IX</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">Something Sub-Rosa</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">63</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">X</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">“When the Cat’s Away”</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">70</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XI</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">All In</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">77</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XII</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">Lefty’s Failure</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">82</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XIII</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">The Discharged Waiter</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">89</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XIV</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">Bert Elgin’s Luck</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">97</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XV</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">The Reason Why</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">103</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XVI</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">The Purloined Letter</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">108</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XVII</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">Guile</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">114</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XVIII</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">The Man in the Corridor</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">120</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XIX</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">Not Quite Proven</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">125</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XX</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">Janet Harting Wonders</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">131</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XXI</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">The Yellow Streak</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">139</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XXII</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">Lefty’s Chance Comes</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">147</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XXIII</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">There’s Many a Slip</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">152</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XXIV</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">The Unexpected</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">158</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XXV</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">The Struggle</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">167</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XXVI</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">Gaining Ground</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">174</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XXVII</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">A Chance to Make Good</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">181</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XXVIII</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">A Bad Beginning</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">186</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XXIX</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">Taking a Brace</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">193</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XXX</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">The Tricky Twirler</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">198</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XXXI</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">Once Too Often</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">206</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XXXII</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">The Spiking of Schaeffer</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">213</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XXXIII</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">The Telegram</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">219</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XXXIV</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">Nothing Else Possible</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">225</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XXXV</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">For Want of a Lie</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">231</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XXXVI</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">Dropped Out of Sight</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">240</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XXXVII</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">Opening the Season</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">245</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XXXVIII</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">The Two Managers</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">250</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XXXIX</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIX">The Meeting in the Grandstand</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">254</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XL</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XL">The Surprise</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">263</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XLI</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLI">The Beginning of the Game</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">270</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XLII</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLII">The Truth at Last</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">279</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XLIII</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLIII">The Lucky Seventh</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">285</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XLIV</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLIV">The Leading Run</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">294</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XLV</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLV">Lefty’s Triumph</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">299</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XLVI</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLVI">How It All Happened</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">305</td> +</tr> +</table> + + + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_11"></a>[11]</span></p> + + +<p class="noi title" id="LEFTY">LEFTY O’ THE BIG LEAGUE</p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I<br> +<small>GETTING IN BAD</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">“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.</p> + +<p>“Another Yannigan,” groaned Cy Russell, star +pitcher of the organization. “The woods is full +of ’em.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_12"></a>[12]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“Locke—Lefty Locke.”</p> + +<p>“Never heard the name before,” retorted Brennan +shortly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_13"></a>[13]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I—thought—Mr. Toler had written you,” he +stammered. “He—said he was going to.”</p> + +<p>Brennan’s eyes flashed. “Well, he didn’t,” he +snapped. “Where’d you come from? What’s +your record?”</p> + +<p>“I pitched last season with the Kingsbridge +team of the Northern League,” Locke said briefly.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing. It was my first year in professional +baseball.”</p> + +<p>“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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_14"></a>[14]</span> +an’ you can’t put one over me like this. +Get that?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“You don’t want me?” he repeated, in a steady +voice. “You’re willing to release me from the +contract I made with Toler?”</p> + +<p>“That’s what I said,” growled Brennan.</p> + +<p>“Then I’m free to accept any other offer?”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_15"></a>[15]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“And how much was that?” he demanded abruptly.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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:</p> + +<p>“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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16"></a>[16]</span> +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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Hello, Elgin,” he said stiffly.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_17"></a>[17]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II<br> +<small>A CALL-DOWN FROM THE MANAGER</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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:</p> + +<p>“Don’t hurry yourself, bub; any time to-day +will do.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18"></a>[18]</span></p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I’ll fool ’em!” he muttered. “I’ll show him +something.”</p> + +<p>He caught the ball easily, his eyes fixed on +Fargo’s grinning face. The big catcher stood<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_19"></a>[19]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_20"></a>[20]</span></p> + +<p>Not so Buck Fargo. He enjoyed batting quite +as much, as his companions, but he also dearly +loved to get a cub’s goat.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Lefty was possessed by an irresistible impulse<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_21"></a>[21]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“What the deuce do you think you’re doing, +Locke?”</p> + +<p>Brought to earth, Lefty swung around, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_22"></a>[22]</span> +stared for an instant, with mantling cheeks, at +Jim Brennan’s angry face.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Looks like my luck had deserted me,” Lefty<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_23"></a>[23]</span> +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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_24"></a>[24]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III<br> +<small>THE RIOT AT THE THEATER</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">“A rah, rah boy, is he?” sneered a voice +from the group not far away. “I see +his finish.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_25"></a>[25]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I seem to have gotten in wrong from the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_26"></a>[26]</span> +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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_27"></a>[27]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_28"></a>[28]</span> +Crossing hastily, he bought a ticket and pushed +into the darkened auditorium.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_29"></a>[29]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_30"></a>[30]</span> +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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_31"></a>[31]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV<br> +<small>ONE AGAINST SCORES</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_32"></a>[32]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_33"></a>[33]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_34"></a>[34]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_35"></a>[35]</span> +way forward, and thus slowly but inexorably the +ring closed in.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Lemme have a whack at ’em, kid.”