Update for 76584HEAD main

author: pgww <pgww@lists.pglaf.org> 2025-07-28 23:22:03 -0700
committer: pgww <pgww@lists.pglaf.org> 2025-07-28 23:22:03 -0700
commit: 5b922a70116cafb70535440911983a9d55ccabd2 (patch)
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+<!DOCTYPE html>
+<html lang="en">
+<head>
+    <meta charset="UTF-8">
+
+    <title>
+      Lefty o’ the Blue Stockings | Project Gutenberg
+    </title>
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+</head>
+
+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76584 ***</div>
+
+
+<figure class="figcenter x-ebookmaker-drop" id="cover_sm">
+  <img class="x-ebookmaker-drop" 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 BLUE STOCKINGS</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<figure class="figcenter" id="i_frontispiece">
+  <img src="images/i_frontispiece.jpg" alt="" title="">
+  <figcaption class="caption">
+    <p class="noic"><a href="#Page_43">THERE WAS A SHARP, CLEAN CRACK, AND THE HORSEHIDE
+WENT HUMMING INTO THE OUTFIELD.</a></p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h1>LEFTY<br>
+O’ THE BLUE STOCKINGS</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 Big<br>
+League,” “Lefty o’ the Training Camp.”</p>
+
+<p class="p4 noic"><i>ILLUSTRATED</i></p>
+
+<p class="p6 noic"><span class="adauthor">GROSSET &amp; DUNLAP</span><br>
+PUBLISHERS<span class="sp2em">&#160;</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 &amp; 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">&#160;</th>
+  <th class="smfontr">PAGE</th>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">I</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">The Unlucky Seventh</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">11</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">II</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">Stopping a Rally</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">19</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">III</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">Tied In the Eighth</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">24</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">IV</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">Real Pitching</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">33</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">V</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">One For Lefty</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">39</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">VI</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">A Summons from the Manager</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">45</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">VII</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">A Girl and the Girl</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">52</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">VIII</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">At the Theater</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">59</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">IX</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">“In Bad”</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">68</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">X</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">The Grouch</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">78</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XI</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">On the Raw Edge</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">85</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XII</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">Uncertainty</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">90</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XIII</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">Suspense</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">96</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XIV</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">A Wild Heave</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">102</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XV</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">Thrown Away</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">108</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XVI</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">Hot Words</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">113</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XVII</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">The Unapproachable Locke</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">120</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XVIII</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">Under a Cloud</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">127</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XIX</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">The Stranger</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">136</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XX</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">The Retired Manager</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">144</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XXI</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">Back In the Game</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">150</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XXII</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">Building Up the Team</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">155</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XXIII</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">The Man Who Denied Himself</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">161</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XXIV</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">Perplexed</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">167</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XXV</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">Stranger Gets a Job</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">173</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XXVI</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">Mighty Queer</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">179</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XXVII</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">Did He Remember?</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">184</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XXVIII</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">A New Pitcher</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">192</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XXIX</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">At the Field</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">199</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XXX</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">Baseball Luck</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">206</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XXXI</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">Pitchers’ Waterloo</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">212</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XXXII</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">Filling the Breach</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">218</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XXXIII</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">The Man on the Mound</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">222</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XXXIV</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">The Other Pitcher</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">227</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XXXV</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">The Steal Home</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">233</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XXXVI</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">Stranger Is Annoyed</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">238</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XXXVII</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">The Doctor’s Doubts</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">244</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XXXVIII</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">First Position</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">249</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XXXIX</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIX">A Troubled Mind</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">256</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XL</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XL">The Reporter</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">262</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XLI</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLI">The Man Who Knew</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">266</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XLII</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLII">Failure</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">271</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XLIII</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLIII">The Come-back</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">274</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XLIV</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLIV">Back to His Own</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">280</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XLV</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLV">The Girls In the Box</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">287</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XLVI</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLVI">The Game of His Life</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">292</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 BLUE STOCKINGS</p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I<br>
+<small>THE UNLUCKY SEVENTH</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">It was “Bush” Aldrich, of the Specters, who
+started the trouble by smashing out a two-base
+hit in the seventh. Bush was one of
+the latest acquisitions of that hard-hitting,
+snappy, scrappy aggregation of Big League talent
+which had fought its way into the first division,
+and was giving last season’s pennant
+winners, the Blue Stockings, a decidedly uncomfortable
+time holding their all too scanty lead.</p>
+
+<p>Bush had already shown his ability to stay with
+fast company by getting two clean singles off
+Grist, the Blue Stocking twirler, but fine fielding
+had prevented either bingle from being effective.
+Now, however, with one out, and a man on first
+and third, either through luck or cleverness, he
+hit again at the psychological moment to cause a
+break in the hard-fought game.</p>
+
+<p>Grist, sure that he had fathomed the youngster’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_12"></a>[12]</span>
+weakness, tried his sharp outdrop, which
+had pulled the right fielder more than once before.
+This time, however, Aldrich was ready for it.
+Poising a bat that was a bit longer than any he
+had used before, he stepped in as the ball curved
+and smote it a crack which brought half the spectators
+in the crowded stands to their feet with a
+concerted gasp of dismay.</p>
+
+<p>As the sphere whistled out on a line, Larry Dalton,
+the Blue Stocking second baseman, flung up
+his hands in a ludicrous gesture of despair.
+Brock, the slim, speedy center fielder, had already
+turned his back on the home plate, and was flying
+toward the fence like a deer that has heard the
+whistling whine of a hunter’s bullet. Unfortunately,
+the ball held up better than he expected,
+and, though he strained every nerve, he saw that
+there was little chance to make the catch.</p>
+
+<p>With a last desperate spurt, he launched himself
+through the air like a catapult, both hands
+outstretched. The horsehide struck the ends of
+his fingers, and a despairing groan rose from the
+staring fans as it fell to the ground and rolled to
+one side.</p>
+
+<p>Brock snatched it up, and whipped it back into
+the diamond. Bugs Murray was just jogging
+over the plate. Logie, the Specter shortstop, had
+rounded second, and was flying toward third,
+urged on by staccato promptings from the coaching<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_13"></a>[13]</span>
+line. Aldrich was fairly tearing up the
+ground between first and second. As the sphere
+came whirling toward the waiting Dalton’s eager
+hands, Bush slid.</p>
+
+<p>The umpire, squatting to watch the play, put
+his hand out, palm downward; and another groan
+arose from the stands, punctuated, by protesting
+yells and bitter comment.</p>
+
+<p>“They’re gone!” shouted the Specter captain
+joyously. “They’re up in the air! Hit her on
+the nose, Rowdy; you can do it!”</p>
+
+<p>Kenyon, the visitors’ clever second baseman,
+pranced, grinning, to the plate, seemingly inspired
+with new life. Grist caught the ball deftly, apparently
+undisturbed by the unfortunate break.
+As he paused to drive Logie back to third, however,
+he discovered that Carson, the new manager,
+had left the coaching line and returned to
+the bench, from which he could get an accurate
+view of the entire field.</p>
+
+<p>“He needn’t worry,” muttered the pitcher to
+himself, as he turned back to face the smiling batter.
+“We’re still one run to the good, and this
+little flurry is going to have the kibosh put on it
+right here and now.”</p>
+
+<p>He had little fear of Kenyon doing anything;
+so far Rowdy’s hitting had been of a decidedly
+negligible quality. Perhaps it was this touch
+of unconscious carelessness which proved Pete<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_14"></a>[14]</span>
+Grist’s undoing; perhaps it was due simply to
+the mysterious hitting streak which comes at the
+most unexpected times, and without apparent reason.
+At all events, after playing the waiting
+game to the last moment, Kenyon finally smashed
+a sizzler through the short field, scoring Logie,
+and himself reaching first by a great sprint.</p>
+
+<p>Instantly the entire Specter visiting team began
+openly to rejoice:</p>
+
+<p>“Up in a balloon!” “Got him going!”
+“Here’s where we lock it up in a valise!” “Murder
+it, Ted, old man!” “Laminate it! Only one
+down, you know.”</p>
+
+<p>A low, concerted growl began to sound from
+the spectators who crowded the stands. Ready
+to shout themselves hoarse for a man pitching a
+winning game, their displeasure was even more
+swift, and quite without mercy. Here and there
+a shrill voice bawled admonition and biting criticism,
+which sounded above the barking chorus of
+the Blue Stocking infield:</p>
+
+<p>“Get into him, Pete, old man!”</p>
+
+<p>“Kill him, old boy! You can do it!”</p>
+
+<p>“Warp ’em round his neck!”</p>
+
+<p>A spot of red glowed dully in each tanned cheek
+as Grist dug his copper toe clip into the earth
+and cuddled the ball under his chin. The sudden
+yelping from his teammates told the pitcher that
+they were not sure of him. They were seeking<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_15"></a>[15]</span>
+to brace him up, as if he had been a raw recruit
+instead of the bright particular star of the Blue
+Stocking pitching staff. Moreover his quick eye
+had not failed to notice the hasty appearance of
+two men from the sheltered players’ bench, who
+loped off to the right, shedding sweaters as they
+went.</p>
+
+<p>There are times when it takes very little to upset
+the equilibrium of the most seasoned twirler,
+and apparently this was one of them. For six innings
+Grist had pitched an almost errorless game,
+and there was every reason why he should do his
+best to finish it.</p>
+
+<p>Dillon was laid up, Bill Orth had a bad shoulder,
+and both Reilly and Lumley were notoriously independable
+at a moment like this. There was
+Lefty Locke, to be sure, but the thought of this
+brilliant young southpaw who had, in a few short
+months, pushed his way upward until he rivaled
+Grist himself in the esteem of players and fans
+alike, made the older pitcher squirm inwardly,
+and brought a dogged, determined expression to
+his face.</p>
+
+<p>A moment later there was a crack, a yell of joy
+from the Specters, a groan from the despairing
+fans. In spite of his self-control, a smothered
+gasp of dismay burst from Grist’s lips. Knowing
+Red Callahan’s impetuosity, he had tried to
+tempt him with a teasing outdrop. That he managed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16"></a>[16]</span>
+to connect with it was probably quite as
+much a surprise to the sorrel-topped third baseman
+as to anyone; but connect he did in beautiful
+style, smashing out a single which sent Aldrich
+across the rubber with the leading run.</p>
+
+<p>Above the uproar of hoots and yells and catcalls
+from the stands, the new manager, half rising
+to signal Orth to go into the box, heard a
+sound he had rather been expecting for the past
+few minutes:</p>
+
+<p>“Carson! One moment!”</p>
+
+<p>It was the sharp, incisive voice of the Blue
+Stockings’ owner, who sat with his daughter in
+one of the boxes just behind the bench, and there
+was an imperative note in it which brought the
+manager hurrying in that direction.</p>
+
+<p>“Did you call me, Mr. Collier?” he asked, as
+he reached the box.</p>
+
+<p>The tall, broad-shouldered, keen-faced man
+bent swiftly over the railing.</p>
+
+<p>“I did,” he replied, in a low tone. “Grist is
+going to pieces. Why don’t you take him out?”</p>
+
+<p>“I was just going to. I’ve had Orth warming
+up for three or four minutes.”</p>
+
+<p>Charles Collier frowned. “Orth!” he exclaimed.
+“But his shoulder’s lame. This is no
+time to put in a cripple. Why don’t you use your
+southpaw, Locke?”</p>
+
+<p>“He pitched a hard game yesterday and—”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_17"></a>[17]</span></p>
+
+<p>“And won it,” interrupted the owner swiftly.</p>
+
+<p>“Quite so; but my idea was not to work him too
+hard,” returned the manager suavely. “Of
+course, if you wish it—”</p>
+
+<p>“I do. In my opinion he’s the only man who
+can stop the break and pull things together. He’s
+got the measure of every one of these fellows. I
+don’t think you need worry about three innings
+hurting his arm.”</p>
+
+<p>“Very well,” said Carson. “I’ll send him out
+there at once.”</p>
+
+<p>His expression was bland and pleasant, but the
+instant his back was turned he frowned. “Butting
+in as soon as this, are you?” he muttered,
+striding toward the bench. “Picked a favorite
+already, too. I s’pose Pete’ll be sore as a crab,
+but it can’t be helped. Locke!”</p>
+
+<p>There was a quick movement, and from the
+players’ bench appeared a tall, lithe, cleanly built,
+long-armed youngster of twenty-three or so, his
+cap pushed back on a mass of heavy, dark brown
+hair, a look of inquiry in his keen, brown eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“Want me?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” said Carson sharply. “Get into the
+box as quick as you can. I meant to use Orth, but
+his shoulder’s bad. You’ll have to go in without
+warming up. And hold ’em, kid. We can’t afford
+to lose this game, you know.”</p>
+
+<p>Lefty had already yanked off his sweater.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18"></a>[18]</span>
+Even as the manager finished, he caught the glove
+tossed out by the second catcher.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll do my best,” he returned, jerking his cap
+forward over his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>An instant later he was walking out upon the
+diamond with a lithe, springy stride which told
+of splendid muscles under perfect control. And
+as he came into view of the grandstand, the hoots
+and yells lessened swiftly, merging with amazing
+abruptness into a shout of delight, accompanied
+by a thunderous stamping of feet.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, you Lefty!” shrieked the fans fondly.
+“Oh, you kiddo! Kill ’em! Eat ’em alive!
+Nothin’ doin’ now, Specters. Good night for
+yours!”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_19"></a>[19]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II<br>
+<small>STOPPING A RALLY</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">By dint of playing for time, and putting
+over a couple of wide ones, Pete Grist had
+prevented Forbes, the Specter left fielder,
+from adding to the damage already done. Knowing
+that he would be taken out, he had the wit to
+seize every possible chance to delay the game,
+and thus run no risk of making any further errors.</p>
+
+<p>He supposed, however, that his successor would
+be Orth, whom he had seen start to warm up a
+few minutes before. When Lefty appeared on
+the field amid the delighted roars of the spectators,
+Grist’s face turned a brick red, and for a
+second or two he looked as if he could have committed
+murder with the greatest possible enjoyment.</p>
+
+<p>It is provoking enough, in all conscience, for
+a pitcher to have to leave the box on account of
+bad control. But to be superseded by a youngster
+whose Big League experience is limited to a few
+months, yet who, in that time, had set the fans
+yelling for him as if he were a Mathewson, is sufficiently<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_20"></a>[20]</span>
+humiliating to stir the mildest man to
+wrath.</p>
+
+<p>Mildness was not Pete Grist’s long suit, nor
+was this the first time he had writhed in the grip
+of the green-eyed monster. As Locke reached
+him his face was like a thundercloud. He fairly
+flung the ball at the southpaw, and, without a
+word, turned on his heel and strode toward the
+bench.</p>
+
+<p>Lefty stood for an instant staring after him,
+a touch of sympathy in his eyes. He knew from
+experience precisely how it felt to be benched under
+such circumstances.</p>
+
+<p>“Tough luck,” he murmured, as he mounted
+the hill. “I don’t blame him for being sore. I
+would myself.”</p>
+
+<p>Directly, however, he had thrust the disgruntled
+pitcher from his mind, and was bringing all
+his skill and cunning to bear on the task before
+him. He knew the importance of winning the
+game to-day. It was one of those close seasons,
+with three teams fighting like bulldogs for first
+place.</p>
+
+<p>At first the struggle had seemed to lie between
+the Blue Stockings and their old-time rivals, the
+Hornets. Well into July these two organizations
+had it nip and tuck, and the Blue Stockings had
+no sooner forged definitely ahead than they were
+menaced by the speedy Specters, who were playing<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_21"></a>[21]</span>
+this year as they had never played before.