</p> + +<p>It was Buck Fargo, the big catcher of the +Hornets.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_36"></a>[36]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V<br> +<small>FRIENDLY BUCK FARGO</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_37"></a>[37]</span> +whole thoroughfare was filled with flying men, +so that they passed unnoticed as Fargo headed +straight for the nearest corner.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_38"></a>[38]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>Locke nodded. “Yes, but I don’t want you to +bother about it, Fargo. It’s white of you to—”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But how can he help it? I was there, and +everybody saw me.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>There was silence for a moment or two as the +big, muscular fingers applied the plaster to the +cut lips with surprising deftness. “There!”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_39"></a>[39]</span> +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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t start it,” Lefty returned swiftly. “I +broke into the game afterward.”</p> + +<p>“Humph! Let’s hear about it.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“So that’s it?” the catcher commented. “I +gather you two ain’t very chummy.”</p> + +<p>“Not exactly,” Lefty returned shortly.</p> + +<p>Fargo eyed him curiously. “Then why did you<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_40"></a>[40]</span> +butt in? He started the muss, and I should say he +deserved what he got.”</p> + +<p>“But the whole push was against him,” protested +Locke. “I couldn’t sneak off and let them +hammer him to pieces.”</p> + +<p>“Strikes me that <em>he</em> 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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_41"></a>[41]</span> +love tap or two in the scuffle. Lucky the old man +can’t see that chest of yours.”</p> + +<p>Outside the door he paused, the queer look in +his eyes again. “One of the bunch!” he muttered +aloud. “Well, I’ll be hanged!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_42"></a>[42]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI<br> +<small>WHO WAS TO BLAME?</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">On his way in to breakfast next morning, +Manager Brennan bought a copy of the +Ashland <cite>Morning Chronicle</cite> 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.”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>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.</p> +</div> + +<p>With a guttural exclamation of rage, Brennan<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_43"></a>[43]</span> +half started from his seat, only to relax again +and glare around.</p> + +<p>“You read that stuff?” he demanded, catching +the eye of Red Pollock across the table.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Sure! Buck got a look-in, he was telling us.”</p> + +<p>Brennan glanced swiftly down to where Fargo +sat at the end of the table. “How about last<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_44"></a>[44]</span> +night, Buck?” he called, in a deceptively mild +tone. “Were you the one who started the rough-house +downtown?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But who was the man?” Brennan persisted. +“Didn’t you see him?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Brennan’s gaze veered swiftly to the next table, +where his new recruit sat with some of the other<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_45"></a>[45]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_46"></a>[46]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_47"></a>[47]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“A lot of dough-heads!” he growled. “Sounds +as if they were each describing a different person.”</p> + +<p>Which happened to be exactly the truth.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_48"></a>[48]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII<br> +<small>WITHOUT GRATITUDE</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">“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?”</p> + +<p>“No. I was waiting for him to brace me, but +it never came off. What the deuce did you tell +him?”</p> + +<p>Fargo grinned. “The truth—only not quite all +of it,” he chuckled. “Wonder how our friend +Elgin’s going to get out of it?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_49"></a>[49]</span> +his arm, and, turning, he saw Bert Elgin beside +him, a frown of anxiety on his thin face.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Locke’s eyes were fixed coldly upon the other’s +face. “And what was the story you told him?” +he asked shortly.</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Lefty’s eyes flashed ominously. “Well?” he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_50"></a>[50]</span> +snapped. “Let’s have it. What were you going +to say?”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>Elgin threw back his head, furious under the +lashing contempt of the other’s voice.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“That’s my business,” returned Lefty curtly. +“Anything more?”</p> + +<p>“No,” snarled Elgin; “but if Brennan gets wise +through you, I’ll settle your hash for good and +all.”</p> + +<p>Lefty shrugged his shoulders indifferently.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_51"></a>[51]</span> +“Try it,” he laughed. “If you don’t have any +better luck than you did the last time, I guess I’ll +survive.”</p> + +<p>Without waiting for a reply, he turned and +walked across the field, leaving Elgin glaring after +him in speechless rage.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_52"></a>[52]</span> +loosen up a bit; a little smoke, you know. You +was full enough of it yesterday.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Stop that, and get down to business!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_53"></a>[53]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>“That’ll do!” growled the manager, at length. +“You’re a winner, you are! What’s the matter +with you to-day?”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_54"></a>[54]</span></p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You think it would be a good idea to tell him?” +Lefty asked gravely.</p> + +<p>“That would put him wise to what was the matter +with you.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Fargo let out a guffaw and brought one fist +down on Locke’s shoulder with a force which made +him wince.</p> + +<p>“For a cub, you ain’t half bad, kid,” he +chuckled.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_55"></a>[55]</span> +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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_56"></a>[56]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII<br> +<small>THE MAN WHO KNEW</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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:</p> + +<p>“Well, you old lobster! If I’m not glad to see +your ugly mug again! Put it there, old fellow!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“That’s easy. I’m the only original live wire +on the sporting page of the <cite>Star</cite>. 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?”</p> + +<p>“Guessed right the first crack, Jack,” Lefty<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_57"></a>[57]</span> +laughed. “You always were an awful clever +boy.”</p> + +<p>“But how the deuce— I didn’t even know +you’d taken up baseball. Thought you were +scratching away in a lawyer’s office.”</p> + +<p>“So I was until last spring. I played the season +under the name of Lefty Locke. It’s a long +story, but—”</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_58"></a>[58]</span> +you’ll be all to the merry. I’d hate like thunder to +lose that coin though. Any more cub twirlers in +the outfit?”</p> + +<p>“Bert Elgin,” Lefty returned quietly.</p> + +<p>Stillman stared, and an expression of incredulity +flashed into his face. “What?” he gasped. +“Not—”</p> + +<p>Locke nodded. “The same. Funny, isn’t it, we +should run up against each other this way?”</p> + +<p>“Funny? I don’t see it. The cur!”</p> + +<p>Lefty turned swiftly from the bureau, a queer +look on his face. “Just what do you mean by that, +Jack?” he asked slowly.</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>Lefty slipped into his coat, and dropped down +beside his friend.</p> + +<p>“You know why we didn’t,” he said quickly.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_59"></a>[59]</span> +“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t you come out with it the next +year?” demanded Stillman. “You could have +pitched then, all right.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_60"></a>[60]</span></p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“He wasn’t overjoyed to see me,” he returned +quietly.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“It’s none of my business,” Stillman put in.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_61"></a>[61]</span> +“I don’t want to have anything to do with the +mucker. Let’s go down to dinner.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ll be hanged if it isn’t Jack Stillman!” +he exclaimed. “Glad to see you, old hoss!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“How are you, Elgin?” he said curtly, and +passed on toward the dining room with Lefty.</p> + +<p>For a second Elgin stood staring after them, +his face flushed and his eyes gleaming angrily.</p> + +<p>“Your friend don’t seem choked with joy at seeing +you,” Hagin commented maliciously.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, when he dropped into his place at<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_62"></a>[62]</span> +the table a short time later, his face was still +flushed and angry.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_63"></a>[63]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX<br> +<small>SOMETHING SUB-ROSA</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">“Five-inning practice game at eight-thirty +sharp,” announced Manager +Brennan, at the close of the day’s work.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_64"></a>[64]</span> +skill against the bush pitchers, and any ball +player will willingly go without a meal in order to +bat.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>A glimpse of Bert Elgin’s scowling face only<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_65"></a>[65]</span> +added to Lefty’s good spirits, and he departed +from the field feeling very cheerful indeed.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_66"></a>[66]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“He’s safe,” he announced. “Come on up to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_67"></a>[67]</span> +my room, fellows. It’s the whole length of the +house from his, and we can have a little racket +without his getting wise.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Buck Fargo was on one side of him and Pollock,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_68"></a>[68]</span> +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:</p> + +<p>“What’ll you have to drink, fellows? Speak +up sharp, now; the boy’s waiting.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Light beer,” he said, at length.</p> + +<p>Glancing hurriedly over his cards, he quite<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_69"></a>[69]</span> +missed the odd side glance which Buck Fargo +flashed at him. But perhaps it was not meant +for him to see.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_70"></a>[70]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X<br> +<small>“WHEN THE CAT’S AWAY”</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_71"></a>[71]</span></p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Presently Hagin sauntered up to the table. +“What’ll you have, boys?” he asked. “Time for +a second round.”</p> + +<p>Most of them ordered; one or two declined, +among them Lefty.</p> + +<p>“No, thanks,” Locke said firmly, when Hagin +pressed him. “I’ve had enough.”</p> + +<p>“I reckon you <em>have</em> 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.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps I shouldn’t have taken that beer,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_72"></a>[72]</span> +after all,” he said to himself. “I thought everybody +was drinking something in that line.