+Back and forth they zigzagged, until at length
+the Blue Stockings, thanks in no small measure
+to the astonishing work of their young southpaw
+wonder, managed to accumulate a scanty lead,
+and hold it by the skin of their teeth.</p>
+
+<p>If they could only manage to pull through this
+series in good shape, they could afford to lose a
+game or two of the return series, and still enter
+on the last Western circuit with a slight advantage.</p>
+
+<p>Lefty lined a few to Dirk Nelson, and, having
+found the plate, nodded to the batter, who stepped
+up to the rubber again. The Blue Stockings’
+owner had been right in saying that Locke had
+taken the measure of the opposing team. The
+ability to size up swiftly and accurately a batter’s
+strong and weak points, likes and dislikes, was
+something which had contributed much to the
+southpaw’s extraordinary success. He believed
+he knew the sort of ball Forbes could not hit
+safely; and promptly, though without any appearance
+of haste, he proceeded to hand it up.</p>
+
+<p>To the delight of the fans, the batter missed.
+The second one he fouled. Then he let two go
+by. Finally he missed again, having been fooled
+at last by a sudden change of pace and a slow
+drop when he expected speed. As he sauntered
+toward the bench in elaborate affectation of indifference,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_22"></a>[22]</span>
+the spectators chortled gleefully, while
+a ripple of returning confidence swept over the
+Blue Stocking players.</p>
+
+<p>“Never mind that!” cried Murray, the visitors’
+captain, from the coaching line. “Get off
+that hassock, Rowdy. On your toes! Now, Jim,
+let’s have one of the old-timers mother used to
+make.”</p>
+
+<p>Donovan, the famous Specter twirler, was also
+a clever stickman. During the past season his
+hitting average had been little short of the three-hundred
+mark, and he was especially noted for
+helping along a streak of luck. He walked up to
+the plate, bat swinging nonchalantly, on his face
+that confident grin which annoys many a pitcher
+who pretends that he is not disturbed.</p>
+
+<p>Lefty eyed him coolly for an instant; then his
+eyes dropped to where Nelson crouched, giving a
+signal. He shook his head. With some slight reluctance,
+the catcher responded by calling for
+another ball, and shifted his position the barest
+trifle. A second later the sphere came whistling,
+with a slight inswerve, across the batter’s shoulders.
+Forbes’ bat found nothing but empty air.</p>
+
+<p>“Str-r-rike!” called the umpire, flinging up his
+right hand.</p>
+
+<p>“Look out for those, Jim,” called Murray.
+“Make ’em be good!”</p>
+
+<p>Donovan let the next one pass. It was a ball.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_23"></a>[23]</span>
+Then followed a slow one, delivered with a swing
+and snap that fooled the batter into striking before
+the lingering, tantalizing horsehide was
+within reach.</p>
+
+<p>Donovan frowned and regained his balance, annoyed
+slightly by the burst of raucous delight
+from the stands. When he faced the pitcher
+again the grin still curved his lips, but it had
+grown somewhat thin.</p>
+
+<p>Silence settled over the field. Ten thousand
+straining eyes were turned anxiously on the quiet
+figure in the pitcher’s box.</p>
+
+<p>Lefty’s hand drew back slowly, cuddling the
+ball for a second as he poised himself on one foot.
+Then, like a flash, his long left arm swung flail
+like through the air.</p>
+
+<p>The ball was high—almost too high, it seemed
+at first. But suddenly it flashed downward past
+Donovan’s shoulders, and across his breast. Too
+late the batter saw it drop, and tried weakly to
+hit. There was a swish, a plunk, and—</p>
+
+<p>“Batter’s out!” bawled the umpire.</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>TIED IN THE EIGHTH</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">“Pretty work,” commented a blond
+young man on the reporter’s bench,
+pushing back his rakish green hat.
+“There’s one thing about Locke, you can always
+bank on his using his head. He certainly stopped
+that rally in great shape.”</p>
+
+<p>“Huh!” grunted the stout, bald man beside
+him. “I can’t see anything very wonderful in
+that.” He took off his glasses, and began to polish
+them. “It don’t take any extraordinary
+amount of skill to outguess Forbes, and Donovan’s
+never very dangerous to a pitcher who
+knows him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, come now, Eckstein,” protested the blond
+reporter. “Jim’s no slouch at the bat, and you
+know it. What have you got against Locke, anyhow?”</p>
+
+<p>Eckstein replaced his glasses, and yawned.
+“Nothing special, Dyer,” he drawled. “I’ve
+been too long in the business, though, to lose my<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_25"></a>[25]</span>
+head over every infant phenom who butts into
+the Big League. More than half of ’em can’t
+keep up the pace they set themselves at first.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll bet Locke does,” Dyer said energetically.
+“He’s got too much sense to use himself up the
+way some of the cubs do. He plays the game for
+all there is in it, but he plays it with his head
+even more than with that corking portside hooker
+of his. Anyhow, he’s the Blue Stockings’ one
+best bet this season, take it from me, Eck. Only
+for him they’d be in the second division, with all
+this monkey business of new owner and new manager
+right in the middle of the season. That
+plays hob with a team even if the old manager’s a
+bum, which Jack Kennedy wasn’t, by a long shot.
+By the way, Eck, where’s he gone?”</p>
+
+<p>“Who? Kennedy?” grunted the stout man,
+his eyes fixed on the diamond. “Back to his farm,
+I reckon. He’s got one somewhere in the Middle
+West.—Pretty work, Jim. That’s the way to pull
+’em.”</p>
+
+<p>With a sudden flush at the realization that he
+had missed a trick, the young reporter hastily
+subsided, and turned his attention to the diamond.
+Whatever might be said of Jim Donovan’s
+hitting ability, no fault could be found with
+his skill in the box. Encouraged by the success
+of the last inning, he evidently realized that it was
+up to him to see that the Specters kept their lead<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_26"></a>[26]</span>
+of one run, and the result was an exhibition of
+clever pitching.</p>
+
+<p>Dirk Nelson, the Blue Stocking backstop, was
+beguiled into popping to second. Jack Daly, unsurpassed
+as a third baseman, but an erratic
+stickman, fanned ignominiously. It looked as if
+Lefty would follow Daly’s example, but, with two
+and two called, he connected with a tricky drop,
+and beat the ball to first by a hair. Taking a good
+lead, he went down on the second ball pitched to
+Spider Grant. It was effort wasted, however,
+for the Blue Stocking first baseman presently
+fouled out back of third. This brought the inning
+to an abrupt termination, amid much rejoicing
+on the part of the visitors, and low grumbling
+from the disappointed fans.</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” said Dyer defensively, “it was the tail
+end of the list. Anyhow, Locke got a hit.”</p>
+
+<p>Eckstein chuckled. It amused the veteran
+newspaper man to note the violent fancies and
+prejudices of callow cub reporters.</p>
+
+<p>“Still harping on the virtues of your miraculous
+southpaw?” he smiled. “I’ll ask you just
+one question, Dyer: If he’s such a triple-plated
+wonder, how did Jim Brennan, of the Hornets,
+come to release him outright? I never yet knew
+the hard-headed old vet to let any ten-thousand-dollar
+beauties slip through his fingers.”</p>
+
+<p>“Still something to learn, Eck, strange as that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_27"></a>[27]</span>
+may seem,” drawled a voice, before Dyer had
+time to answer. “Squeeze up a bit, and give a
+chap some room.”</p>
+
+<p>A leg was thrust over the back of the seat, followed
+swiftly by another, and, as Eckstein’s eyes
+lighted upon the tanned and freckled face of
+the newcomer, his own face expanded in a fat
+smile.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, well, well!” he chuckled, thrusting out
+a plump hand. “Back to the treadmill, eh?
+Have a good vacation?”</p>
+
+<p>“Fine!” returned Jack Stillman, settling down
+between the two. “How are you, Dyer? Spent
+ten days up in the woods about a thousand miles
+away from anywhere, and then I began to get
+worried for fear this understudy of mine wasn’t
+sending the dope in right. How about it, kid?
+Old man have any kicks?”</p>
+
+<p>“A few,” grunted the cub reporter. “He’d
+kick if he had the Angel Gabriel writing up
+games.”</p>
+
+<p>“You bet he would!” laughed Stillman.
+“Swell lot Gabriel knows about baseball. Did I
+hear you running down my friend Locke?” he
+went on, turning to Eckstein. “Oh, I know you
+didn’t mean anything personal. It’s just your
+pessimistic mind, that can’t see anything good
+in a youngster. Well, let me tell you what
+Jim Brennan said the last time I saw him, which<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_28"></a>[28]</span>
+was about three weeks ago. ‘Jack,’ he said—it
+was after that last game of the series with the
+Blue Stockings when the Hornets got the pants
+licked off ’em—‘Jack,’ he said, ‘don’t send this
+to your paper, but if ever there was a dumb one
+manhandling a baseball team I’m it. I’d give
+two of my best men to have Lefty Locke back
+again. If I hadn’t been such a thick-headed dope
+as to let him go, the Hornets wouldn’t be where
+they are to-day. No, sir! They’d be at the top
+of the heap, with that position just about nailed.
+That boy’s a wonder. It makes me sick at the
+stomach every time I think he might be on my
+payroll to-day just as well as not.’ That’s going
+pretty strong for old sorrel-top, isn’t it?”</p>
+
+<p>“A trifle,” Eckstein returned. “Well, why
+did he let him go? There must have been some
+mighty good reason.”</p>
+
+<p>“There was. A rotten sneak named Elgin—a
+Princeton man, by the way, and a disgrace to
+the college—had it in for Lefty, and turned every
+dirty trick he could think of to put Locke in
+bad with Brennan. He succeeded temporarily,
+but he got his at last. After Brennan released
+him Lefty went to the Blue Stockings, and of
+course the first time Jim ran up against them he
+realized how he’d been fooled. It all came out,
+and he sent Elgin back into Class C with the
+Lobsters. I’ve heard Elgin didn’t even stay<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_29"></a>[29]</span>
+there, but is pitching back in the bush, which, if
+true, is good enough for him.</p>
+
+<p>“By Jove! See that drop? Fooled him nicely,
+didn’t it?”</p>
+
+<p>If Donovan was on his mettle, the opposing
+southpaw was in equally fine trim. In the first
+of the eighth only four men faced him, in spite of
+the fact that the heavy hitters were coming up
+again.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t seem to have lost any of his cunning,”
+smiled Stillman, as the Blue Stockings romped
+in from the field like colts. “Things appear to
+have been didding while I was gone,” he went on
+in a lower tone to Eckstein. “I knew Collier was
+dickering for the team, but I thought he’d hold
+off till the end of the season. And what in thunder
+does he mean by canning a manager like Jack
+Kennedy?”</p>
+
+<p>The stout man shrugged his shoulders. “Collier
+got the idea that the team wasn’t pulling well.
+He seemed to think that was Kennedy’s fault.”</p>
+
+<p>“Bah!” snapped Stillman. “What could Kennedy
+do with his hands tied? I know for a fact
+that when he wanted to get rid of a certain trouble-maker
+who was keeping the boys riled up all
+the time, Beach, the old owner, put his foot down,
+and wouldn’t let him. And what’s Al Carson
+ever done, anyhow, that he should supersede an
+experienced man like Kennedy?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_30"></a>[30]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Not much,” admitted Eckstein.</p>
+
+<p>“Nor ever will. He’s one of those promising
+characters who’s always promising and never
+making good. Collier has sure picked a lemon
+this time, and it wouldn’t surprise me a lot if it
+cost him dear.</p>
+
+<p>“Now, fellows, get busy, and hammer out a
+couple of runs. Only need one to tie, and two to
+win.”</p>
+
+<p>All over the great stands men were rooting for
+runs—begging, pleading, crying for them. As
+Donovan stepped into his box a perfect bedlam of
+hoots and catcalls arose, but he was too old a bird
+to be affected in the least by this sort of thing.
+To win the game it was only necessary to hold the
+Blue Stockings for this inning and the next, and
+the clever Specter twirler looked as if shutting
+out his opponents was, at this precise moment,
+merely a matter of time with him.</p>
+
+<p>In baseball, as in many other things, it never
+pays to discount the future; which is just as well,
+for otherwise a good deal of thrill and excitement
+would be lost. The best players are certain sometimes
+to make mistakes, and countless games have
+been won or lost by little slips, so small as to pass
+unnoticed by the majority of spectators.</p>
+
+<p>Rufe Hyland, well known as a “waiter,” was
+the first man up. In spite of the frantic urgings
+of the excited fans to “Slug it out!” he delayed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_31"></a>[31]</span>
+until he had three and two on him. Finally he
+hit between first and second. He should have
+been an easy victim at first, but, for some unaccountable
+reason, Rowdy Kenyon juggled the ball,
+and then threw low, dragging Murray off the sack.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment or two the entire infield resounded
+with sulphurous comment. When Donovan
+faced the next batter he was still flushed
+with irritation. He took revenge by fanning
+Larry Dalton, but during that process Hyland
+managed to steal second, a proceeding which
+did not tend to increase the pitcher’s good humor.</p>
+
+<p>Nevertheless, he retained a perfect grip on his
+feelings, and exerted his skill so well that Herman
+Brock whiffed fruitlessly at three balls in
+succession.</p>
+
+<p>It happened, however, that Joe Welsh, who followed,
+was one of the most dependable hitters in
+the Blue Stocking organization. His specialty
+was neither home runs nor three-baggers, but his
+skill at placing the ball had long been a source of
+comfort to his fellow-players. As he faced the
+plate, Hyland edged off second as far as he dared,
+and when Joe connected with the third ball pitched
+Rufe shot down the line like a streak.</p>
+
+<p>Due, no doubt, to Donovan’s skill, this was one
+of the rare occasions that Welsh slipped up. He
+had intended to dump the pill into the diamond<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_32"></a>[32]</span>
+by a bunt, but he succeeded only in sending it
+spinning erratically just inside the third-base line.</p>
+
+<p>Like a flash the Specter backstop raced out,
+snatched at it, fumbled horribly, and then, in an
+effort to get Hyland, threw four feet over the
+third baseman’s head. By the time the left
+fielder, slow in backing up, had secured the sphere,
+and lined it back to the plate, Hyland had one
+foot on the rubber. And the delirious fans were
+shrieking themselves speechless.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_33"></a>[33]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV<br>
+<small>REAL PITCHING</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">“Talk about horseshoes!” grinned Stillman,
+when the first mad uproar had begun
+to lessen. “That’s the greatest
+ever. Looks as if the boys had a mighty good
+chance of cinching the game now.”</p>
+
+<p>Manager Carson had emerged from the obscurity
+of the bench, and was on the coaching line
+again. Over by first base Captain Grant was capering
+about, a broad grin on his face.</p>
+
+<p>“Going up, going up, going up!” he chanted
+to the air of a popular ditty. “Tied her nicely,
+but we won’t stop there. You know what to do,
+Kid. Beat it off that cushion, Joe!”</p>
+
+<p>Kid Lewis hustled to the plate, and Welsh
+pranced away from the sack, ready to go down
+on the first slim chance. Unfortunately for the
+Blue Stockings, Donovan seemed unaffected by
+the two blazing errors which had permitted the
+locals to even up the tally. Instead of going to
+pieces, he tightened up wonderfully, holding
+Welsh at first, and fanning the batter with swiftness
+and dispatch.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_34"></a>[34]</span></p>
+
+<p>As the Blue Stockings took the field for the
+opening of the ninth the fans were on tiptoe with
+excitement. If Lefty could hold the visitors
+down, there remained a chance for the home team
+to break the deadlock in the last half. Could he
+hold them?</p>
+
+<p>Bush Aldrich was the first man up. The crowd
+remembered vividly what Bush had done to Pete
+Grist. Besides, the batters who followed were
+none of them slouches. As Locke walked briskly
+across the diamond the stands echoed with encouraging,
+beseeching shouts. Then a sudden,
+tense silence fell upon the great inclosure.</p>
+
+<p>Calm and steady, Lefty stepped into the box.