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_73"></a>[73]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Well, fellows, I’m going to hit the downy,” the +big backstop announced, with a cavernous yawn. +“Let’s settle up.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_74"></a>[74]</span></p> + +<p>There were protests, of course; but Fargo was +firm.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>For an instant he stood gripping the chairback. +The room was going around; the floor tilted dangerously.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter, kid?” came in Fargo’s +voice. “You look sort of funny.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_75"></a>[75]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_76"></a>[76]</span></p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>He groaned aloud. Then, with a long, shuddering +sigh, he felt his legs crumple under him. A +black curtain fell before his eyes.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_77"></a>[77]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI<br> +<small>ALL IN</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Twenty-five minutes to eight,” he muttered. +“Time I was getting—”</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>Staggering to his feet, he went over to the washstand<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_78"></a>[78]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Doped!” he exclaimed, aloud.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_79"></a>[79]</span> +no motive—or, so far as he knew, any opportunity. +Who else, then, could have been responsible?</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<em>have</em> 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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_80"></a>[80]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Regrets were unavailing, however. Though +some one had given him the double cross, Lefty<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_81"></a>[81]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_82"></a>[82]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII<br> +<small>LEFTY’S FAILURE</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Rotten!” snapped Ogan, from first. “What +in Sam Hill’s the matter with you, Locke?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_83"></a>[83]</span></p> + +<p>“Yes,” chimed in Tom Burley, at short; “this +isn’t croquet. Wake up.”</p> + +<p>“Let’s have a little of that smoke you had up +your sleeve the other day,” added the third baseman.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Instantly a gatling fire of sarcasm was turned +on Lefty by his teammates. Ogan raced into the +diamond and caught the pitcher’s arm.</p> + +<p>“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed +fiercely. “Are you trying to throw the game +away?”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_84"></a>[84]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you’d better take me out, Al,” he +muttered. “I seem to be on the fritz.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_85"></a>[85]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The horsehide whirled toward the plate with +speed enough, but crossed it a good foot below +where Lefty intended. The bat met it squarely,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_86"></a>[86]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>Head down and hands tightly clenched, he made +his way toward the bench, not even looking up as<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_87"></a>[87]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_88"></a>[88]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I s’pose they all have it in for me,” he muttered.</p> + +<p>The next instant he saw Jim Brennan bearing +down upon him, his face more florid than ever, his +sharp eyes glinting.</p> + +<p>“Good night!” the southpaw murmured. +“Here’s my finish.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_89"></a>[89]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII<br> +<small>THE DISCHARGED WAITER</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">Lefty drew one sleeve across his perspiring +face, and stared at the square, sturdy +back of the retreating manager.</p> + +<p>“Whew!” he muttered. “And then some!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_90"></a>[90]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_91"></a>[91]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>When Locke had finished, Stillman gave a long +whistle of incredulous astonishment.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_92"></a>[92]</span></p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Sort of off your feed to-day, ain’t you, kid?” +Fargo inquired, with a grin.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_93"></a>[93]</span></p> + +<p>A flash of sudden comprehension leaped into +Locke’s mind and brought the color swiftly to +his face.</p> + +<p>“So that was why you said I’d had enough!” +he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>Fargo looked slightly puzzled. “Sure! Why +did you think I said it?”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_94"></a>[94]</span></p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Stillman, whose trained mind had missed no +point in the conversation, quickly broke the silence.</p> + +<p>“You surely didn’t think he had anything to +do with it?” he questioned.</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t understand why he said something +he did last night,” Lefty explained. “I was an +idiot, of course.”</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_95"></a>[95]</span> +drinks! I’ll bet he knows a thing or two, and +you ought to be able to sweat it out of him.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_96"></a>[96]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>“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 <em>am</em> a bonehead.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_97"></a>[97]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV<br> +<small>BERT ELGIN’S LUCK</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_98"></a>[98]</span> +Within a fortnight he had availed himself three +times of that permission, and they were on very +friendly terms, indeed.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_99"></a>[99]</span> +glanced curiously into the hack, and the next instant +became transformed.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“It’s all right now, sir,” he said deferentially. +“Just take my arm, if you please, and let me help +you out.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“It’s outrageous bringing us up with a horse +like that!” she exclaimed indignantly. “You<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_100"></a>[100]</span> +know I asked particularly if he was gentle, and +you said he was.”</p> + +<p>“’Deed he am, leddy,” the negro affirmed hastily. +“Dis hyer am jes’ his playful way. If dat +gemman hadn’t come—”</p> + +<p>“If he hadn’t so kindly come to our help,” the +girl put in emphatically, “we should have been +upset.”</p> + +<p>As she stepped forward to pay the cabman she +cast a glance of gratitude at Elgin, which started +the blood tingling through his veins.</p> + +<p>“What a peach!” he thought fervently.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“It was really nothing,” Elgin protested. “I +saw the horse was a bad-tempered brute, and got<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_101"></a>[101]</span> +to his head in time. I’m glad I happened to be +passing.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He held out a slim, white hand, which the ball +player clasped firmly yet not too strenuously.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes,” the clergyman agreed, with impatience. +“Janet, my dear, I think we had better +go in. I am feeling—a little faint.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>At the gate he paused, glancing back at the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_102"></a>[102]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_103"></a>[103]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV<br> +<small>THE REASON WHY</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Depends on what’s in it besides the beer,” the +newspaper man replied impulsively.</p> + +<p>The big backstop straightened up and flashed +a keen glance at him.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean by that?” he demanded +shortly.</p> + +<p>Stillman hesitated an instant, his face slightly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_104"></a>[104]</span> +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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_105"></a>[105]</span></p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“The cur!” rasped Fargo. “He put ’em there +a-purpose to throw the blame on Locke.”</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_106"></a>[106]</span> +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.”</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_107"></a>[107]</span> +sought Stillman again, to hear the remainder of +the story.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_108"></a>[108]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI<br> +<small>THE PURLOINED LETTER</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_109"></a>[109]</span> +the manager could find absolutely nothing to carp +at—his spirits began to rise.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_110"></a>[110]</span> +closely written hotel paper to a relative, and as +for tearing up a nearly finished sheet, and rewriting +it—well, that settled the question.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i lang="la">ad libitum</i>, 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_111"></a>[111]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>There was no doubt about it. “Miss Janet +Harting,” written in a strong, masculine hand,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_112"></a>[112]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>For a moment he stood scowling at the superscription +before he ripped the envelope open. +The frown deepened as he noticed the length of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_113"></a>[113]</span> +the inclosure, and then, with narrowed eyes, he +sought the signature.</p> + +<p>“Hazelton!” he muttered hoarsely. “I knew +it!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Confound him!” he cried, crushing the letter +between his fingers, “I can’t seem to get away +from him.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I’ll beat him yet!” he vowed. “I’ll put him +out of the running here, or I’m a dub!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_114"></a>[114]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII<br> +<small>GUILE</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I hope you don’t share his prejudice, Miss +Harting?” he said quickly.</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_115"></a>[115]</span> +many, and I’m sure it must be a great deal pleasanter +than being cooped up all day in a stuffy +office.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_116"></a>[116]</span> +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?”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“Locke!” the girl gasped, staring in startled +amazement. “You don’t mean to say that Phil +Hazelton is <em>here</em>?”</p> + +<p>Elgin’s jaw dropped most realistically, and he +drew his breath sharply.</p> + +<p>“You—know him?” he faltered.</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_117"></a>[117]</span> +wealthy parishioners. Philip Hazelton is a perfectly +splendid fellow, and we’re great friends.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>His expression was so contrite that the girl +laughed merrily.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Very likely,” Elgin returned hastily. “I +don’t doubt that you’re right.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Miss Harting, being keen of perception, noticed +this, and her smile faded.</p> + +<p>“You don’t really mean that?” she said abruptly.</p> + +<p>Elgin spread out his hands depreciatingly. “I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118"></a>[118]</span> +wish you wouldn’t,” he returned. “A fellow +can’t help having his opinions, you know. Let’s +change the subject.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>The pitcher’s long lashes drooped over his eyes, +and he bit his lip.