+He paused a second, his eyes on the batter, and
+then handed up a high one. Aldrich started to
+strike, but checked himself, and a ball was called.
+Then the southpaw tried an outcurve. Bush still
+declined to bite.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s right, Bush,” cried Murray. “Make
+him put ’em over. He’s got to.”</p>
+
+<p>An elusive drop followed, which Aldrich barely
+missed. The next ball looked good, and he hit it.
+It was a line drive to right, which Rufe Hyland
+should have taken with ease, instead of muffing.
+Aldrich stretched himself, and reached the initial
+sack a second before the ball, quickly recovered
+and thrown by the discomfited fielder, spanked
+into Spider Grant’s mitt.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_35"></a>[35]</span></p>
+
+<p>There was a groan from the fans, a spasm of
+joy from the Specter coachers. Rowdy Kenyon
+hurried to the plate. True to his record as a
+waiter, he prolonged the agony till the last moment,
+during which time Aldrich, upholding the
+reputation of his team for being “ghosts on the
+bases,” got down to second. Finally the visiting
+infielder hit a weak scratch between second
+and short, on which he reached first by great
+sprinting. A wave of tense uneasiness swept over
+the field.</p>
+
+<p>Lefty’s eyes narrowed the least bit; his jaw
+seemed to tighten. In a few minutes, through no
+fault of his, the situation had changed from easy
+security to uncertain hazard. With none out, and
+a man on third, every bit of judgment and skill
+he possessed was needed to save the day. Driving
+Aldrich back with a threatening motion, he
+turned his attention to Callahan, and the impetuous
+Specter Irishman, after fouling twice, failed
+to touch a speedy shoot that clipped a corner.</p>
+
+<p>A gasp of relief came from the stands, but
+lapsed swiftly into tense silence; for this was an
+admirable opportunity to try the squeeze play,
+and evidently from the way John Forbes held his
+bat he meant to do his part.</p>
+
+<p>The infield crept into the diamond, balancing
+on their toes, alert and ready. Lefty pitched, and
+almost as soon as the ball left his hand he was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_36"></a>[36]</span>
+on the jump. Forbes shortened his bat, and
+chopped one down the foul line straight into the
+flying pitcher’s glove on the first bound. Lefty
+Locke flashed it to third. But, for some reason,
+Aldrich had faltered, and now he dove back to the
+sack in time to save himself.</p>
+
+<p>“Safe!” bawled the umpire, his flat hand extended.</p>
+
+<p>The decision brought an avalanche of hoots and
+yells and taunting insults down upon his head, but
+he stuck to it; and when the fans settled back to
+take count their hearts sank within them. With
+the bases full and only one out, the situation was
+not exactly hopeful.</p>
+
+<p>Lefty made short work of Donovan. The visiting
+pitcher did not touch the ball once, missing
+the last bender by more than a foot. As he
+strolled back to the bench, however, there were
+few sounds of rejoicing. The end of the batting
+list had been reached. The bases were still
+densely populated, and Dutch Schwartz, the
+mighty hitter whose average the year before had
+come close to equaling that of the amazing Wagner,
+was sauntering out with his war club.</p>
+
+<p>Apparently he had no weaknesses with the stick,
+and his ability to outguess pitchers had made him
+a terror throughout the Big League. Cautious
+twirlers usually walked him when it was possible
+to do so at a dangerous time without forcing a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_37"></a>[37]</span>
+run; but, even had he wished to do it, such a
+course was not open to Lefty now.</p>
+
+<p>Whatever anxiety the southpaw might have
+been feeling, he faced the batter without a tremor.
+The first ball was a trifle close, and Schwartz let
+it pass without suffering a penalty. The next,
+delivered with a long side swing, came over at an
+odd angle. The batter fouled it, evening up the
+score.</p>
+
+<p>Lefty then tried an underhanded delivery that
+was productive of another foul. Then the big
+Specter center fielder refused to nibble at a
+coaxer, which evened things once more.</p>
+
+<p>“Two and two,” muttered Stillman on the reporters’
+bench. “I wonder if he’ll do it? By
+Jove! He’s got to!”</p>
+
+<p>With anxious, admiring eyes he watched his
+friend’s cool, deliberate, yet not in the least dragging,
+work. Lefty’s perfect control enabled him
+to bend the ball over the rubber from any
+angle.</p>
+
+<p>Foul after foul resulted with a nerve-racking
+regularity which brought the fans to the edges
+of their seats in tense, breathless suspense.</p>
+
+<p>Three balls were called, but the struggle continued.
+With each swing of the southpaw’s long
+arm, Schwartz swung his bat, and the ball caromed
+off in a foul. One could almost have heard a pin
+drop in the vast inclosure. Even the raucous<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_38"></a>[38]</span>
+voices of the coachers had been momentarily
+stilled.</p>
+
+<p>The end came at last, suddenly. When it
+seemed almost certain that Locke had exhausted
+every trick at his command, the pitcher, with his
+toe on one end of the slab, stepped straight out
+to one side with the other foot, and brought his
+arm over. The ball left his fingers at the moment
+when his hand seemed to be extended at full reach
+above his head. Apparently it was not a curve
+he threw, but from his extended fingers the sphere
+shot downward on a slant, to cross the outside
+corner of the plate.</p>
+
+<p>Schwartz struck at it with a sharp, vicious snap—and
+missed!</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_39"></a>[39]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V<br>
+<small>ONE FOR LEFTY</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">The roar which went up fairly shook the
+stands, and testified to a sudden slackening
+of the tension which had been gripping
+thousands of loyal fans for the past few
+minutes. Jack Stillman leaned back in his seat
+and reached for his cigarette case.</p>
+
+<p>“Pretty smooth,” he said, proffering the case
+to his companions. “That’s what I call pitching
+out of a hole, and Phil can sure do it to beat the
+cars.”</p>
+
+<p>“Phil?” queried the cub reporter quickly. “Oh,
+you mean Locke. I keep forgetting that isn’t his
+real name.”</p>
+
+<p>“So do I, to tell the truth,” returned Stillman,
+drawing in a lungful of smoke. “He took it on
+account of his father’s prejudice against baseball
+when he started pitching in the bush last year.
+When I ran into him this spring in the Hornets’
+training camp it was hard as the mischief at first
+to get used to hearing him called anything but
+Hazelton. I got over that mighty quick, though,
+and now it’s just the other way. Well,” he went<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_40"></a>[40]</span>
+on, glancing at Eckstein, “if this doesn’t stir
+the boys up enough to make them hammer out at
+least one run, they’re not the crowd I take them
+for.”</p>
+
+<p>From the way things started, it looked very
+much as if the newspaper man had gauged the
+Blue Stockings correctly. After having two
+strikes called, Dirk Nelson reached for one of
+Donovan’s wide slants, and caught it on the end of
+his bat for a nice single. The crowd roared, the
+coachers chattered, and Jack Daly pranced to the
+plate with every apparent intention of carrying
+on the good work.</p>
+
+<p>Unfortunately for him, the Specter twirler was
+not quite ready for the stable. Coolly, and with
+the consummate skill for which he was famous, he
+lured Daly into swinging at a deceptive bender,
+fooled him with a wonderful inshoot, and then,
+when the batter, grown wary, refused to bite at
+the doubtful ones, Donovan wound himself up and
+sent over a curve which cut the heart of the plate.</p>
+
+<p>With two and three called, Daly swung, with all
+his might. There was a sharp crack, and the ball
+sailed high in the air, foul back of third base.
+Dillingham jerked off his mask, and started for
+it, but Red Callahan’s spikes were already drumming
+the turf as he raced to get under it. Heedless
+of the shrill taunts and yells with which the
+fans sought to make him fumble, he fairly flew<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_41"></a>[41]</span>
+over the ground. He made the catch while
+stretching himself to the utmost, and Daly, flinging
+down his stick with a muttered exclamation
+of disgust, slouched toward the bench.</p>
+
+<p>“Never mind that!” cried Grant optimistically.
+“Only one down, boys. Now, Lefty, old man, get
+into him! We need a hit. Get off, Dirk! Get
+going! Drift away from that sack, man! On
+your toes, now!”</p>
+
+<p>During Daly’s turn at bat Nelson had stolen
+second, beating the catcher’s throw by a hair,
+and now he pranced off the hassock, taking every
+bit of lead he dared. Twice Kenyon darted behind
+him, compelling the runner to dive back to
+the cushion, but each time he was up and off again
+the instant the ball was returned to Donovan.</p>
+
+<p>Lefty stepped up to the plate and stood swinging
+his bat gently back and forth. The shouts of
+the excited fans seemed faint and far away. In
+reality he heard them clearly, and was young
+enough to be stimulated a little by this evidence
+of faith in his ability. But he showed nothing
+of this. His mind was occupied solely in trying
+to fathom what Donovan would be likely to hand
+him.</p>
+
+<p>The first was an outcurve, and he let it pass.
+The second was high; evidently Donovan was
+trying to prevent a bunt. The third also seemed
+high at first, but Lefty’s quick eyes saw it begin<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_42"></a>[42]</span>
+to drop as it neared the plate, and he swung at
+it.</p>
+
+<p>In spite of his swiftness, however, he was a
+fraction of a second too late. The ball hit his
+bat glancingly and caromed at right angles. It
+struck Locke’s head with force sufficient to make
+him stagger backward, the stick slipping out of his
+relaxed fingers.</p>
+
+<p>A sharp, hissing intake of concern swept over
+the crowded stands. As Lefty reeled, catcher and
+umpire both leaped forward with outstretched
+arms; but their aid was unnecessary. The southpaw
+was conscious of a single brief instant of
+blackness, which passed like a lightning flash,
+leaving him a bit dizzy, but otherwise quite himself.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m all right, Spider,” he said quickly, as the
+Blue Stocking captain rushed up and slipped an
+arm about him. “It was only a glancing tap.”</p>
+
+<p>“Are you sure?” persisted Grant anxiously.
+“Hadn’t you better lay off, and let me run someone
+else in to bat for you?”</p>
+
+<p>Lefty laughed aloud, and took his stick from
+Dillingham. “Not on your life!” he retorted
+emphatically. “Think I’m going to quit <em>now</em>?”</p>
+
+<p>As if to prove that the accident amounted to
+nothing, he shook off the captain’s detaining hand,
+stepping quickly back to the rubber. The fans<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_43"></a>[43]</span>
+shouted their relief and their appreciation of
+Lefty’s nerve. Donovan’s face wore a slightly
+strained look. Though no stretching of the imagination
+could have laid a shred of blame upon
+his shoulders, the hitting of a batter often disturbs
+a pitcher’s nerve. This may have had some
+effect on his next delivery, or may not. At all
+events, when Locke swung at the ball in fine
+shape, <a href="#i_frontispiece">there was a sharp, clean crack, and the
+horsehide went humming into the outfield</a> midway
+between Aldrich and Schwartz.</p>
+
+<p>With a concerted roar, which eclipsed every
+sound that had gone before, the great mass of
+people crowding the stands leaped to their feet,
+and followed with straining eyes the progress
+of the tiny sphere of white. Away it sped to
+the right of deep center, both fielders racing like
+mad to get under it.</p>
+
+<p>Having a big lead to start with, Nelson was
+off like a streak of light for third. He had
+crossed the base, and was being urged on down
+the home stretch before Schwartz snatched up the
+horsehide, whirled, and sent it whizzing straight
+toward the plate, with that wonderful sweep of
+his powerful arm for which he was famous.</p>
+
+<p>It was a perfect throw. For a second or two
+thousands of hearts stood still, fearing it would
+be successful. Locke’s brain and muscle had<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_44"></a>[44]</span>
+done its work well, however. An instant before
+the ball plunked into the catcher’s waiting mitt
+Nelson flung himself across the rubber in a cloud
+of dust, and the umpire shouted:</p>
+
+<p>“Safe!”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_45"></a>[45]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI<br>
+<small>A SUMMONS FROM THE MANAGER</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">Lefty, having rounded first, pulled himself
+up abruptly, and trotted toward the clubhouse,
+the whoops and yells of many
+thousand delirious baseball “bugs” ringing in his
+ears. A wave of white-clad players surged after
+him, but Locke had almost reached the gate before
+the crest of it overtook him. An expression
+of happy contentment illumined most of the faces.
+“Laughing” Larry Dalton, the happy-go-lucky,
+brown-eyed second baseman, was grinning broadly
+as he flung one arm over the southpaw’s shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>“Pretty punk to-day,” he chuckled. “Can’t
+hit, or put the ball over—or anything.”</p>
+
+<p>“Perfectly rotten, he is,” chimed in Dirk Nelson,
+still breathing a bit unevenly from his rapid
+sprint to the plate. “Carson oughta tie the can
+on him for the rest of the season.”</p>
+
+<p>Lefty chaffed back, and the whole crowd, laughing
+and joshing like a lot of kids, pushed into the
+clubhouse. As they stripped off their soggy uniforms,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_46"></a>[46]</span>
+and scrapped good-naturedly for the showers,
+they whistled and sang light-heartedly, living
+over the excitement of those last three innings.</p>
+
+<p>There were one or two exceptions. Some of the
+Blue Stockings’ old guard had viewed Locke’s
+swift rise from the ranks with anything but favor.
+In their opinion it was up to the busher to scrape
+along in meek and lowly insignificance for a season
+or two before he leaped into such scintillating
+prominence in the galaxy of stars. According to
+them, to “ripen” and acquire baseball sense he
+should spend some months sitting on the bench
+and watching the work of the veterans.</p>
+
+<p>Lefty had upset every precedent. At each
+added laurel won by the southpaw the old-timers
+shook their heads dubiously, declaring that such
+a pace could never last, that success would swell
+the youngster’s head, and making a dozen other
+pessimistic prophecies, none of which as yet
+showed signs of coming true.</p>
+
+<p>With the bulk of players Lefty was on the best
+of terms. He found them a clean, decent crowd
+of young men, much in love with their profession,
+somewhat addicted to draw poker and craps as
+a pastime, but temperate as a rule in most things,
+generous to a fault, and very likable. Three of
+them could write letters after their names as well
+as before, if they chose—which they did not.