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_119"></a>[119]</span></p> + +<p>After he had gone Janet Harting returned to +the parlor and stood for a space leaning thoughtfully +against the mantel.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_120"></a>[120]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII<br> +<small>THE MAN IN THE CORRIDOR</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">“Hang such weather!” grumbled Buck +Fargo, gazing disconsolately out of +the dripping window.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_121"></a>[121]</span> +and unnecessary weight. “It’ll set me back +a week.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Fargo turned suddenly from the window, his +eyes sparkling.</p> + +<p>“Gee whiz, Cy!” he exclaimed. “That ain’t a +bad idea. Why can’t we fix up one?”</p> + +<p>The pitcher’s eyes widened. “Fix up what?” +he inquired. “A Turkish bath? You talk nutty, +Buck.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Jones straightened up in his chair, his lips +pursed disapprovingly.</p> + +<p>“Not me,” he declared firmly. “Mebbe I’ve<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_122"></a>[122]</span> +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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Reckon I’ll go down and scare up somebody +for a game of billiards,” he thought.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_123"></a>[123]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>It was George Miller, the discharged waiter who +had served Locke that fatal glass of doped beer +two nights before.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Lefty, bewildered, had no time even to wonder<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_124"></a>[124]</span> +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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_125"></a>[125]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX<br> +<small>NOT QUITE PROVEN</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">“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!”</p> + +<p>Lefty grabbed the other’s wrists and, with a +twist and a wriggle, freed his throat from the +choking grasp.</p> + +<p>“Let up!” he panted. “What do you think +you’re doing, Jones? Are you nutty?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“By thunder!” he groaned. “I thought you +was Fargo.”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_126"></a>[126]</span> +eddies of what looked like smoke, but had the hot, +suffocating tang of steam.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>It proved to be simple to a degree. The improvised +Turkish bath had been an unqualified +success, as Lefty realized the instant he entered<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_127"></a>[127]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>When the outfielder’s turn came again, he carefully +adjusted the blankets about him and approached<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_128"></a>[128]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_129"></a>[129]</span> +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?”</p> + +<p>“That waiter who was fired yesterday morning,” +the newspaper man returned without an +instant’s hesitation.</p> + +<p>Lefty gasped. “What! Did you see him too?”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“The fool part of it was that I never wised up<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_130"></a>[130]</span> +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.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t he say anything about what he’d done +for Elgin?” Lefty asked eagerly.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Locke shook his head. “I’m afraid not,” he +agreed slowly.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_131"></a>[131]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX<br> +<small>JANET HARTING WONDERS</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_132"></a>[132]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“We didn’t. At least, that’s not where we’re<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_133"></a>[133]</span> +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.”</p> + +<p>Lefty nodded and leaned back, his muscular +fingers linked loosely over one knee.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>She shook her head. Her lips were half smiling, +but her eyes were fixed on his face with an +odd sort of intentness.</p> + +<p>“No,” she returned quietly. “Mr. Elgin told +me.”</p> + +<p>“Elgin?” Locke repeated incredulously. “You +can’t possibly mean Bert Elgin? I know you can’t +mean that man!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_134"></a>[134]</span></p> + +<p>“Why not?” she retorted. “I like him very +much. Besides, he was the means of saving +father and me from a serious accident.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“He came to call last night,” the girl concluded,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_135"></a>[135]</span> +“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?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! You gathered that, did you?” Lefty said +stiffly. “I suppose he blackguarded me to beat +the band.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_136"></a>[136]</span> +letter over two weeks ago, and I haven’t heard a +word from you since.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure you have,” the girl returned positively.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_137"></a>[137]</span> +“Do you have any games? I’m crazy to +see you pitch.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_138"></a>[138]</span> +different one, or have one thrust upon them by +the fans.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_139"></a>[139]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI<br> +<small>THE YELLOW STREAK</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">“Believe me, fellows,” Bill Hagin said +fervently, “that cub, Elgin, is some +scrapper.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I’m from Missouri, Bill,” drawled Russell.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Quit your kidding, Bill,” admonished Red +Pollock. “You can’t tell me no cub put it over +Ed.”</p> + +<p>“Truest thing you know,” averred the outfielder<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_140"></a>[140]</span> +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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_141"></a>[141]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Something queer about this,” he thought. +“Looks like I’d have to do a little investigating +on my own hook.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The daily practice game now took place in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_142"></a>[142]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The incident flustered the latter to such an extent +that he whipped a straight one over, which<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_143"></a>[143]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_144"></a>[144]</span> +when returning from the pursuit of a foul, and toss +it over into the grandstand.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Elgin took a step backward, his face blanching. +“I—didn’t do it on purpose,” he stammered. “It +was—”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>His eyes seemed to blaze, and Elgin, after an +involuntary motion to guard himself, dropped his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_145"></a>[145]</span> +arms and retreated a few steps. He was trembling +and his lips quivered.</p> + +<p>“I tell you—I didn’t—mean—” he stammered, +and then was silent.</p> + +<p>“You’re a liar!” was the retort. “Ain’t you +going to put your fists up, or must I make you?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Without another word, he turned and strode<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_146"></a>[146]</span> +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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_147"></a>[147]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII<br> +<small>LEFTY’S CHANCE COMES</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_148"></a>[148]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>At the end of the day Manager Brennan called +Ogan to him.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Ogan restrained his surprise, and nodded. “I +suppose I’d better not use him early in the game, +then?” he said.</p> + +<p>“No; take some of the others. He’d better be<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_149"></a>[149]</span> +fresh when he goes in. The old boys are waking +up and beginning to play ball.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>As Ogan turned away from the manager a sudden<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_150"></a>[150]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>“Want to go in to-morrow?” he asked abruptly.</p> + +<p>A faint flush stained Lefty’s face, but his voice +was perfectly composed as he answered readily:</p> + +<p>“I sure do!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_151"></a>[151]</span> +of how glad she would be if he and Elgin would +only make up their differences.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_152"></a>[152]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII<br> +<small>THERE’S MANY A SLIP</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_153"></a>[153]</span> +the fragrance of growing things. The sky was a +brilliant, cloudless blue, and it was springtime.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“It’s splendid!” she whispered to herself.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_154"></a>[154]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I’ll have to start warming up,” he explained. +“They’re going to put me in with the beginning +of the seventh.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_155"></a>[155]</span></p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>At the end of the fifth inning the score remained<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_156"></a>[156]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>He thrust it from him, however, and when Ogan +finally turned away from the manager and walked +slowly in, Lefty moved to meet him.</p> + +<p>“Old man changed his plans?” the cub pitcher +asked carelessly.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_157"></a>[157]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Sure!” Lefty said lightly. “You won’t want +me at all, then?”</p> + +<p>“Not this afternoon. I’ll put you in to-morrow, +though, if it takes a leg.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_158"></a>[158]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV<br> +<small>THE UNEXPECTED</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_159"></a>[159]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” he said in a quiet voice as she +took it.</p> + +<p>The girl smiled understandingly into his eyes. +“Come and see us soon,” was all she said, as the +car moved away.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_160"></a>[160]</span> +had been put in, as he desired, the result would +have been quite different.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Had to get my copy off,” he explained. +“Say! Have you seen old Oggie?”</p> + +<p>“You don’t mean Oggie Wilmerding!” Lefty +exclaimed incredulously.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>He was unfeignedly glad to see Lefty, and when<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_161"></a>[161]</span> +the first exuberant greetings were ended they settled +down in a corner of the lobby to talk over old +times.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>The silence which followed his remark was eloquent. +Wilmerding glanced from one frowning +face to the other, and raised his eyebrows.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter?” he inquired. “Have I +struck a false note?”</p> + +<p>“You certainly have if you sized up that cur +as decent,” Stillman retorted impulsively.</p> + +<p>“You don’t mean it!” Wilmerding exclaimed. +“Why, he seemed very pleasant. What’s he done +to get you two on his neck?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_162"></a>[162]</span></p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>The plump chap looked puzzled. “At college?” +he repeated. “I don’t understand, Jack.