+Some of the others were a bit rough on the surface,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_47"></a>[47]</span>
+perhaps, but deep down underneath were
+made of the right stuff.</p>
+
+<p>The long, grilling struggle, which began with the
+opening of the season, had brought them all very
+close together; and when a crowd of men are fighting
+shoulder to shoulder day after day, having
+the same goal, each giving the best that is in him
+to attain that end, they size up one another’s good
+points and failings with a thoroughness possible
+under few other conditions.</p>
+
+<p>The new southpaw stood the test well. In spite
+of his six generous feet of lithe, well-muscled
+frame, he was still very much of a boy at heart,
+with a boy’s adaptability for making friends and
+a boy’s light-hearted, fun-loving nature.</p>
+
+<p>This did not mean that he lacked the capacity
+for taking things seriously when the need arose,
+but he believed thoroughly in relaxing between
+whiles, and in extracting all possible enjoyment
+out of life. This trait, helped by a fine baritone
+voice, quick wit, the ability to “put it over” any
+member of the club with eight-ounce gloves, and
+almost as great a skill in coaxing popular airs
+from the strings of a banjo, made him, within
+a month, the life of the bunch in Pullmans and
+hotels on the road, no less than at odd moments
+of relaxation in the clubhouse at home.</p>
+
+<p>All this was, of course, of small importance
+compared with his performance on the diamond.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_48"></a>[48]</span>
+After he had proved his efficiency there, however,
+by snatching victory from defeat in three or four
+close contests, the majority of his teammates accepted
+him without question as one who would
+“do.” The only exceptions were Pete Grist,
+whose fame as the most reliable member of the
+Blue Stockings’ pitching staff Lefty was rapidly
+dimming, and three or four old-timers who formed
+a little clique among themselves.</p>
+
+<p>“Pipe the old crab!” commented Larry Dalton,
+as he and Lefty raced in from the showers, and
+began to get into their street clothes. “Some
+grouch there, believe me!”</p>
+
+<p>Laughing Larry had stepped from a fresh-water
+college into professional baseball three years before.
+Being a natural player, he did not stay
+long with the minors. In Locke he found a kindred
+spirit, and the southpaw had not been more
+than two weeks with the Blue Stockings before
+the two were chumming it as if they had known
+each other since the bottle days of infancy.</p>
+
+<p>At his friend’s remark, Lefty glanced sideways
+at the scowling pitcher, who was dragging on his
+clothes in taciturn silence.</p>
+
+<p>“Can’t blame him much,” he murmured. “If
+there’s anything that makes a fellow feel rottener
+than getting the hook in a game, it hasn’t come
+my way yet.”</p>
+
+<p>“Especially if the man who’s put in happens<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_49"></a>[49]</span>
+to be a guy that’s made good in the same way before,”
+Dalton grinned.</p>
+
+<p>“Rot!” snorted Lefty, buttoning his shirt.
+“When Grist’s right he can pitch the pants off
+any man in the club.”</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe.” Larry’s tone was decidedly skeptical.
+“I haven’t noticed him putting anything
+much over you the last month or more. Trouble
+with him, he’s worrying for fear he’ll lose his
+reputation of being the one and only genuine old
+reliable; and when a guy starts in with that sort
+of ragtime, you can be pretty blamed sure—
+Well, Colonel, what’s on your mind?”</p>
+
+<p>“Colonel” George Washington Jones, the Blue
+Stockings’ negro rubber and general handy man,
+showed his ivories in a glistening smile.</p>
+
+<p>“Mist’ Carson says he done laik to see
+Mist’ Locke in his office right smart, suh,” he explained.</p>
+
+<p>“All right, Colonel,” Lefty returned briefly
+from where he was struggling with a refractory
+collar button. “I’ll be there in about three minutes.”</p>
+
+<p>“Some class there,” Dalton murmured, as the
+darky hurried away. “When Jack wanted a man
+he’d stick his head in the door and make the fact
+known. Nothing like that for this bird, though.
+First thing you know he’ll be having a bell boy
+in brass buttons, and one of those ‘Private-no-admission-except-by-appointment’<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_50"></a>[50]</span>
+signs on the
+door.”</p>
+
+<p>From which it may be gathered that the new
+manager and his methods had not scored a great
+hit.</p>
+
+<p>Lefty nodded agreement, and went on tying
+his scarf. From the first Carson had not appealed
+to him. The man knew baseball from the ground
+up—there was no questioning that fact. His
+ability at handling men, however, was much more
+doubtful.</p>
+
+<p>Most professional ball players have to be managed
+with infinite tact and judgment, and, though
+he kept his mouth shut on the subject, Lefty held
+the opinion that the qualities which had made
+Jack Kennedy so successful were lacking to a
+conspicuous degree in his successor. So far the
+players had betrayed no signs of a let-down, but
+Locke had noticed a number of insignificant
+straws, some no greater than the remark of
+Laughing Larry, which pointed the direction of
+the wind pretty accurately.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll wait for you,” Dalton said, as Locke
+slipped into his coat and gave it a settling shake.
+“Cut it as short as you can. Don’t forget we’ve
+got tickets for the theater to-night.”</p>
+
+<p>Nodding, the southpaw picked up his hat and
+left the dressing room. As he walked briskly
+toward the manager’s office he was wondering<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_51"></a>[51]</span>
+with no little curiosity what was wanted. Carson
+could scarcely mean to put him into the box to-morrow,
+after having pitched him ten innings yesterday
+and three to-day; and aside from that
+Lefty could think of nothing which would require
+a special interview.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_52"></a>[52]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII<br>
+<small>A GIRL AND THE GIRL</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">Pushing open the door in response to a
+crisp invitation in the manager’s familiar
+voice, Lefty stopped on the threshold, an
+expression of surprise in his brown eyes. Then
+he removed his hat, with a swift, graceful movement.</p>
+
+<p>Carson was not alone. The owner of the club,
+himself, leaned easily against one side of the desk.
+Seated in a chair on the other side of the room
+was one of the prettiest girls the young pitcher
+had ever seen.</p>
+
+<p>Lefty had only time to see that she was very
+blond and very tiny, with a pair of wonderful
+deep-blue eyes, which were fixed on his face from
+the moment the door opened. Then Charles Collier
+stepped forward, his hand outstretched.</p>
+
+<p>“I want to thank you, Mr. Locke,” he said
+heartily, “for pulling us out of a hole this afternoon.
+It was especially nervy to keep on at the
+bat after being hit by that ball.”</p>
+
+<p>Lefty smiled as he shook the magnate’s hand.
+“That little knock didn’t amount to anything,”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_53"></a>[53]</span>
+he protested, in his low, pleasant voice. “It only
+staggered me for a second.”</p>
+
+<p>“That was lucky,” said Collier. He hesitated,
+and the pitcher saw his glance flash for a second
+to the girl in the chair. “This is my daughter,”
+he went on quickly. “Virginia, this is Mr. Locke,
+whose pitching you were so enthusiastic about.”</p>
+
+<p>Lefty, turning swiftly to acknowledge the introduction,
+saw that the girl had risen to her feet
+and was holding out her hand impulsively.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m glad indeed to meet you, Mr. Locke,” she
+said, in a pleasant voice, which held an undercurrent
+of earnestness in it. “I suppose you get
+very tired of being told how splendid your pitching
+is, but I can’t help it this time.” She smiled
+charmingly. “If you could have any idea how
+utterly thrilled I was during those last three innings,
+I’m sure you wouldn’t blame me.”</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes, with their long, curling lashes, were
+really very wonderful, and there was a trace of
+something in their depths which brought a touch
+of color glowing under Locke’s healthy tan.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re more than kind, Miss Collier,” he returned.
+“I don’t think any man really minds
+being told that he’s done well, but in this case I
+didn’t deserve much credit. You see, Grist held
+them down for six innings, and when I came in
+fresh at the seventh we were only one run to the
+bad. It was still anybody’s game.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_54"></a>[54]</span></p>
+
+<p>“How about yesterday?” asked the girl quickly.
+“I wasn’t here, but they tell me you won the
+game in spite of a lot of errors made by your
+team.”</p>
+
+<p>Lefty shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, that was
+different. I hadn’t pitched before in a week. So
+I was ready to sail in and massacre them.”</p>
+
+<p>Miss Collier shook her head, laughing deliciously.
+“I’m afraid you’re altogether too modest.
+After this I’ll have to trust to someone else
+for the real facts. All right, dad. I suppose it <em>is</em>
+time we were going. Well, good-by, Mr. Locke.
+I shall probably see you again. Now that I’m
+back in town, I don’t mean to miss a game.”</p>
+
+<p>Lefty murmured his pleasure in courteous, well-bred
+terms, shook hands with her father, and,
+when they had disappeared into the corridor, stood
+for a second staring after them. When he turned
+suddenly back to the manager he surprised on that
+person’s face an expression of distinct annoyance,
+mingled with disapproval.</p>
+
+<p>“Is that all you wanted?” the southpaw asked
+briefly.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” retorted Carson, almost snappily. He
+hesitated for an instant, and then went on abruptly,
+his lips curling the least bit: “I s’pose
+after this you’ll go around swelled out of all human
+form.”</p>
+
+<p>There was a decidedly sneering undercurrent in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_55"></a>[55]</span>
+his voice, rasping Locke’s sensibilities, and making
+it difficult for him to keep from flinging back
+a sarcastic retort.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you?” he murmured, with tantalizing coolness,
+as he paused for a second in the doorway.
+“Perhaps I will. After all, you couldn’t blame
+me very much, you know.”</p>
+
+<p>Dalton, waiting in the dressing room, at once
+asked for details of what had happened in the
+manager’s office. More for sport than any other
+reason, Lefty kept him on the anxious seat all the
+way back to the hotel, fully intending to tell him
+while they were having dinner together. That
+thought, as well as every other, was driven out
+of his head, however, by a penciled message the
+desk clerk handed him as he passed through the
+lobby.</p>
+
+<p>“Call Miss Harting, at 10224 Morris,” it read;
+and the six commonplace words brought a rush
+of vivid crimson to the pitcher’s face, a sparkle
+of amazed delight into his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“Janet in town!” he muttered, as he eagerly
+sought a telephone booth, leaving Dalton to stare
+blankly after him. “Well, wouldn’t that get you!
+Not a word about it in her last letter. I suppose
+she wanted to work a surprise. She’s sure put
+one over, all right.”</p>
+
+<p>Hurriedly giving the operator the number, he
+entered the booth, and, a few minutes later, heard<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_56"></a>[56]</span>
+the familiar tones of the “only girl in the world”
+clearly over the wire.</p>
+
+<p>Just what they said is neither here nor there.
+The door of the booth was tightly closed, and if
+the operator listened she did not betray the fact
+by a sign. Lefty and Janet Harting, who lived
+with her father in a thriving New England town,
+had been very good friends indeed for something
+more than a year. Though they corresponded
+with extreme regularity, their positions made
+actual meetings tantalizingly infrequent. Given
+these premises, the reader may reconstruct their
+conversation to suit himself.</p>
+
+<p>Suffice it to say that Janet had come on to the
+city for a two weeks’ visit to an aunt, leaving her
+father, who was better than he had been in a good
+many years, in the care of a distant cousin, who
+had volunteered that office so that the daughter
+might take a brief vacation. After retailing this
+information, Miss Harting hinted delicately that
+she would be at home all evening.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll be there with my hair in a braid!” Lefty
+returned promptly. Then he stopped abruptly,
+stung by sudden recollection.</p>
+
+<p>“Sh!” reproved Janet, as a sibilant vibration
+reached her attentive ears. “On the ’phone, too!
+What’s the matter? Have you thought of an engagement?”</p>
+
+<p>“Beg pardon,” apologized Lefty contritely.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_57"></a>[57]</span>
+“It slipped out. Why, yes. You see, some of
+the boys planned a little theater party to-night to
+see ‘The Girl from Madrid,’ and they’ve got the
+tickets. It doesn’t matter a bit, though. I’ll just
+tell ’em I can’t go.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’ll do nothing of the sort.” Miss Harting’s
+tone was emphatic. “I’m not going to have
+you breaking engagements and throwing over
+your friends for me. There’s plenty of time.
+You can come and see me to-morrow.”</p>
+
+<p>The young man protested vehemently, but Janet
+remained quite firm. In the end she had her way,
+though she compromised to some extent by saying
+that Lefty could come up the next day and take
+her out to lunch.</p>
+
+<p>With this the young pitcher had to be content,
+and, when he came to think it over, he was not
+wholly sorry. The dinner and theater party had
+been planned a week before to celebrate Larry
+Dalton’s birthday, and, considering Dalton’s peculiar
+sensitiveness, Lefty would have disliked being
+reckoned a quitter on account of “a skirt.”
+Besides, Janet would be in town long enough for
+him to see her many times.</p>
+
+<p>Comforted by this reflection, Locke paid the
+triple call, made a bee-line for the elevator, and
+five minutes later was hurrying into his evening
+clothes.</p>
+
+<p>“Moonlights?” Laughing Larry had chuckled,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_58"></a>[58]</span>
+when the question of clothes was broached that
+morning. “You bet! We’ll show this bunch of
+city rounders how things ought to be done, eh?”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_59"></a>[59]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII<br>
+<small>AT THE THEATER</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">When the quartet piled into a taxi
+about half past six, and started for
+an exclusive downtown restaurant,
+their appearance would have been a revelation to
+those who picture a professional ball player as a
+pugnacious, rough-mannered individual who fits
+in well enough on the diamond but is quite out of
+his element when he attempts anything in the
+social line.</p>
+
+<p>It would have been difficult, in fact, to find four
+finer-looking specimens of manhood anywhere.