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Impossible!” he gasped at last, in a hoarse, +trembling voice.</p> + +<p>“It’s not impossible,” Stillman retorted +sharply. “The whole thing’s as plain as print. +Lefty caught him with the goods.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“It’s true,” Locke affirmed, wondering curiously +what brought that extraordinary expression into +the other’s face. “I saw the watch in his possession.”</p> + +<p>Wilmerding dropped his lids and swallowed +hard. For a moment or two he sat staring at his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_163"></a>[163]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t possible, Jack,” he said unevenly. +“You’ve made a big mistake.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>Wilmerding moistened his dry lips. “A great +deal,” he said slowly. “I—was the—thief, myself.”</p> + +<p>“You?” exclaimed both men together.</p> + +<p>Then Locke laughed oddly. “Jove! That was +well done, Oggie,” he exclaimed. “We both bit +beautifully.”</p> + +<p>Wilmerding shook his head. His eyes were tortured.</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_164"></a>[164]</span> +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?”</p> + +<p>Lefty nodded silently. He was too amazed to +speak.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_165"></a>[165]</span></p> + +<p>“Could you swear to the watch?” Wilmerding +asked wearily and without conviction.</p> + +<p>“Well, it looked exactly like it.”</p> + +<p>“Must have been some other watch,” Wilmerding +returned positively. “Did he ever confess +to you that he did the stealing?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_166"></a>[166]</span> +guilty of that theft, what proof had they of his +complicity in recent underhanded doings?</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_167"></a>[167]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV<br> +<small>THE STRUGGLE</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_168"></a>[168]</span></p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_169"></a>[169]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>A glance at his watch told him that it was not<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_170"></a>[170]</span> +yet eleven. Possibly Elgin might still be up, and +if the task could be done that night, so much the +better.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Come in!” called a voice impatiently.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Well, what in blazes do <em>you</em> want?” he snapped +with pointed emphasis.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“You mean—about the Ferris—business?” he +asked jerkily.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_171"></a>[171]</span></p> + +<p>Locke nodded. “Yes; I was mistaken in thinking +you mixed up in it. I’ve been mistaken for +three years.”</p> + +<p>Elgin’s brows came together in a scowl. His +lids drooped until they quite hid the expression +in his dark eyes.</p> + +<p>“Humph!” he grunted. “And when did you +find out what an ass you’ve been making of yourself?”</p> + +<p>Lefty flushed, and set his jaws. “I learned the +truth to-night,” he admitted.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Elgin’s face relaxed from its rather +tense, searching expression, and he laughed +harshly.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>Lefty drew his breath sharply, his self-control +strained almost to the breaking point.</p> + +<p>“What more can I do?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>Elgin’s lips curled. “Oh, nothing—nothing,” +he sneered. “It’s what you should have done<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_172"></a>[172]</span> +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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Without further words, he turned abruptly to +leave the room. He had almost reached the door +when Elgin’s sneering voice broke the silence:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_173"></a>[173]</span> +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.”</p> + +<p>Before Elgin could reply the southpaw had +jerked the door open, stepped swiftly through, +and slammed it behind him.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_174"></a>[174]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI<br> +<small>GAINING GROUND</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">“What the deuce did you go and tell +him for?” Jack Stillman demanded +pettishly.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>The reporter shrugged his shoulders. There +was a note of finality in his friend’s voice which +he knew better than to disregard.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean, Jack?” Lefty asked curiously.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_175"></a>[175]</span> +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.”</p> + +<p>Lefty grinned. “Oh, you mean they’re giving +him a puff on account of yesterday?”</p> + +<p>“A puff isn’t quite the word. I wish you could +have seen some of the rot Temple, of the <cite>Blade</cite>, +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.”</p> + +<p>“What’s the odds?” Lefty laughed. “You did +the same thing last year, didn’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Not quite. I knew something about baseball +to start with, and Johnny Hargreaves tipped me +off to a whole lot more.”</p> + +<p>“Still, Elgin really did do pretty well,” Locke +remarked slowly. “Anybody must concede that +much.”</p> + +<p>“No better than he has half a dozen times before,” +the reporter retorted. “That’s all I said<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_176"></a>[176]</span> +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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>From that time on, Locke’s companions began +to thaw. Once they realized that Lefty’s first disastrous<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_177"></a>[177]</span> +exhibition had not been a sample of his +usual form, they endeavored to make up for past +unpleasantness.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_178"></a>[178]</span> +when on the slab gave decided evidence of mannerisms, +which tried the patience and aroused the +ire of his fellow players.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Lefty Locke enjoyed that week more than any +similar space of time he could remember. Baseball +as a science had always interested him tremendously.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_179"></a>[179]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_180"></a>[180]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_181"></a>[181]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII<br> +<small>A CHANCE TO MAKE GOOD</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>For an instant Locke’s face was rather serious. +Then he smiled faintly.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_182"></a>[182]</span></p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Why shouldn’t he keep you both?” the newspaper +man inquired.</p> + +<p>“Look at the corking bunch of regulars he has +already,” Locke protested.</p> + +<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_183"></a>[183]</span> +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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you?” the reporter asked, with sudden +interest. “I thought he picked the team this +afternoon.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_184"></a>[184]</span> +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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>His surmise proved to be correct.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_185"></a>[185]</span></p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“You don’t seem much fretted about putting +your cubs up against this young sagebrush fellow,” +the newspaper man remarked presently.</p> + +<p>Brennan’s eyes twinkled a bit.</p> + +<p>“I ain’t,” he admitted. “Likely they’ll get the +pants licked off ’em, but that’ll do ’em good.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_186"></a>[186]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII<br> +<small>A BAD BEGINNING</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Locke smiled faintly.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_187"></a>[187]</span></p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Though he spoke confidently, Lefty did not feel +quite as nonchalant and undisturbed as he pretended +to be.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_188"></a>[188]</span> +he could and relying on his support to take care of +the hits.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_189"></a>[189]</span> +We’ll have him going. Smash it out, Bull; you +can do it.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>He quite ignored a coaxer which Lefty tried +him with, and the latter, taking a signal from +Fargo, sent over a whistling high inshoot.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_190"></a>[190]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Got ’em going, boys!” yelled Schaeffer. +“They’re e-easy. Now, Pete, you know what to +do.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“That’s the stuff,” laughed Schaeffer, as he +stepped out with his bat. “Here’s where we pull +the Hornet’s stinger.”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_191"></a>[191]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>“Get back,” Locke said sharply.</p> + +<p>“Aw, pitch the ball!” snapped Schaeffer. +“What’s bitin’ you?”</p> + +<p>“You’re out of your box,” declared Lefty. +“I’m liable to hit you.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll take a chance, Willie,” the Texan retorted +offensively. “I ain’t seen you pass up anything +very dangerous so far.”</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, at the umpire’s command, he +edged back grudgingly, but persisted in keeping a +bit of his toes over the line.</p> + +<p>“The close ones for him,” Lefty decided +swiftly. “With that reach of his, he can hit anything +a foot outside the pan.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Schaeffer stepped in, and was unable to dodge +that shoot. It caught him glancingly, high up on<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_192"></a>[192]</span> +the body, and made him stagger a bit. Then, +growling a few choice epithets, he obeyed the umpire’s +signal to take his base.</p> + +<p>“That man stepped out of his box, Mr. Umpire,” +Fargo protested. “He wouldn’t have been +hit if he’d kept his place.”</p> + +<p>“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 <em>you</em>.”</p> + +<p>The umpire refused to reverse his decision.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_193"></a>[193]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX<br> +<small>TAKING A BRACE</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">“Sickening!” growled Bert Elgin sitting +on the bench. “But what can you expect +with a dub like Locke on the slab?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you believe it,” snapped Elgin. “If +we had a real pitcher—”</p> + +<p>“A hit!” Whalen cried. “No, it isn’t, either. +It’s going straight at Burley.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_194"></a>[194]</span></p> + +<p>“Butterfingers!” he said bitterly. “Why +didn’t you hold it, you chunk of solid ivory!”</p> + +<p>Cinch Brown trotted easily over the plate, and +Kenny, covering the ground with tremendous +strides, rounded third, and was urged on by the +coacher.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Slide! Slide!” shrieked the spectators.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_195"></a>[195]</span> +base, but Schaeffer slid feet foremost straight for +the sack, and spiked Daly, who dropped the ball.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Too bad,” he said, as Daly limped off the field. +“Accidents will happen, you know. He should +have watched out for spikes, anyhow.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_196"></a>[196]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>“He’s done for,” muttered Elgin on the bench. +“They’ve got his goat. He’s given away the +game in the first inning.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_197"></a>[197]</span> +did not have to waste a fraction of a second in +lining it to third.