+Their faces glowing with perfect health and physical
+well-being, they showed not the slightest signs
+of being awkward or ill at ease in their evening
+togs. Add to this the fact that two of them, Lefty
+Locke and Billy Orth, were men of unusual good
+looks, and it is small wonder that their arrival
+at the restaurant caused a little stir of interest
+among the diners already present.</p>
+
+<p>They were swiftly recognized, of course, and
+the stir increased to a bustle; for even society
+doesn’t often have a chance of studying two<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_60"></a>[60]</span>
+pitchers, the catcher, and second baseman of a
+national organization at close range. The four
+athletes, however, paid scant attention to the interest
+they were exciting. They were too well accustomed
+to that sort of thing to let it interfere
+with their enjoyment. They were out for a good
+time, and meant to have it, regardless of rubbernecks.</p>
+
+<p>There was nothing in the least boisterous in
+their behavior. They laughed and talked and
+joshed one another, to be sure, but their manner
+was not a whit different from that of a dozen other
+parties about them. They consumed the well-ordered
+dinner—conspicuous by the absence of
+anything to drink—leisurely. Then, it being
+close on to eight, they paid the sizable check,
+tipped the waiters, and departed, having shown
+from the beginning a breeding and a refreshing
+lack of self-consciousness which opened the eyes
+of not a few observers.</p>
+
+<p>The theater being only a few blocks away, they
+walked, arriving in the lobby just as the overture
+was beginning. There was the usual crowd jostling
+to get in. As the four friends stood waiting
+for an usher to take their checks, Lefty heard his
+name called in a slightly familiar voice.</p>
+
+<p>For a second he stared around in a puzzled
+way, failing to locate the owner of that voice in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_61"></a>[61]</span>
+the crowd. Dalton’s elbow dug into his ribs, and
+Dalton’s voice whispered in his ear:</p>
+
+<p>“The Big Chief! Get busy, kid.”</p>
+
+<p>Then it was that Lefty discovered Charles
+Collier, the distinguished-looking owner of the
+Blue Stockings, standing near the wall at a little
+distance; and beside him, more charming than
+ever in her evening gown of shimmering white,
+was his daughter, Virginia.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re just the man I’m looking for,” Collier
+said, as Lefty stepped swiftly over and bowed his
+greetings. “See here, boy, is it possible that
+you’re a son of the Reverend Paul Hazelton, who
+went through Dartmouth and the New York Theological
+Seminary, and has a parish somewhere
+out in Jersey?”</p>
+
+<p>Lefty’s eyes brightened. “Quite possible,” he
+smiled. “He’s been in Summit for the last twelve
+years. Do you know him?”</p>
+
+<p>“Know him?” echoed Collier emphatically.
+“I should say I did! Why, we were chums at college,
+and kept up our friendship for a number of
+years afterward. I must have been wool-gathering.
+I knew your name was Hazelton, but somehow
+the connection never occurred to me till my
+daughter suggested it at dinner to-night. I suppose
+it was because I couldn’t associate Paul’s
+son with baseball.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_62"></a>[62]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Yes; Dad has a perfect horror of the game.
+He had a friend who was killed while—”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, of course. Poor Brandon! It was in
+our junior year. Your father could never bear
+even to see a game after that. I must have a chat
+with you about him soon. Just now I’m—”</p>
+
+<p>He paused abruptly, his eyes roving over the
+immaculate figure of the young man, and then
+veering swiftly to his daughter’s face.</p>
+
+<p>“By Jove, Virginia!” he exclaimed. “I don’t
+see why Hazelton can’t help us out.”</p>
+
+<p>Miss Collier’s color deepened a trifle and she
+made a quick, protesting gesture with her white-gloved
+hands. “How absurd, Dad! Mr. Hazelton
+is here with friends. I couldn’t think of asking
+such a thing.”</p>
+
+<p>“Nonsense!” chuckled the older man. “I don’t
+believe he’ll mind shaking them for a little while.”
+He turned to Locke. “I’ve just had a message
+from a real-estate man,” he explained, “whom I
+expected to see in the morning. He’s got to take
+the midnight back to Boston, and it’s essential
+that I should talk to him before he goes. Virginia
+can’t very well stay here alone, but if you
+would take my place—”</p>
+
+<p>“I should be delighted,” Lefty said swiftly, as
+the older man paused questioningly. “The fellows
+I’m with are just three men from the team.”</p>
+
+<p>In reality he was very far from being overjoyed,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_63"></a>[63]</span>
+but he was much too courteous and well-bred to
+allow any sign of this to appear in his face or
+manner. Having given up an evening with Janet
+to keep his previous engagement, he did not particularly
+fancy spending it with even so charming
+a person as Virginia Collier.</p>
+
+<p>Under the circumstances, however, there was
+nothing to do but accept with the best possible
+grace the situation forced on him; and, though
+she was watching him closely, the girl saw nothing
+in his face but ready acquiescence and well-simulated
+pleasure.</p>
+
+<p>Collier breathed a sigh of relief, handed over
+the seat coupons, and departed hastily, with the
+assurance that he would be back before the performance
+was ended. Still giving his clever imitation
+of one in the throes of unalloyed bliss, Lefty
+explained to his friends, and then escorted Miss
+Collier down the aisle, conscious as he passed the
+eighth row of the concentrated stare of three pair
+of observing eyes. He did not glance round, however,
+and he was settled in the third-row aisle seat
+when the curtain began to rise.</p>
+
+<p>Few men can resist a thoroughly charming
+woman when she sets out deliberately to make
+herself agreeable. Lefty was not one of the few.
+Of course, he did not realize that Miss Collier’s
+manner with him was a bit different from what it
+might have been with any other man.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_64"></a>[64]</span></p>
+
+<p>The girl was much too clever to let him see that.
+But there are ways <em>and</em> ways, most of them too
+subtle for the clumsy masculine intellect to grasp,
+which are part of every woman’s mental equipment.
+The result of their application in the
+present instance was the swift transformation of
+Lefty’s pose of enjoyment into one of reality.</p>
+
+<p>It must not be supposed for an instant that
+Virginia Collier’s manner showed a trace of vulgar
+coquetry; quite the contrary. Apparently
+there was no particle of sentimentality in her
+make-up. She talked mainly of baseball, tennis,
+motoring, and kindred subjects, in a way which
+showed that she was more than familiar with her
+ground; and the contrast between her daintily
+feminine appearance and her evident liking for
+almost every sort of sport was very taking—as,
+no doubt, the young woman fully appreciated.</p>
+
+<p>By the end of the first intermission Lefty felt
+as if they were old friends. Before the third act
+had commenced he found himself discussing the
+baseball situation almost as if she had been “one
+of the fellows.” One did not have to do much
+explaining. Her grasp on conditions was surprising,
+her judgment almost flawless. Yet, underneath
+it all, and ever present as the oft-recurring
+theme of a symphony, was the lure of feminine
+personality, stronger, perhaps, for its very
+subtlety.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_65"></a>[65]</span></p>
+
+<p>Lefty felt its pull, but did not realize the nature
+of the attraction. He told himself that he had
+never before met anyone quite like Virginia Collier.
+She was like a good pal, a chum to whom
+one could talk almost as one talked to another
+man. She was a good sport in the best sense of
+the word, and he was vaguely glad that the real-estate
+man from Boston had appeared when he
+did.</p>
+
+<p>Just before the final curtain an usher appeared
+with a note which Lefty was able to read by the
+light from the stage. It was hastily scrawled
+from a near-by club, and in it Charles Collier—explaining
+that he was still in conference with his
+business man—requested that Locke escort his
+daughter home, and then send the car back for
+him.</p>
+
+<p>“It really isn’t a bit necessary,” the girl protested,
+as she glanced at the paper. “If you’ll
+find the motor and put me in, I can manage the
+rest quite well.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then why didn’t your father ask me to do just
+that?” Lefty asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Because he’s foolishly silly about my going
+about at night alone, even in our own machine.”
+Miss Collier paused an instant, and then dimpled
+charmingly. “You mustn’t judge him by his behavior
+to-night. He’s usually annoyingly strict
+with me. I’m quite sure if you hadn’t happened<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_66"></a>[66]</span>
+to be the son of an old college chum I should have
+been taken home without seeing the play.”</p>
+
+<p>The young pitcher laughed. “I’m awfully glad
+I happened to have the proper credentials, and I
+think we’d better follow out Mr. Collier’s wishes.
+Besides, if I take you home it will give us a
+chance to finish that discussion about Marquard’s
+work in the box this year.”</p>
+
+<p>“Since you put it that way, I’ll give in,” the
+girl said, as she arose to let him place the opera
+cloak carefully about her shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>Lefty slipped on his coat, secured hat and
+gloves, and stepped into the aisle. There was the
+usual crush of people to block the way, and as
+they moved slowly forward he half turned to
+make a laughing remark to his companion.</p>
+
+<p>The jesting words were never spoken; the very
+smile froze on the young man’s lips as his eyes
+fell on the face of a girl in the sixth row over near
+the boxes.</p>
+
+<p>It was Janet Harting, and there was something
+about her expression which held Lefty stupidly
+silent for a second or two. Then he bowed
+eagerly, and smiled. There was absolutely no response.</p>
+
+<p>For an appreciable moment Miss Harting
+stared at him, her chin uptilted, her color a little
+high, perhaps, but her gaze as coldly impersonal
+as if he had been an utter stranger. She gazed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_67"></a>[67]</span>
+at him, over him, <em>through</em> him, without the quiver
+of an eyelash. Then she rose leisurely, deliberately
+turned her back, and began to help her older
+companion into a coat.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_68"></a>[68]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX<br>
+<small>“IN BAD”</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">Lefty’s face turned a dull red, for in a
+flash he had realized how intolerable the
+whole affair must seem to Janet Harting.
+He had assured her that his engagement at the
+theater that night was with some of his teammates,
+yet here she found him the only escort of
+a very charming young woman, of whose identity
+she could naturally have no idea.</p>
+
+<p>Moreover, Lefty’s being in full dress did not
+savor altogether of a stag party. Worst of all,
+the young man remembered, with a sickening
+sense of irritation, how swiftly he and Miss Collier
+had come to be on almost chummy terms.
+An onlooker would never have supposed their acquaintance
+to be only a few hours old, and Janet
+had been sitting near enough to miss nothing.</p>
+
+<p>All this passed through Lefty’s mind with a
+rush. For an instant he had an almost uncontrollable
+impulse to push his way through to Miss
+Harting’s side and explain the innocent facts,
+which must have looked so condemning. Then he
+realized how impossible was the time and place<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_69"></a>[69]</span>
+for explanations, and, pulling himself together,
+moved slowly on toward the entrance.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Collier could scarcely have missed the
+little incident, swiftly as it had taken place; but
+apparently she was possessed of tact, along with
+a number of other good qualities, for she made
+not the slightest reference to it. During the ride
+uptown she chatted unconcernedly on various
+topics, but it must be confessed that she had to
+uphold the burden of conversation; about nine-tenths
+of Lefty’s mind was taken up with a consideration
+of his predicament, and with planning
+a way out of it.</p>
+
+<p>“Thank you a thousand times, Mr. Locke,”
+Miss Collier said, when the car had stopped and
+he had helped her out. “I’ve had a perfectly
+splendid evening.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s been corking,” Lefty returned, trying to
+force a little enthusiasm into his voice. “I’m
+the one who should be thanking you.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t believe it,” smiled the girl, holding out
+her hand. “Have Pagdon drive you wherever you
+want to go. Dad won’t want him yet, I’m sure.
+Come and see me some time when you haven’t
+anything better to do. We’ll finish our talk about
+Marquard. Good night.”</p>
+
+<p>Without giving him time to answer she ran
+lightly up the steps to the already open door,
+which closed quickly upon her slim, graceful figure,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_70"></a>[70]</span>
+leaving Locke to return slowly to the limousine,
+give the address of his hotel to the chauffeur,
+and step frowningly in.</p>
+
+<p>“What a thundering jackass I am!” he muttered,
+leaning back against the leather cushions.
+“Why in Heaven’s name didn’t I cut out the party
+and go see Janet in spite of everything? How
+the deuce did I know that Collier was going to
+rope me into a game like that, though—or that
+Janet would be there to misconstrue everything?
+I s’pose she went to get a glimpse of me. Well,
+the sooner I chase up there and explain things to
+her the better. I wonder if it’s too late to go
+to-night?”</p>
+
+<p>He glanced at his watch. It was decidedly too
+late.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll hike up the first thing in the morning,” he
+thought. “She’ll understand that I couldn’t do
+anything else under the circumstances.”</p>
+
+<p>There was some comfort in the reflection that
+Janet had plenty of sound common sense in that
+shapely little head of hers. Nevertheless, the
+more he thought of it, the more Lefty realized
+what a scurvy trick fate had played him.</p>
+
+<p>“It certainly must have looked bad,” he admitted
+to himself as the car stopped before the
+hotel. “I wouldn’t blame any girl for getting
+up on her ear.”</p>
+
+<p>In the lobby he was met by his three deserted<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_71"></a>[71]</span>
+companions, who instantly let fly a Gatling fire
+of comment.</p>
+
+<p>“Horning in with the management, are you?”
+grinned Nelson. “Just the same, I like your
+taste, kid. Some class there, all right!”</p>
+
+<p>“You bet!” chimed in Billy Orth. “What do
+you want to be such a hog for, though? Might
+have given somebody else a chance with one of
+’em.”</p>
+
+<p>“Spilled the beans that time, old man,” Dalton
+added significantly. “Hard luck, boy. Who’d
+ever have thought the other one would turn up
+that way, and pinch you—”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, go to blazes, the lot of you!” snapped
+Lefty, his face crimson.</p>
+
+<p>Without another word he strode toward the elevator,
+leaving Dalton—who had met Miss Harting
+in Boston, and shrewdly guessed that there
+was something more than passing friendship between
+the two—eying his companions with lifted
+brows.</p>
+
+<p>“Our genial southpaw seems somewhat
+peeved,” Larry murmured. “Have we touched
+upon a raw spot unawares?”</p>
+
+<p>Orth yawned. “Must be in a pretty bad way,”
+he commented. “I never knew him to give up
+like that without a word to say. Let’s hit the
+hay; I’m sleepy.”</p>
+
+<p>Rather silently the others followed him toward<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_72"></a>[72]</span>
+the elevator. Though there were no further remarks
+on the subject, they were all wondering
+what had happened to make the usually quick-witted,
+even-tempered Locke flare up the way he
+had at a little good-natured joshing, which ordinarily
+would have brought forth nothing more
+than a grin and a retort in kind.</p>
+
+<p>The object of their solicitude was thinking
+pretty much the same thing. He had scarcely
+set foot in the elevator before he regretted that
+silly burst of temper.</p>
+
+<p>“Looks as if I was bound to make a fool of myself
+to-night,” he thought. “I reckon I’m in bad
+all around.”</p>
+
+<p>He did not sleep well, and was up early. Having
+hurried through his breakfast, he dawdled
+around with a newspaper until eight o’clock, and
+then sought the telephone booth. A woman’s
+voice—Janet’s aunt, no doubt—answered his call.</p>
+
+<p>“Is Miss Harting in?” he asked quickly.</p>
+
+<p>“Who is this, please?”</p>
+
+<p>“Mr. Hazelton. I won’t keep her for more—”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m sorry,” interrupted the voice, with a curt,
+crisp intonation which belied the words, “but Miss
+Harting is too busy to come to the telephone.”</p>
+
+<p>“Will she be at home— Hang it all! She’s
+cut off.”</p>
+
+<p>Lefty slammed up the receiver, and sat scowling
+for a moment at the instrument.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_73"></a>[73]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Might think I’d committed a crime,” he
+growled at last. “Won’t even give me a chance
+to say a word in my own defense.” His jaw
+squared stubbornly. “I’ll make her listen to
+me,” he went on. “I’ll go up there and see her,
+whether she’s at home or not. I’ll go now, too.”</p>
+
+<p>This was easier said than done. Emerging
+from the booth, Lefty was waylaid by Spider
+Grant, captain of the team, who wasted a good
+half hour in desultory discussion of their chances
+for winning the third game of the series from the
+Specters that afternoon. It might have continued
+for an hour and a half had not Locke departed
+unceremoniously in the very midst of one of Spider’s
+most elaborate arguments.</p>
+
+<p>“If hot air would win the game, we wouldn’t
+need to go out to the park,” he muttered grumpily
+as he leaped aboard an open car.</p>
+
+<p>Of course there was a block; equally of course,
+Lefty fretted and fumed and wasted his good energy
+and invention in uncomplimentary remarks
+about the road and its operators. He was compelled
+to walk the last twelve blocks. When he at
+last arrived at the apartment house his mental
+condition was far from enviable.</p>
+
+<p>“Not at home,” said the maid, with cool brevity.</p>
+
+<p>As she started to close the door Lefty placed
+one foot over the sill, with apparent carelessness.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_74"></a>[74]</span>
+His earnestness of purpose was dimming the
+brightness of his manners.</p>
+
+<p>“Are you sure?” he asked suspiciously. “I
+only want to see Miss Harting for a minute.”</p>
+
+<p>“Indeed!” sniffed the girl. “Well, you’ll have
+to wait some time before you get the chance. She
+and Mrs. Manning are leaving on the night train
+for the Adirondacks.”</p>
+
+<p>“The Adirondacks!” gasped Lefty. “To-night!”
+He stood staring at the maid for a moment
+in utter dismay. “But I <em>must</em> see them before
+they go. Haven’t you any idea where they
+are now?”</p>
+
+<p>“No more’n a fly,” returned the girl, evidently
+softened a little by his distress. “They went
+right after the trunks was took—shoppin’, I
+s’pose. Anyhow, Mrs. Manning said they
+wouldn’t be back.”</p>
+
+<p>How Lefty went through the rest of the morning
+he did not know. What had been started by a
+trivial trick of chance seemed to be growing more
+serious every moment. Evidently Janet believed
+the worst of him. It was equally evident that she
+was determined to give him no opportunity to explain
+the mix-up. Her behavior hurt Lefty desperately.
+It seemed unfair and unjust that she
+should have so little faith in him, in spite of appearances.</p>
+
+<p>For several hours he wandered about the shopping<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_75"></a>[75]</span>
+district, in the vague hope that somehow he
+might run across the girl. Failing in that, he
+lunched in gloomy solitude, then made his way to
+the ball park.</p>
+
+<p>For six innings he sat on the bench in grim silence
+while “Slick” Lumley held down the Specters
+to a shut-out score. Slick was one of those
+pitchers who are unsurpassed when they are good,
+but who seldom last through an entire game. Evidently
+Carson did not propose to run any chances
+of his blowing up this time, for at the beginning of
+the seventh, with Lumley showing sudden wildness,
+he took him off the mound and substituted
+Billy Orth.</p>
+
+<p>It was during that inning that Lefty got up
+from the bench to stretch his legs, and became
+aware for the first time of the presence of Miss
+Collier in the box with her father. She nodded
+cordially, and it seemed only natural for him to
+step up and say a few words to her.</p>
+
+<p>The few words lengthened into a prolonged conversation.
+The club owner had a good many questions
+to ask about Lefty’s father, and Virginia
+herself was so bright and cheery and interesting
+that the young pitcher was raised from the depths
+of despondency in spite of himself.</p>
+
+<p>For three innings he stood leaning against the
+rail of the box. Toward the end he was talking
+and laughing almost as if he hadn’t a thing on his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_76"></a>[76]</span>
+mind to worry him. Several times his glance wandered
+back into the stands to where sat a young
+man of about his own age, who seemed much more
+interested in the party in the box than in the game.
+The fellow’s expression was so bitter, and he
+stared so fixedly at the famous southpaw, that
+Lefty wondered if he had ever met the chap
+before, or whether it was simply one of those curious
+dislikes certain fans seem to take to a player
+every once in a while.</p>
+
+<p>Locke was still wondering when Orth struck
+out the last man, winning the game by a score of
+two to one, and the crowd began to pour out of
+their seats to jam the aisles and runways.</p>
+
+<p>The next second Lefty gave a start, and the
+color drained swiftly from his face. He had
+caught a brief, fleeting glimpse of a girl who had
+been seated well back in the lower stand. Her
+face had been invisible all through the game, but
+now, as she arose and stepped into the aisle, he saw
+it clearly for an instant before she was swallowed
+up in the mob. It was the face of the girl he had
+been seeking all day in vain.</p>
+
+<p>Before he realized what he was doing, he had
+leaped for the nearest gate, and swung it open.
+Then he stopped, with a groan. It would be like
+hunting a needle in a haystack to try and find her
+in this crush. She might leave at any of a dozen
+exits before he could reach even one of them.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_77"></a>[77]</span></p>
+
+<p>For a moment he stood there, a scowl on his face,
+bitterness in his heart. Why had she come to the
+grounds at all? Was it to see him without the
+chance of being seen? Well, she had accomplished
+her purpose with a vengeance; she had beheld him
+chatting and laughing intimately with the same
+girl she supposed he had taken to the theater last
+night.</p>
+
+<p>With a groan of disappointment and mental
+pain, Lefty whirled around and tramped sullenly
+across the field toward the clubhouse. He did not
+give a single backward glance at the charming
+Miss Collier. He had forgotten her very existence
+in the irritation and trouble which this new complication
+had brought upon him.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_78"></a>[78]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X<br>
+<small>THE GROUCH</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">A modern Big League team is very much
+like an overgrown family. The men are
+together every day, and all day. At intervals
+they spend long hours cooped up in Pullman
+cars, always putting up at the same hotels
+while on the road, and frequently the majority of
+players belonging to a club stop at one particularly
+favored place at home. They miss little going
+on about them. As a result of this intimacy
+it was not long before Locke’s altered demeanor
+became a topic of discussion among the Blue
+Stockings.</p>
+
+<p>“I’d like to know what’s worrying the boy,” remarked
+Spider Grant early one afternoon in the
+dressing room. “He’s been going round for three
+or four days with a face a mile long.”</p>
+
+<p>He paused in his leisurely preparations for the
+game, and glanced inquiringly from one to another
+of the half dozen men who lounged about the room
+in various stages of undress.</p>
+
+<p>“He’s sure got a grouch,” agreed Rufe Hyland,
+intent on the adjustment of his sliding pads.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_79"></a>[79]</span>
+“Ain’t seen him crack a smile in so long I’ve forgot
+what he looks like grinnin’. Mebbe he’s
+peeved at the way Carson’s been runnin’ him in
+at the tail end of games to pull us out of holes.
+Bein’ a life-saver an’ gettin’ no credit’s enough
+to get any man raw.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s true enough,” agreed Grant. “He
+hasn’t had a whack at a straight game for over a
+week. Still, that wouldn’t turn a decent fellow
+like Lefty into a chronic grouch; he’s got too much
+sense. No, he acts to me like he was in love, and
+his girl had given him the double cross or something.
+How about that, Larry? You ought to
+know.”</p>
+
+<p>Dalton, wearing little more than his usual smile,
+shrugged his muscular shoulders and bustled
+among the contents of his locker.</p>
+
+<p>“Wouldn’t wonder if you’d hit it, Spider,” he
+returned, straightening up with a flannel shirt in
+his hands. “He has got a girl—regular peacherino,
+too—and I’ve got an idea that she has cross-signaled
+him lately. He spends half his time writing
+letters, and tears most of ’em up. That’s a
+bad sign, you know.”</p>
+
+<p>“Huh!” growled Hyland. “This skirt business
+makes me sick. There ain’t a thing in it. I’ve
+been hitched twice, and divorced the same number—an’
+never again. I wouldn’t make sheep’s eyes
+at the best-lookin’ dame in this town, believe me.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_80"></a>[80]</span>
+They git a fellow so fussed that he don’t know
+whether he’s afoot or horseback. If some female’s
+throwed the kid down, an’ that’s what he’s
+grouchin’ about, take it from me he’ll be bustin’
+up on the mound one of these days—an’ then
+where’ll he come off at?”</p>
+
+<p>“Where’ll <em>we</em> come off, you mean,” retorted
+Grant, with a frown. “He’s the best all-round
+flinger in this outfit, and if he goes to seed then
+go-o-od night post-season series.”</p>
+
+<p>There being no other pitchers present, the statement
+passed uncontradicted. Grant slipped out
+of his street trousers, carefully folded them, and
+turned again to Dalton.</p>
+
+<p>“Can’t you find out if that’s it, Larry?” he
+asked. “If it is, we ought to do something to—”</p>
+
+<p>“Cheese! Cheese!” warned Kid Lewis. “Here
+he comes.”</p>
+
+<p>A moment later the young southpaw entered the
+dressing room, curtly responded to jovial greetings—somewhat
+forced—from the other men, and
+strode over to his locker. His forehead was corrugated
+by the frown which had become habitual of
+late. His eyes were somber. He made no attempt
+whatever to join in the conversation which
+swiftly started up again, seeming, in fact, to be almost
+oblivious to what was going on. He answered
+two or three direct questions in monosyllables,
+stripped off his clothes with an absent sort<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_81"></a>[81]</span>
+of haste, got into his uniform in much the same
+manner, and departed, wrapped in gloom, without
+having volunteered a single remark.</p>
+
+<p>As he disappeared into the corridor, the other
+players eyed each other significantly.</p>
+
+<p>“I never thought to see Lefty Locke with a
+face like that on him,” commented Dirk Nelson
+mournfully. “Why, the boy used to be the life
+of the whole crowd.”</p>
+
+<p>“If it <em>is</em> a girl who’s responsible,” growled
+Hyland viciously, “she’d ought to be massecreed.
+There ain’t a woman livin’ that’s worth
+makin’ all that fuss about.”</p>
+
+<p>Spider Grant finished lacing his shoes, and
+stood up, stamping.</p>
+
+<p>“Try if you can’t get wise to the game, Larry,”
+he said abruptly. “I don’t know as we
+can do anything, but it’ll be something to be sure.
+He’ll loosen up to you sooner’n to any of the rest
+of us.”</p>
+
+<p>Dalton agreed, but without any great exhibition
+of confidence. He had noticed a marked reserve
+on the part of Lefty Locke lately, which did not
+augur well for the extraction of confidences.
+There was a little more talk on the subject, but it
+ceased with the arrival of Pete Grist and his
+bunch of cronies. Soon afterward they all sauntered
+out to the diamond.</p>
+
+<p>The game that day was the last of a series<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_82"></a>[82]</span>
+with the Hornets, and the last which would be
+played on the home grounds for some time.
+That night would see the Blue Stockings bound
+for the territory of their greatest rivals, the Specters,
+after which would follow the final Western
+circuit.</p>
+
+<p>Either the home club had weakened, or the Hornets
+improved noticeably since their last encounter.
+The Blue Stockings had won every
+game, to be sure, but they had won them only by
+the hardest kind of work; and on two occasions
+the phenomenal pitching of Locke, put into the
+box for two and four innings respectively, was
+all that saved the day.</p>
+
+<p>To the fans it seemed a certainty that the
+young southpaw would start off on the mound
+to-day, and a murmur of surprise arose when
+the umpire announced “Pink” Dillon’s name.</p>
+
+<p>Dillon was, at times, a brilliant pitcher, but
+he had been on the sick list for some weeks; and
+the manager’s mistaken judgment was proved
+by the fact that he lasted for just two innings,
+during the last of which the Hornets succeeded
+in pounding out three runs.</p>
+
+<p>In spite of vociferous yells for Locke on the
+part of the bleacherites, Carson sent Grist into
+the box. He lasted until the end of the seventh.
+Then, owing in part, perhaps, to the carping criticism
+from a group of leather-lunged fans, to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_83"></a>[83]</span>
+whom nobody but Lefty Locke looked good, he
+made a sudden and pyrotechnic ascension which
+let in several more tallies.</p>
+
+<p>Lefty was hurried into the gap with the score
+eight to three against the home team, and, though
+the portsider kept the Hornets from further scoring,
+the Blue Stockings were able to get only two
+more runners across the rubber. Therefore the
+game was lost by a tally of eight to five.</p>
+
+<p>The tramp and thunder of departing thousands
+had been going on for several minutes, yet Miss
+Collier still sat in a box, her eyes fixed on the
+throng of white-clad players just disappearing
+through the fence on the farther side of the field.
+All afternoon the young southpaw had not so
+much as glanced in her direction, yet to-night he
+was leaving the city, to be gone for several weeks.
+It seemed as if he might at least have said
+good-by.</p>
+
+<p>“I wouldn’t take it so hard if I were you,”
+smiled Mr. Collier, turning away from the friend
+with whom he had been chatting. “We can afford
+to lose this game, you know. The boys will
+make it up when they meet the Specters.”</p>
+
+<p>The girl arose leisurely and turned her back
+on the field.</p>
+
+<p>“I wasn’t thinking of that,” she said quietly.
+She paused for a second, her slim, gloved hands
+straightening her hat. “Doesn’t it seem a little<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_84"></a>[84]</span>
+odd to you, Dad, that Mr. Locke pitches so few
+games?”</p>
+
+<p>“Few!” repeated the magnate in amazement.
+“Why, he’s been in the box twice this week, and
+twice last!”</p>
+
+<p>Miss Collier shrugged her shoulders gracefully.
+“Precisely,” she returned calmly. “He’s been
+in the box for anywhere from two to four
+innings. Three times out of those four he won
+games some other pitcher tried to lose. He
+pitched a full game the day before I got home.
+Since then he’s been doing the most thankless
+sort of relief work. You see my point?”</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Collier’s jaw dropped. “Well, I’ll be
+hanged!” he exclaimed. “You certainly put one
+over on me that time, Virginia—or was it Locke
+who put you wise?”</p>
+
+<p>“Certainly <em>not</em>,” the girl retorted emphatically.
+“He isn’t that sort at all.”</p>
+
+<p>“Hum! No, of course not. I’m very glad you
+mentioned this, my dear. Such a thing is neither
+fair to the boy nor good judgment. I’ll see Carson
+before he leaves to-night, and tell him a little
+something.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_85"></a>[85]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI<br>
+<small>ON THE RAW EDGE</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">The train had been in motion for twenty
+minutes or so, and the occupants of the
+Blue Stocking special car were beginning
+to settle down for the evening when Al Carson
+appeared in the doorway of his stateroom. For
+a moment or two he stood there, frowning, his
+glance passing indifferently over the brisk poker
+game with its several interested onlookers which
+was going on near him, past the lounging players
+engaged in idle talk or immersed in newspapers.
+There was a sudden tightening of his lips, however,
+as his eyes finally came to rest on the
+sprawling figure of Lefty Locke, hunched in the
+corner of a seat well forward. A moment later
+the manager stood looking down on the southpaw,
+with narrowing lids.</p>
+
+<p>“Been whining around a petticoat, have you?”
+he sneered.</p>
+
+<p>Lefty’s eyes veered suddenly from the window
+to the manager’s face.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s that?” he snapped.</p>
+
+<p>“I said you’d been whining around a skirt,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_86"></a>[86]</span>
+complaining that I was using favoritism with the
+pitchers. You weren’t man enough to put up
+your kick to me; you had to go bawling about it
+to Collier’s daughter, so she’d work her father—”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s a lie!” rasped Locke, his face crimson.