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Well, what do you think of that?” chuckled +the delighted Whalen. “Locke’s not so worse, +after all.”</p> + +<p>“He had nothing to do with it,” snapped Elgin, +concealing his disappointment with an effort.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_198"></a>[198]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX<br> +<small>THE TRICKY TWIRLER</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“You’re up, Buck,” he said shortly. “Start us +off with a good one, old fellow.”</p> + +<p>Fargo grinned, sauntered to the plate, and +tapped the rubber indolently with his war club. +Then he stood back, when Schaeffer, who seemed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_199"></a>[199]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>“Showing off,” Fargo commented, as if to himself, +but in a voice which penetrated to Schaeffer’s +ears. “I thought that was it.”</p> + +<p>Then he stepped into the box again, smiling at +the Texan twirler in a manner which seemed to +aggravate that individual not a little.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Ho! Ho! Ho!” shouted Pete Nevens from +third. “He didn’t know it went by, Zack, old +Bronc!”</p> + +<p>“Give him another sample,” urged the player +on first.</p> + +<p>“Mebbe you’d like him to toss you one,” suggested +Kenny. “He’s got a nice little lob ball that +mebbe you can hit.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_200"></a>[200]</span></p> + +<p>Buck Fargo simply smiled that wide smile of +his, and waited quietly, his eye on Schaeffer.</p> + +<p>“Look out!” shouted the pitcher, as the ball +left his fingers the second time.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_201"></a>[201]</span> +as Fargo quite expected, it took such a sharp shoot +that it cut the plate almost in twain.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>By rapid work, the right fielder got the ball in +time to cut the hit down to a single.</p> + +<p>Bill Hagin stepped blithely to the pan, and +Fargo danced away from first.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_202"></a>[202]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Here’s where we tie up!” cried Ogan jubilantly. +“Here’s where we take the lead! Smash +her out, Sandy.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“This time he’ll send over a hummer,” he +thought, taking a fresh grip on his stick.</p> + +<p>Schaeffer went through the movements which<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_203"></a>[203]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>“You’re out!” said the umpire.</p> + +<p>“That’s the goods, Zack!” laughed Kenny, +pounding his mitt. “They can’t touch you. Put +this sorrel-top in cold storage for me.”</p> + +<p>“Only one down!” cried Fargo. “Show this +bunch of panhandlers what you can do when you +try, Red.”</p> + +<p>Pollock stepped briskly to the plate, waited for +a ball which looked good to him, and smashed it +out for a single.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_204"></a>[204]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_205"></a>[205]</span> +game had not his backstop hustled out into the +diamond and grabbed him by the arm.</p> + +<p>“Don’t be a fool, Zack!” he snapped. “Keep +your trap shut, or you’ll be canned. Can you go +ahead with the game?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I’ll get you yet, you swelled-headed squirt!” +Schaeffer hissed. “Wait, that’s all—just wait!”</p> + +<p>Locke smiled blandly. “Quit your beefing,” +he advised. “You’re making everybody tired.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_206"></a>[206]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI<br> +<small>ONCE TOO OFTEN</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>When his successor, Gash Benkard, fanned, it +looked as if that half of the inning was going to +be a tame one.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_207"></a>[207]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_208"></a>[208]</span> +forgot that two were “down” already, slid +to second just ahead of the flying horsehide.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he pitched, and the ball shot upward +with a little jump, rising over the Texan’s bat as +he struck.</p> + +<p>“Strike!” droned the umpire.</p> + +<p>“That’s the stuff!” cried Ogan from first. +“Got him swinging like a garden gate, Lefty.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_209"></a>[209]</span></p> + +<p>Schaeffer set his teeth, and the flesh seemed to +harden over his jaws. His eyes gleamed.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Look out!” cried Fargo.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Beg pardon,” mumbled the batter. “Accident.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Locke made no comment, however. After the +man had recovered his bat, the southpaw stood for<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_210"></a>[210]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Wish he would!” growled Bert Elgin.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“You seem to have it in for him,” Whalen remarked +pointedly. “Strikes me he got out of +that hole pretty neat.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_211"></a>[211]</span></p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“That gink is going to get his one of these +days,” he remarked to Brennan. “Why don’t +you make him behave, Jim?”</p> + +<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_212"></a>[212]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_213"></a>[213]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII<br> +<small>THE SPIKING OF SCHAEFFER</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>“It—wasn’t my fault,” he stammered. “He +was out of his box. He couldn’t get away from +my inshoot.”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I’m spiked!” he cried furiously. “Lemme +get my hands on the dog that did it! I’ll—”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_214"></a>[214]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>At this point Locke recovered from his astonishment, +and, with a desperate effort, managed to +tear the hands from their choking hold.</p> + +<p>“I never touched you,” he denied. “I +wouldn’t—”</p> + +<p>Wild with pain and rage, Schaeffer frothed out +an insult, and Lefty promptly dealt him an open-hander +on the mouth.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Stop that!” he roared, grasping Lefty’s wrist +and stepping between the men. His face was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_215"></a>[215]</span> +purple with anger, and his eyes glowed like twin +sparks. “What do you think you’re doing?”</p> + +<p>“He spiked me!” snarled Schaeffer. “The cur +spiked me! Look at that foot.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Somebody stepped on you by accident,” he +said shortly.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Who are you talking about?” Brennan +asked.</p> + +<p>“Him!” retorted the pitcher, glaring at Locke. +“I knew he’d be up to some dirty trick.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“Humph!” Brennan’s keen eyes roved around +the circle of faces. “Anybody know anything +about this?” he demanded.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_216"></a>[216]</span></p> + +<p>There was a chorus of denial, and the manager +turned back to Schaeffer.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>He stood glaring at the Texan, who for once +had nothing to say. Presently Brennan’s eyes +swept the circle again.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Reluctantly, and with many savage glances at +Schaeffer, the Hornets obeyed. It came hard to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_217"></a>[217]</span> +leave the scoundrel that way, but they knew Brennan +meant what he said, and so they gave in.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>He looked curiously at Elgin, who shook his +head promptly.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The general sentiment was that Schaeffer had +been well repaid for his dirty work on the slab; +but the more thoughtfully inclined, knowing Jim<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_218"></a>[218]</span> +Brennan’s temperament, wondered what would +happen if the manager ever found out who had +done the spiking.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_219"></a>[219]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII<br> +<small>THE TELEGRAM</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_220"></a>[220]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>With Bert Elgin and his little group of cronies,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_221"></a>[221]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The explanation of this latter fact had been<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_222"></a>[222]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The days had sped with such swiftness that +Lefty could scarcely believe the end to be so near<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_223"></a>[223]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Say, mister,” the latter inquired, as he recovered +his balance, “is Tom Locke inside?”</p> + +<p>“That’s my name,” Lefty answered swiftly. +“What is it?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_224"></a>[224]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p class="noi">Father is dying. Come at once. I am all alone.</p> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Janet.</span><br></p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_225"></a>[225]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV<br> +<small>NOTHING ELSE POSSIBLE</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">“Any answer?”</p> + +<p>Lefty raised his head and stared +stupidly at the boy for an instant. +Then he came to himself.</p> + +<p>“Yes! Give me a pencil—quick!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“There!” he exclaimed, thrusting it at the boy; +“send that off right away. Don’t lose a minute. +Here. Keep the change.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“There’s no ’phone at the park,” he muttered,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_226"></a>[226]</span> +throwing a shoe into a corner. “I haven’t time, +anyway.”</p> + +<p>He tore off his stockings, flung shirt and trousers +on the floor, and made a dive for his street +clothes.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>That finished, he snatched his hat, and darted<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_227"></a>[227]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_228"></a>[228]</span> +thrust of a knife. How could any living thing be +joyful when her father lay dying?</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Why, Lefty!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The man stared up in petrified astonishment. +What did it mean? Was he dreaming, or had she +gone daft?</p> + +<p>“Why, Lefty!” she exclaimed again. “This is +splendid! How did you ever manage to get +away?”</p> + +<p>He swallowed hard and, without knowing what +he did, wiped beads of perspiration from his forehead.</p> + +<p>“I came,” he gasped. “Your—father, Janet?”</p> + +<p>A little frown of perplexity came into her forehead.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_229"></a>[229]</span></p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“You didn’t send me a telegram this morning, +then?” Locke interrupted in a strange voice.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Lefty!” she cried again. “What is it? +What makes you look so?”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_230"></a>[230]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“There’s been an unfortunate—mistake, +Janet,” he said quietly. “I’ll come up and tell +you about it.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_231"></a>[231]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV<br> +<small>FOR WANT OF A LIE</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>For an instant he stood staring curiously around +the disordered room. Then a triumphant smile +curved his lips, and his eyes danced maliciously.</p> + +<p>“Looks like the kid worked it, all right,” he said,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_232"></a>[232]</span> +in a low tone. “I was afraid he might slip up +on something. What’s this?