+“A lie, and you know it!”</p>
+
+<p>His eyes were flashing, his fists were doubled;
+every muscle of his big frame had suddenly become
+tense and hard as a panther’s crouching
+for a spring. The manager himself turned suddenly
+livid with anger. For a moment, to the
+three or four players sitting near enough to observe
+what was going on, it looked as if another
+second would bring about a rough-and-tumble
+scrap.</p>
+
+<p>Just in time, however, Carson, realizing the
+danger of the situation, managed to get control of
+his temper.</p>
+
+<p>“<em>Is</em> that so?” he sneered. “Perhaps you can
+explain how Miss Collier came to draw the old
+man’s attention to the fact that you hadn’t
+pitched a straight game in over a week.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not being a fool,” Lefty snapped back, “it’s
+quite possible she discovered it by simple observation.
+Everybody else is wise to the fact
+that ever since you took hold of the team you’ve
+been using me to win games for the precious
+pitcher you’re so stuck on.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_87"></a>[87]</span></p>
+
+<p>Carson caught his breath swiftly and turned
+white with rage. “What the deuce—” he blustered.
+“Who—”</p>
+
+<p>“You know well enough who I mean,” retorted
+Locke. “If you don’t, then ask any man on the
+team, and you’ll find out quick. I’m not kicking;
+I’m simply stating facts. You’re manager
+of this team, and you’ve got the right to run it
+any way you choose. But there’s just this, <em>Mister</em>
+Carson: in future we’ll dispense with any
+more talk about my currying favor with the
+owner, either through his daughter or in any
+other way. When I’m ready to kick about anything,
+I’ll come to you and do it. Believe me,
+you’ll know it!”</p>
+
+<p>“What do you mean by such talk?” frothed
+Carson, his face purple. “I’ll fine you—”</p>
+
+<p>“Fine and be hanged!” defied Locke. “Only
+shut up! You started this, not I. You asked a
+question, and I answered, so cut out the hot air
+and leave me alone. I’m sick of the sound of
+your voice.”</p>
+
+<p>For a second or two the manager stared in
+dazed fury at the scowling face of the young
+pitcher, and then—he wilted. Lefty’s remarks
+had hit the nail on the head only too accurately,
+and Carson knew it. He and Pete Grist had
+been on friendly terms for a number of years,
+and Grist had been favored by the manager at<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_88"></a>[88]</span>
+every opportunity, though Carson flattered himself
+that it had been done too skillfully to be obvious.
+The shock of discovering the contrary,
+and also the realization that Locke was apparently
+in a state of mind which necessitated handling
+with gloves, caused the official to back water.
+With a snappy retort or two, and a very fierce expression,
+he turned on his heel and sought the seclusion
+of his stateroom.</p>
+
+<p>The slamming of the door was followed by a
+hush more eloquent than many words. The altercation
+had been conducted with no soft pedal
+on, and almost every word had been audible the
+entire length of the car. For a few minutes even
+the poker game was in abeyance, as the men
+glanced significantly at one another with lifted
+eyebrows, shaking their heads.</p>
+
+<p>“He’s sure enough sore,” whispered Kid
+Lewis. “Maybe it isn’t the girl, after all.”</p>
+
+<p>“Mebbe,” agreed Rufe Hyland, glancing at his
+cards again. “Lucky Grist’s in the smoker, or
+there’d be a rough-house for fair.”</p>
+
+<p>“What he said was nothing but gospel,” protested
+Nelson. “Carson’s been favoring Pete
+every chance he got. Lefty won two games for
+him within a week, and didn’t get any credit; for
+Grist, going to the bad, was drawn with us leadin’
+by a run.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, sure! I know that. But Petie’s a peppery<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_89"></a>[89]</span>
+gink, and no fellow likes to hear that kind
+of truth blabbed out in so many words.”</p>
+
+<p>Of course, Grist heard all about it before many
+hours had passed. In the dressing room on the
+Specter grounds, next afternoon, he made some
+sneering remarks on the subject in a loud tone,
+which could not help reaching Locke’s ears. Instantly
+Lefty retorted savagely. Grist snapped
+back viciously, and but for the swift interference
+of the other men, there would have been a fight
+then and there.</p>
+
+<p>Five minutes later Carson appeared and curtly
+informed the southpaw that he was to start the
+game.</p>
+
+<p>It was in this mental condition that Lefty received
+instructions to pitch. He made no comment
+beyond a surly nod, but his teammates
+glanced dubiously at one another, and shook their
+heads.</p>
+
+<p>One and all were conscious of an unpleasant
+feeling of suspense and unrest. It was as if they
+were walking on the thin crust of a volcano which
+was likely at any moment to burst into violent
+eruption.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_90"></a>[90]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII<br>
+<small>UNCERTAINTY</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">Contrary to the fears of a good many
+Blue Stockings, Lefty still seemed to be
+“there with the goods.” To be sure, he
+stalked out to the mound with a gloomy face and
+wrinkled brow, which was the very antithesis of his
+usual cheerful, good-humored expression; but
+when it came to bending them over, he showed
+every bit of his old-time skill for the first three
+innings.</p>
+
+<p>It was in the fourth that Larry Dalton, who had
+been watching his friend closely, began to notice
+a change. Red Callahan, an uncertain hitter, was
+at the bat. The southpaw pulled him with a
+pretty outcurve, following with a clever drop;
+and then, with two strikes and only one ball called,
+he whipped over a fast, straight ball, which
+would have cut the heart of the plate had not Red
+fallen upon it joyfully, smashing it out for a canter
+to first.</p>
+
+<p>It was not a very bad slip; pitchers fail every
+day through underestimation of a poor hitter.
+But carelessness had never been one of Lefty’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_91"></a>[91]</span>
+faults, and Dalton’s eyes widened with surprise
+as the Specter infielder romped down to the initial
+sack, and stood there grinning.</p>
+
+<p>The look of surprise deepened on Larry’s face
+when Locke gave the next batter three balls in
+succession, meanwhile allowing Callahan to steal
+second.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s the game!” barked the Specter coachers
+jubilantly. “Make him put ’em over, Jack.
+He ain’t such a wonder, after all. Too bad,
+Lefty, old boy. Losing your control?”</p>
+
+<p>“Make those dubs shut up!” snapped Locke,
+turning to the umpire. “They can talk to their
+own men, but not to me.”</p>
+
+<p>The coachers received a perfunctory warning,
+and naturally, when they saw that the pitcher objected
+to their remarks, they redoubled their efforts,
+simply altering the person.</p>
+
+<p>Dalton could scarcely believe his ears. To
+think of Lefty Locke being bothered by a little
+hot air! Ordinarily he simply grinned aggravatingly,
+or gave an excellent imitation of a deaf
+mute. It seemed incredible, and a furrow of
+anxiety flashed into place between Larry’s brown
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Lefty managed to pull out of the hole, but the
+mere fact that he had allowed himself to get into
+it was enough to cause his teammates to worry.</p>
+
+<p>The fifth inning passed with the score still one<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_92"></a>[92]</span>
+to one—both runs had been made at the very beginning
+of the game. In the sixth the Blue
+Stockings scored another tally, a lead which they
+held in spite of the desperate efforts of their
+opponents in the final half of the inning.</p>
+
+<p>During the seventh and eighth Lefty’s pitching
+came near giving a number of people heart
+failure. It was by turns mediocre to a degree,
+and superbly brilliant. He would get himself
+into holes by inexcusable carelessness, and then,
+when he seemed on the point of blowing up, he
+would steady down and make the spectators shout
+joyous approval.</p>
+
+<p>Throughout this erratic performance Billy
+Orth sat on the bench, watching the work of the
+grim, frowning portsider with alternate dismay,
+delight, and wonderment.</p>
+
+<p>“Good Lord!” Billy muttered to himself. “I
+never saw him so shifty. First he’s careless and
+wild as a hawk, then, just when he seems going
+up for fair, he tightens like a drumhead. He’s
+got Carson squirming.”</p>
+
+<p>True, the manager of the Blue Stockings was
+squirming. Even when Locke fanned dangerous
+hitters in the pinches Carson, though showing
+some relief, did not look wholly happy. At no
+time was the angry frown wiped clean from his
+face. For through it all he was troubled by a
+nagging conviction that the man on the mound<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_93"></a>[93]</span>
+was playing on his feelings as well as toying with
+the opposing batters.</p>
+
+<p>It really seemed that Lefty invited and sought
+threatening situations—in any of which the
+slightest slip would give the Specters what they
+desired—in order that he might make a display
+of his skill by balking the enemy when they were
+almost grasping the coveted prize. A pitcher
+who could “monkey” in such a manner, with the
+result of a single game meaning so much, was not
+worthy of trust under any circumstances. Had
+Carson felt absolutely assured that Locke was doing
+this, he would have braved the wrath of the
+owner by benching the man in one of those tense,
+threatening moments.</p>
+
+<p>But Carson was not sure. Much as he disliked
+Lefty for certain reasons, he could not bring himself
+to believe that a youngster with Locke’s
+promise in the Big League would, through malice
+or spite, toy inanely with his future prospects.</p>
+
+<p>Nevertheless, even when Lefty succeeded in
+pulling himself out of the holes, and came to the
+bench amid the approving uproar of the great
+crowd, the manager could not bring himself to
+give the grim and sullen man a word of encouragement
+and approval. True it was that Locke
+did not invite anything of the sort, and actually
+seemed, by his cold and distant manner, to repel
+the advances of his own friends and intimates<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_94"></a>[94]</span>
+on the team. In every way he was thoroughly
+unlike the open, jovial, likable youngster he had
+seemed to be earlier in the season.</p>
+
+<p>Even Laughing Larry, than whom no one had
+been more intimate with the young southpaw,
+wore an expression of troubled anxiety each time
+he came to the bench following those pinches.</p>
+
+<p>Billy Orth saw this, and signaled for the perspiring,
+disturbed Dalton to sit beside him in the
+pit.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s the matter with Lefty, Dalt?” asked
+Orth guardedly. “Do you think—”</p>
+
+<p>“Dunno what to think,” muttered Larry, in a
+perplexed way; “but I don’t believe he’s right.
+The whole team feels it, too; and, with our slim
+margin of one run, it wouldn’t take only the
+smallest break to put the bunch off their feet.”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course you’ve noticed how queer he’s
+been acting the last few days?”</p>
+
+<p>“Huh! Couldn’t help noticing it. A blind
+man or a fool could see that. He seems to be
+sore with himself and the whole world generally.
+That quarrel with Carson didn’t improve his condition
+any. He’s in bad there.”</p>
+
+<p>“But he stands well with the skirt, and she
+seems to be the real power behind the machine.”</p>
+
+<p>“The skirt? Oh, you mean Collier’s daughter?”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure! She seems to be running things.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_95"></a>[95]</span></p>
+
+<p>Dalton shook his head soberly. “And that’s
+unfortunate. Women may vote, hold office, and
+go to war if they want to, but baseball is one thing
+they’d better keep their noses out of. No team
+ever did well with a female monkeying with it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you know,” murmured Billy, “I’ve got an
+idea that I can locate Lefty Locke’s weak spot.
+It’s skirts. We all have our failings, and that’s
+his.”</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps you’re right,” nodded Larry. “I’ve
+always thought he had a level block, till lately.
+Now he’s mixed up with two dames, and—”</p>
+
+<p>“Why don’t you talk to him, Larry? You’re
+the one to do it. He ought to listen to you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe he ought to listen, but he won’t. Once
+I wouldn’t have hesitated, but now I can’t open
+my face to him without his being ready to jump
+down my throat. I confess it has made me a bit
+raw, too. Once he had plenty of friends, but if
+he keeps on he will lose the sympathy of everybody.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m afraid you’re right,” admitted Billy
+sadly. “I’ve been figuring to get my fingers on
+some of that post-season money, but if Locke goes
+to pieces now we won’t be in the running at the
+wind-up. Let’s hope for the best.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_96"></a>[96]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII<br>
+<small>SUSPENSE</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">The Specter twirler having become practically
+unhittable, the ninth inning gave
+the Blue Stockings nothing further than
+their slim lead of one tally. The final half
+opened with Dutch Schwartz, leading the Specter’s
+list, the first man to face Locke.</p>
+
+<p>“Whiff him, Lefty!” begged a few fans. “You
+can do it! Oh, you Lefty! You’re the boy!”</p>
+
+<p>With an expression of mingled determination
+and disdain for these pleading rooters, Schwartz
+planted himself at the plate, having first knocked
+the dirt out of his spikes with the butt of his
+heavy club.</p>
+
+<p>“Take it easy, son,” called Spider Grant, getting
+into position to cover plenty of territory in
+the vicinity of first. “You know him. If you
+can get him to start with, it will be as good as
+two down.”</p>
+
+<p>Locke gave his captain a cold stare, and his
+lips moved. It seemed that he muttered some
+sullen retort, but Grant could not distinguish the
+words.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_97"></a>[97]</span></p>
+
+<p>So long did the pitcher stand in that position,
+gazing straight at Spider, that the tense
+crowd began to wonder, and the umpire called
+“Play” twice. Finally, lifting his “meat hand”
+with the soiled horsehide gripped in his fingers,
+Lefty turned his eyes on Nelson, who crouched
+promptly, and signaled.</p>
+
+<p>Wagging his bat loosely, almost lightly, Dutch
+Schwartz was in position to step into anything
+handed up. Possibly delaying in an effort to get
+the batter’s nerve, Lefty made no further move
+until he provoked a protest from the Specter captain.
+Then, like one awaking from a half trance,
+the pitcher balanced himself on one foot, swung
+far back, brought his body over and forward, and
+made the delivery. Never had anyone present
+witnessed a wilder pitch. It was a wonder that
+the ball did not go clean over the top of the grandstand.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, oh, oh!” shouted the coachers, while the
+startled crowd broke into exclamations. “Look
+a’ that! Get a scaling ladder, Schwartzy.”</p>
+
+<p>The Dutchman grinned and tapped the pentagon
+with the end of his bat.</p>
+
+<p>A boy recovered the ball and threw it to Nelson,
+who made a pretense of looking it over before
+he tossed it to Locke.</p>
+
+<p>On the bench the watchful Billy Orth, actually
+shivering, whispered to himself: “Now, I wonder<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_98"></a>[98]</span>
+if he did that on purpose—I wonder. It
+doesn’t seem likely. If he did, he’s getting to be
+a good subject for the foolish factory.”</p>
+
+<p>Others beside Billy were wondering. While
+they were thus engaged Locke pitched again.
+This time he whipped a smoker over, and
+Schwartz fouled it against the right-field bleachers.</p>
+
+<p>“That makes you even, old boy!” called Grant,
+ere he turned to receive the ball from the fielder
+who had chased it down. But, somehow, his voice
+seemed to lack the ring of genuine cheerfulness.</p>
+
+<p>Even the least astute spectator could see that
+the Blue Stockings were all keyed up to a point
+of tension little short of snapping. Something
+in the very air seemed to presage a break. And
+that meant—disaster.</p>
+
+<p>It was such a situation, however, as provides
+one of the intense thrills of the game, the sort of
+a thrill and suspense which makes it so fascinating
+to its thousands upon thousands of followers.
+It is the desire to feel just this keen distress
+and uncertainty, intensely delicious in its
+poignant pain, that lures a fan to the ball park
+day after day to witness dead and uninteresting
+games, hoping always for the pinch that will set
+them swallowing hard to keep their hearts from
+choking them.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_99"></a>[99]</span></p>
+
+<p>Frowning, Lefty pitched again. The ball
+seemed to make a yellow streak through the air,
+and Nelson, though he held it, was actually set
+back the least fraction by the terrific impact of
+the sphere in his big mitt.</p>
+
+<p>Schwartz had struck again—and missed.</p>
+
+<p>“Smoke! Smoke!” shouted Dalton, laughing
+suddenly in his old-time way. “He couldn’t see
+it, my boy! Once more, and you’ve got him!”</p>
+
+<p>Indeed, Laughing Larry had suddenly decided
+that the pitcher he had doubted might be playing
+a clever game, even though the wisdom of it could
+be questioned. Nor was Larry the only one with
+confidence suddenly revived.</p>
+
+<p>“Such speed!” muttered Billy Orth. “And
+his control was perfect—that time.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s two on him!” howled an excited man
+from the middle stand. “He’s your meat, Lefty!
+You never did fail us!”</p>
+
+<p>Nelson gave his tingling bare hand a shake and
+returned the ball to Locke, who seemed to perceive
+it just in time to thrust out his gloved right
+and catch it a bit awkwardly. They saw him
+shake his head from side to side with a queer motion
+and pass the back of his left hand across his
+sweat-moistened forehead. His face was drawn
+into hard, set lines, which seemed like lines of
+pain. Before looking again for Nelson’s signal,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_100"></a>[100]</span>
+he walked all the way around the slab, staring
+down at the ground as if seeking for something
+he had dropped. And these queer movements
+brought the uncertainty leaping back into the
+heart of Laughing Larry and others.</p>
+
+<p>There was speed in the next one—speed
+enough, it is true; but Schwartz could not have
+reached it had his bat measured two feet more
+than it did. It went past Nelson, and clean to
+the stand, from which it rebounded.</p>
+
+<p>“Wait it out, Dutch,” urged a coacher. “He’ll
+hand you a pass yet.”</p>
+
+<p>Schwartz knew how to wait, as he proved by
+ignoring the next pitch, which barely failed to cut
+a corner. Three balls were called—three balls
+and two strikes.</p>
+
+<p>Again Lefty gave his head that queer, side-swaying
+shake. His teeth were set and his lips
+drawn back. Receiving the ball, he held it
+gripped tightly in both hands beneath his chin,
+while he leaned forward to get the catcher’s
+sign.</p>
+
+<p>Upon the crowd fell a great hush, in the midst
+of which the voices of Locke’s teammates, calling
+encouragement, could be distinctly heard.
+Schwartz, his confidence apparently unmarred,
+waited, sturdily alert.</p>
+
+<p>Lefty nodded, swung backward, swung forward,
+slashed the air with his arm—pitched. It<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_101"></a>[101]</span>
+was a hook-curve, sharp, and breaking toward
+the outside corner. Schwartz swung his bat as
+if it weighed no more than a toothpick. But,
+marvelous hitter though he was, that curve fooled
+him, and he was out.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_102"></a>[102]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV<br>
+<small>A WILD HEAVE</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">Championship prospects for the Blue
+Stockings had led an unusual number of
+rooters for the team to follow it around
+on the short jumps, and now, with the fanning of
+Schwartz, they made a tremendous racket. The
+following batters might be equally dangerous,
+but, with the sturdy Dutchman disposed of, the
+prospect of holding the threatening Specters was
+bright indeed. Not a few felt, like Larry Dalton,
+that to get Schwartz at this time was as good as
+disposing of two men.</p>
+
+<p>As Bugs Murray took Schwartz’s place, however,
+the great bulk of the gathering howled for
+a safety.</p>
+
+<p>“Get a hit! Get a hit!” was the cry. “Put
+us in the game, Bugs!”</p>
+
+<p>“He’s just as easy, Lefty, old boy,” chuckled
+Dalton. “Sew it up right here. This game
+counts. We need it.”</p>
+
+<p>By no visible sign did Locke show that the
+words of his friend reached his ears. On the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_103"></a>[103]</span>
+other hand, the rooting of the immense crowd in
+the stands seemed to annoy him in a most unusual
+way. And when one individual, with a voice like
+a locomotive whistle, shrieked that he was “wild,”
+“no good,” “easy,” and “punk,” he remained
+for some moments staring at the spot from which
+the cries seemed to come.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t mind that, old man,” pleaded Grant.
+“You know what you can do. Bugs is your next
+victim. Mow him down.”</p>
+
+<p>Again the troubled pitcher seemed to lack control,
+for he handed up two wild ones that made
+Nelson stretch himself to pull them down. Again
+the coachers prophesied that he would be obliging
+enough to give the hitter a walk. It is likely
+Murray thought there was a good prospect of
+such a thing, for he held back when Locke, after
+a seeming struggle to pull himself together, shot
+one down the groove.</p>
+
+<p>“Strike-ah!” called the umpire, flinging up his
+hand.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, of course, of course!” whooped Dalton.
+“You’ve got him hypnotized, Lefty. No free
+passes this inning.”</p>
+
+<p>But Laughing Larry was mistaken. With
+Murray waiting confidently, the laboring southpaw
+was unable to find the pan again, and four
+balls sent Bugs capering with elephantine grace
+to first.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_104"></a>[104]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Going up! going up!” he whooped, doing a
+dance on the sack. “Wait it out, Dil. He’s all
+shot to pieces.”</p>
+
+<p>After glancing toward his manager for a signal,
+Dillingham dropped one of the two bats he
+had been swinging, and hastened to put himself
+into position to do a little business with the other
+one.</p>
+
+<p>Logie, fourth on the list, and therefore a most
+reliable club swinger, followed Dillingham. And
+Logie was the only man who, all through the
+game, had shown the ability to fathom anything
+Locke put within his reach. With this fact in
+mind, the Specter manager felt that, even though
+two should be down, and a runner on second, with
+Logie batting it meant an even chance to get the
+run which would tie the score.</p>
+
+<p>“If we can tie it up now,” he thought, “we’ve
+got that left-hander’s goat. He’s barely been
+holding himself together, and a tie score in this
+inning would scatter him all over the lot.”</p>
+
+<p>So Dillingham was given the signal to sacrifice,
+and he passed the sign to Murray, who ceased his
+capering and made ready to tear up the chalk line
+on the way to second.</p>
+
+<p>Like the shouting of the crowd, the antics of
+Murray had seemed to disturb Lefty, and when
+he threw once to drive Bugs back to the initial
+sack he made such a wild heave that Spider Grant<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_105"></a>[105]</span>
+pulled the ball down only by a most amazing leap
+into the air.</p>
+
+<p>“Wow! wow!” laughed the coacher at that
+base. “He made you stretch, Spider. He can’t
+even throw to the sacks. What’s the matter with
+him—struck by ’stigmatism?”</p>
+
+<p>There really seemed that there was something
+the matter with Locke’s eyes, for again and again
+he passed his hand across them, like one brushing
+away cobwebs.</p>
+
+<p>The restored confidence of his teammates was
+ebbing again. Several times during the game
+Grant had wondered why Carson sent no other
+twirler out to warm up, and now the puzzling
+question once more flashed through his mind.
+With the former manager at the helm, the captain
+would have suggested such a precaution, but
+Carson was not popular with Spider.</p>
+
+<p>“He knows so much about the inside game,”
+thought Grant, “let him run things all by his
+lonesome. I’ll handle my end on the field, but
+I’m not going to give him a chance to call me by
+proposing something he ought to be wise to himself.”</p>
+
+<p>And only for what he had heard from Collier,
+Carson would have replaced Locke with another
+pitcher long ere this. With such feelings governing
+the “powers,” there was really small chance
+for the Blue Stockings to snatch the coveted championship.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_106"></a>[106]</span>
+Indeed, it was just this sort of childishness
+that had prevented Carson from becoming
+a pennant contender on the occasions when
+he had managed other Big League teams. The
+thoroughly successful manager never permits
+personal feelings or whims to influence his judgment.</p>
+
+<p>Although Lefty’s first pitch to Dillingham
+would have been called a ball, the batter reached
+across and met it, with his club loosely held, rolling
+a soggy bunt into the diamond.</p>
+
+<p>Murray had started with the swing of the
+pitcher’s arm, and therefore there was no chance
+to get him at second. It was Locke’s ball to field,
+and he should have nailed Dillingham at first by
+twelve or fifteen feet. Somehow, he seemed to
+hesitate before starting after the rolling sphere,
+and then, when he did get it, with barely enough
+time to pinch the runner at the initial sack, he
+threw all the way into deep right.</p>
+
+<p>A sudden roar went up. The coacher at first
+shrieked for Dillingham to keep on. The one at
+third howled and waved his arms at Murray.</p>
+
+<p>Lettering one gasping snarl, Rufe Hyland
+chased that wild peg down, got it on the rebound
+from the face of the bleachers, and whipped it
+back into the diamond in time to hold Murray at
+third. At second Dalton fooled Dillingham into<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_107"></a>[107]</span>
+sliding by pretending that he was going to take
+a throw.</p>
+
+<p>The Blue Stocking fans were silent and appalled,
+but the stands seemed to rock with the
+tremendous uproar made by the sympathizers
+with the Specters. With second and third occupied,
+only one down, and Logie the hitter, it
+seemed a three-to-one shot that Lefty Locke had
+thrown away the game.</p>
+
+<p>“If we only had Grist or Orth or <em>anybody</em> to
+go in now!” muttered Grant. “They’re all cold.
+There’s no time for ’em to warm up. Oh, this
+is fine management, and I’ll have to shoulder a
+big part of the blame!”</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_XV">CHAPTER XV<br>
+<small>THROWN AWAY</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">In the Blue Stocking pit Carson sat gritting his
+teeth and muttering, but he gave no orders
+that would tend to relieve the situation.</p>
+
+<p>Nelson, standing on the plate with the ball in
+his hands, motioned repeatedly before Locke saw
+him and came forward. They met a few feet in
+front of the pan.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s the trouble, old man?” questioned
+Dirk. “Are you sick?”</p>
+
+<p>“Sick? No,” growled the southpaw. “Gimme
+the ball.”</p>
+
+<p>“Wait a minute. There’s something wrong.
+You’re not right.”</p>
+
+<p>“Nothing the matter with me. I’ll get Logie.
+They won’t score. Hear that infernal bunch
+howl! They make me sick!”</p>
+
+<p>His angry eyes once more swept the tumultuous
+stands, where the crowd was jeering and hooting
+and shouting for the Blue Stockings to play ball.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re paying too much attention to the
+crowd, or something,” said Nelson. “You’re not
+pitching in form.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_109"></a>[109]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Bah! I’ve got speed, haven’t I?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, but—”</p>
+
+<p>“And curves, too?”</p>
+
+<p>“But your control is bad. If they score now
+they’ll take this game, best we can do.”</p>
+
+<p>“I tell you they won’t score. Haven’t I made
+good in every pinch to-day? Well, stop carping,
+and leave it to me. Just you give me the signs,
+and do your part of the work; that’s all that’s
+necessary.”</p>
+
+<p>“All right,” said the catcher, trying to seem as
+confident and cheerful as possible. “But don’t
+let Bugs reach the rubber—don’t, for the love of
+goodness! Keep steady now, and we’ll hold ’em
+yet.”</p>
+
+<p>He handed Lefty the ball, and Locke walked
+back to the mound, watching Murray, who was
+capering off third in an effort to draw a throw.</p>
+
+<p>“Come on, come on!” coaxed Bugs. “Heave
+it. You can’t get me. Heave it!”</p>
+
+<p>But the pitcher refrained from throwing, and
+took his position on the slab. The moment he
+squared away to pitch Dillingham ran far up
+from second, ready to try to get home on any
+sort of a promising single.</p>
+
+<p>That Locke had speed enough no one could
+deny, and now, to the surprise of his friends and
+his opponents alike, he seemed suddenly to have
+recovered his control. Doubtless Logie did not<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_110"></a>[110]</span>
+figure on this recovery, for he stood up to the
+pan, without swinging, and permitted two
+smokers to cut the inside corner, both being
+called strikes. Annoyed, he gripped his bat and
+waited for the next one. It proved to be one of
+Locke’s amazing hooks, all of which seemed due
+to cut the pan until they “broke.” On the break
+that particular ball would shoot downward and
+outward beyond the corner. It did so now, and
+Logie pounded the air.</p>
+
+<p>Laughing Larry’s joyous yell sounded high
+and clear above the delighted shouts of the little
+gathering of Blue Stocking “bugs” in the watching
+throng.</p>
+
+<p>“All right—it’s all right,” sang Dalton.
+“You’re fooling ’em some to-day, Lefty, my
+bucko.”</p>
+
+<p>On the bench Billy Orth mopped his pale, perspiring
+face. “Great scissors!” he breathed.
+“I believe he’s going to pull out now. If he does,
+I’ll own up that I don’t know when a man has
+gone to the bad.”</p>
+
+<p>The crowd implored Aldrich as they saw him
+advancing to take the place of the thoroughly disgusted
+Logie. The game hung by a thread, ready
+to drop into the laps of the Specters. Could
+Bush cut that thread?</p>
+
+<p>“You’re there, all right, Lefty,” said Nelson,
+grinning through the wires of his mask. “If<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_111"></a>[111]</span>
+they wait for you to hand ’em the game, they’re
+fooled.”</p>
+
+<p>Locke made no retort. In position to pitch, he
+faced Grant and looked to see if the captain gave
+him a signal to throw to third. But, remembering
+the wild heave to first, even though Murray
+was taking a perilous lead, Spider withheld the
+signal.</p>
+
+<p>“Get Aldrich,” he said. “That’s all you have
+to do.”</p>
+
+<p>Locke’s first pitch to Aldrich was high, and the
+batter, after starting to swing, checked himself
+in time to get the benefit of a called ball.</p>
+
+<p>Nelson returned the sphere promptly. Lefty
+muffed the toss, brushed his hand across his eyes,
+picked the ball up, and toed the plate.</p>
+
+<p>There was a sudden wild yell of warning.
+Murray, spurred by desperation, securing a good
+lead off third, had started on the jump for the
+plate. It was an attempt to steal home.</p>
+
+<p>“Here, here!” shouted Nelson, leaping forward
+to take the ball.</p>
+
+<p>To the dismay of the Blue Stockings, Locke
+turned to look toward third before throwing.
+Apparently he was surprised and dazed by failing
+to perceive Murray anywhere in the vicinity
+of that sack. Nor did he at that time seem to
+see Dillingham coming up from second as fast as
+he could leg it.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_112"></a>[112]</span></p>
+
+<p>“The plate! Put it home!” shrieked Larry
+Dalton.</p>
+
+<p>Locke swung back slowly, almost heavily. At
+that moment Bugs was flinging himself for the
+slide to the pan, and it was too late to stop him.
+That steal had tied the score.</p>
+
+<p>Then Lefty did what would have been a foolish
+thing had he made a perfect throw. Swinging
+back, he pegged the ball to third, although Dillingham
+was within ten feet of the sack when the
+sphere left the pitcher’s fingers.</p>
+
+<p>Leaping high, and reaching as far as he