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“‘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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_233"></a>[233]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Where the deuce have you been?” the backstop +inquired directly, and with force. “How’d +you happen to duck?”</p> + +<p>“For Heaven’s sake, Buck,” the young pitcher +appealed fervently, “don’t tell me you didn’t get +my note?”</p> + +<p>“If it explained what in thunder made you do +such a fool trick as this, I most certainly didn’t,” +Fargo returned.</p> + +<p>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—”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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?<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_234"></a>[234]</span> +Strikes me it’s about time something +of the sort was dished up.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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 <em>had</em> to go.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Well, go on,” growled Brennan.</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_235"></a>[235]</span> +table in our room. You must have missed it, Buck, +or didn’t you go to the room?”</p> + +<p>He turned eagerly to his friend, but the latter +shook his head.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps that was it,” Lefty agreed. “I +wrote it and stuck it up where you’d see it the +first thing.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_236"></a>[236]</span> +for a moment or two as if vainly searching for +something more to find fault with.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“He was never sick at all,” he said swiftly, +his face rather pale.</p> + +<p>Brennan stared. “Never sick!” he repeated<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_237"></a>[237]</span> +sharply. “Then what in time did she send the +telegram for, I’d like to know?”</p> + +<p>Lefty thrust both hands behind his back, gripping +the fingers tightly together. His eyes met +Brennan’s squarely.</p> + +<p>“She didn’t. She knew nothing about it. It +was sent by some one else.”</p> + +<p>“What for?”</p> + +<p>The words came from Brennan’s lips like bullets. +Suspicion, incredulity, anger, showed in his +piercing eyes.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” Lefty answered. “It looks as +if some one wanted to get me away from the +game.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“Is that so?” sneered the manager. “Did it +get to the girl? Did it come while you were +there?”</p> + +<p>“N-o.”</p> + +<p>“I thought so. It never went. Just so the +other never came.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_238"></a>[238]</span></p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Is it?” retorted the manager incredulously. +“Just you wait a minute and I’ll find out if it is +or not.”</p> + +<p>Turning abruptly, he hurried over to a telephone +booth and shut himself in. The instant +the manager’s back was turned Buck Fargo +groaned.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I wanted to lie,” the youngster confessed, “but +I simply couldn’t, Buck.”</p> + +<p>“You’re awful particular! Who do you s’pose +done it, that cur Elgin?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t think of any one else equal to it,” Lefty +answered. “It wouldn’t be the first miserable +trick he’s worked.”</p> + +<p>He broke off as a door slammed and Brennan +came striding toward them, his eyes savage and +his face the color of a beet.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_239"></a>[239]</span></p> + +<p>“I knew it!” he said. “No such message went +through the office.”</p> + +<p>He paused a second, his legs spread wide apart, +regarding Lefty with a cold, contemptuous +scrutiny.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>He wheeled round and took a few steps across +the lobby. Suddenly he turned back.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Neither man spoke.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_240"></a>[240]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI<br> +<small>DROPPED OUT OF SIGHT</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_241"></a>[241]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_242"></a>[242]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_243"></a>[243]</span></p> + +<p>“I’ll write when I make good, Buck,” he returned +quietly. “There won’t be anything to tell +you till then.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_244"></a>[244]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_245"></a>[245]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII<br> +<small>OPENING THE SEASON</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Then, with the squad trimmed down to the number<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_246"></a>[246]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_247"></a>[247]</span> +till the ninth inning, and then only by an infielder’s +error, which let in the single tally made that day.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<em>got</em> to take the chance. I’m banking on Elgin.”</p> + +<p>“Hum!” muttered Stillman.</p> + +<p>The manager detected the doubt in Stillman’s +mind. “You’ll have to allow that he’s shown +form and class for a youngster.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_248"></a>[248]</span></p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Stillman raised his eyebrows. “Well?” he +drawled.</p> + +<p>“Well, what?” retorted Brennan. “What more +do you want than speed, and control, and brains?”</p> + +<p>“Sand,” the reporter said succinctly.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>A faint touch of color tinged Stillman’s face.</p> + +<p>“You’re right there, Brennan,” he said briefly. +“There’s no comparison between them. Well +we’ll see how he pans out on Saturday.”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_249"></a>[249]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_250"></a>[250]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII<br> +<small>THE TWO MANAGERS</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“A few, maybe. I can stand it, though. Once +fat, a little more never cuts any ice. Sit down and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_251"></a>[251]</span> +rest your face and hands. I see you’ve had a +clean sweep so far.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Humph!” grunted Brennan. “That remains +to be seen. Who you going to dish up for us to +knock the stuffing out of—Pete Grist?”</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_252"></a>[252]</span> +here to try him out on you. It’s always best to +give a youngster something easy to start with.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_253"></a>[253]</span></p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_254"></a>[254]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX<br> +<small>THE MEETING IN THE GRANDSTAND</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_255"></a>[255]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_256"></a>[256]</span></p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Hang it all!” he muttered. “Why didn’t I +start half an hour earlier, or wire from Boston +for a box?”</p> + +<p>“Because you’re the same lazy old slob you were +three years ago,” chuckled a voice in his ear.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_257"></a>[257]</span> +and give me a chance. You’re spread over two +seats, easy.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“Rot!” broke in the stout chap emphatically. +“You make me sick! At least, you might have<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_258"></a>[258]</span> +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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Presently Wilmerding turned again to his +friend.</p> + +<p>“Well, where’d you go?” he asked. “What +you been doing ever since?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” the stout fellow inquired<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_259"></a>[259]</span> +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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He hesitated an instant, and then went on +swiftly, a note of sudden curiosity in his voice:</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>Wilmerding stared. “Game?” he repeated +blankly. “Bert Elgin? I don’t get you, Snow. +Elucidate.”</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_260"></a>[260]</span> +mood for gassing with any one else, so I said +nothing and slipped back to one side of the door.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Wilmerding gave a slight start, the color flaming +into his face.</p> + +<p>“Go on,” he urged, as his friend, glancing at +him, paused in his narration. “What—happened?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“What—books—were they?” he gasped at +length, in a hoarse voice.</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_261"></a>[261]</span> +were over on the extreme right-hand end of the +case.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“What day was that, Snow?” he breathed.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>He was not a thief!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>There could be no mistake, however. The details +fitted too perfectly to admit of a coincidence.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_262"></a>[262]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_263"></a>[263]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XL">CHAPTER XL<br> +<small>THE SURPRISE</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Who is he?” Russell asked curiously.</p> + +<p>The manager paused until a camera had been +snapped and the reporter had retreated to a little +distance.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_264"></a>[264]</span> +that he was to go on the slab first for the Hornets.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>While this was going on, another cheer went up +from the stands as the Blue Stockings’ contingent +appeared and rapidly crossed the field.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“What is the matter with you?” he asked +sharply.</p> + +<p>Elgin swallowed hard, and his face, which had +turned slightly pale, now flamed crimson.</p> + +<p>“Look there!” he said hoarsely.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_265"></a>[265]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I’ll—be—hanged!” he gasped. “Tom Locke!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>There was an odd expression on Lefty’s face as +he grasped Fargo’s big fists firmly. For an instant +he did not speak.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_266"></a>[266]</span></p> + +<p>“I didn’t make good, Buck—honest I didn’t,” +he said at length in a low tone.</p> + +<p>“G’wan!” retorted the backstop. “What you +giving us? Ain’t you with the Blue Stockings?”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>Locke hesitated an instant, and then nodded. +“Yes,” he said, lowering his voice. “Kennedy’s +going to give me a chance.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_267"></a>[267]</span> +skin. Then he pulled himself together with an effort, +and laughed.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“I’m not keen about losing the game,” Fargo +returned. “But I shouldn’t shed tears if Elgin +was hammered out of the box.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Brennan, still scowling, called peremptorily to +his men, and sent them loping on to the diamond +for preliminary practice. Locke took a position<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_268"></a>[268]</span> +over to one side, and commenced warming up. +The field was soon a picture of animated motion.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll see if you’re right,” smiled Kennedy.</p> + +<p>Brennan turned away, grumbling incoherently. +Evidently he was still feeling somewhat sore.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_269"></a>[269]</span> +The gingery fielding practice continued to the delight +of the spectators, who applauded every +snappy throw or pretty catch.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Then came a tense, breathless hush as they +waited for the first ball to be pitched.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_270"></a>[270]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLI">CHAPTER XLI<br> +<small>THE BEGINNING OF THE GAME</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_271"></a>[271]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>It was followed by an incurve that cut the corner +of the plate.</p> + +<p>Dalton fouled back of the pan.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_272"></a>[272]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The caustic comment and jeering criticism which +had greeted Elgin’s appearance were as nothing to +the disparaging chorus that arose when Lefty<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_273"></a>[273]</span> +walked out into the diamond. Baseball fans are +extremely partizan, and the supporters of the Hornets +outnumbered those of their opponents ten to +one.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>For a second he waited for his catcher’s signal,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_274"></a>[274]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_275"></a>[275]</span></p> + +<p>The crowd cheered, and urged Dutch Siegrist to +carry on the good work.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Buck Fargo was advancing to the plate, too, +which boded well for the Hornets.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_276"></a>[276]</span></p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Lefty’s face was a shade less brown as he toed +the rubber, but his nerves were quite steady, his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_277"></a>[277]</span> +courage unabated. He would do his best; no man +could do more.</p> + +<p>The cheering and comments in the stands had +ceased. Even the murmur of voices died away +as the spectators bent forward in breathless suspense.</p> + +<p>The first one was not over, and Fargo refused +to go after it.</p> + +<p>“Ba-a-ll!” drawled the umpire.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Two-oo!” said the umpire.</p> + +<p>In the silence of the breathless crowd some one +was heard to say:</p> + +<p>“He’s afraid of him. He don’t dare let him +hit it.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_278"></a>[278]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The murmur rose.</p> + +<p>Then Locke tried that slow, lingering ball which +he could so cleverly deliver after going through +movements which seemed to promise great speed.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>After what seemed an eternity, but which was, +in reality, the briefest sort of pause, the southpaw +pitched.</p> + +<p>Fargo met the sphere on the trademark and +sent it humming out on a line with the speed of a +bullet.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_279"></a>[279]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLII">CHAPTER XLII<br> +<small>THE TRUTH AT LAST</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_280"></a>[280]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_281"></a>[281]</span> +inning rather took the wind out of their sails. +They gave vent to their annoyance by heaping +abuse on the umpire.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“It was Dalton who put a kibosh on them,” +Locke returned. “That was some throw of his +to first.”</p> + +<p>“Sure. But you used your nut and made it +possible. One minute, Grant. You’d better—”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_282"></a>[282]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Great work,” chuckled Jack Stillman, up at +the reporters’ table, as he reached for his tobacco +pouch.</p> + +<p>“Great luck, I should say,” retorted the newspaper<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_283"></a>[283]</span> +man next to him. “Looks to me like a +fine case of horseshoes.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not so sure about that,” put in the sporting +editor of the <cite>Blade</cite>, 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?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_284"></a>[284]</span> +the seal of a notary public and signed by one +Edward Black, and several witnesses.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He half rose from his seat, only to drop back +into it again as he realized the impossibility of +reaching Brennan now.</p> + +<p>“Afterward will do as well,” he muttered. “If +this doesn’t blow the scoundrel clean out of water, +I’m a lobster!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_285"></a>[285]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLIII">CHAPTER XLIII<br> +<small>THE LUCKY SEVENTH</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>There were a few in the vast crowd, more observant<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_286"></a>[286]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_287"></a>[287]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_288"></a>[288]</span> +that he cut loose from the backstop’s apron-strings. +He had been hitched to them too long +already.</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_289"></a>[289]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Take him out! Take him out!” they bawled. +“Russell! We—want—Cy!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_290"></a>[290]</span></p> + +<p>“Kill it, Locke!” was the stentorian cry. “Kill +it, old boy!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>There was a momentary pause as Fargo hurried +into the diamond and spoke a few reassuring +words to the white-faced twirler.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>It was Janet Harting!</p> + +<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_291"></a>[291]</span> +and she believed in him. He toed the slab, believing +more than ever in himself.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Reluctantly Elgin wound up and pitched.</p> + +<p>The southpaw’s bat met the horsehide with a +smash that sent it flying over Nolan’s head toward +the left field bleachers.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Then it was seen that Nolan must fail to make<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_292"></a>[292]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you Locke!” they shrieked fondly. +“What’s the matter with Lefty? He’s—all—right!”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Take him out! Take him out! Take-him-out! +He’s yellow!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_293"></a>[293]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>He wanted to be taken out. He was afraid.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_294"></a>[294]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLIV">CHAPTER XLIV<br> +<small>THE LEADING RUN</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_295"></a>[295]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_296"></a>[296]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Lay down a bunt, Dirk,” Kennedy said quietly, +as Nelson came up.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Here’s the run! Here’s the game!” came +from the crowd as Jack Daly walked coolly to the +plate. “Lewis will score!”</p> + +<p>A safe hit or a long fly meant victory, if Locke +continued his fine work and shut out the home<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_297"></a>[297]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The Blue Stockings’ fielder was taking no +chances, however. He stuck to third, waiting for +something safer to take him home.</p> + +<p>The witnesses who favored the Hornets applauded +the catch, while the opposition strained +their lungs rooting for Locke.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_298"></a>[298]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_299"></a>[299]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLV">CHAPTER XLV<br> +<small>LEFTY’S TRIUMPH</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Lefty knew that the Hornets’ fielder was a man<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_300"></a>[300]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>But Nolan declined to be fooled. He disdained +the first two balls, and the crowd began to shout +for a free pass.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Lewis lunged for it, and his fingers almost +touched the sphere, but not quite. Nolan rounded +first to the accompaniment of much joyful +clamor.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_301"></a>[301]</span> +hole, Buck suddenly and unexpectedly bunted, +sending the ball rolling slowly toward first.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Hit it out!” they shrieked. “Smash it on the +nose! Here’s where we get two runs and the +game!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_302"></a>[302]</span> +which was, however, an inshoot, and again the +Hornet fielder missed.</p> + +<p>“Hit it, Johnny!” pleaded the local fans. +“Don’t let him fool you. Smash it out.”</p> + +<p>“Fan him!” shrieked the Blue Stockings’ supporters +wildly, their hopes beginning to rise again. +“Fan him, Lefty! You’ve got to do it.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Out!” called the umpire.</p> + +<p>But the word was not heard because of the +deafening roar which rose from the delighted +visitors.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_303"></a>[303]</span> +with the words <a href="#i_frontis">he was saying</a> over and over <a href="#i_frontis">to +himself:</a></p> + +<p><a href="#i_frontis">“One more! Only one more! I must get him—I’ve +got to!”</a></p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_304"></a>[304]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Out!” shouted the umpire, flinging up one +hand.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_305"></a>[305]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLVI">CHAPTER XLVI<br> +<small>HOW IT ALL HAPPENED</small></h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_306"></a>[306]</span></p> + +<p>“You needn’t rub it in,” snapped the sorely +tried manager. “If that’s all you’ve got to +say—”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“What?” exploded the stocky manager. “I +don’t believe it!”</p> + +<p>The reporter pulled a folded paper from his +pocket and handed it to Brennan. “There’s the +proof,” he said quietly.</p> + +<p>The manager jerked it open and cast his eyes +hurriedly down the sheet. Wrath clouded his +face.</p> + +<p>“Elgin!” he growled throwing back his head. +“Where is he? Just let me— Hey, you Elgin! +Come here!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“You can pack!” Brennan snapped, eying the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_307"></a>[307]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>Elgin’s jaw dropped and his face flamed scarlet. +“You’re going to send me down to the—the Lobsters?” +he stammered.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Good riddance!” growled Brennan.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“You did a fine job, kid,” he said gruffly, thrusting +out a square, stubby hand. “Shake!”</p> + +<p>Without hesitation Lefty gripped his fingers.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_308"></a>[308]</span> +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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Brennan chuckled a little over Kennedy’s retort,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_309"></a>[309]</span> +and then turned to Lefty, his face suddenly +serious.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The question was swiftly answered by the appearance +of Jack Stillman, elbowing his way +through the crowd.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_310"></a>[310]</span> +gathered, watching the animated scene interestedly.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>The man held her hands for an instant. His +face was puzzled.</p> + +<p>“Sorry?” he repeated. “What have I done to +make you sorry?”</p> + +<p>Her lovely eyes were fixed earnestly on his. +Fargo had slipped away.</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_311"></a>[311]</span> +brought a vivid rush of crimson flaming to her +face.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="p2 noic">THE END</p> + + + + +<hr class="chap"> +<div class="tnote"> +<p class="noi tntitle">Transcriber’s Notes:</p> + +<p class="smfont">Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.</p> + +<p class="smfont">Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.</p> + +<p class="smfont">Inconsistent hyphenation and compound words were made + consistent only when a predominant form was found.</p> +</div> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75250 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + |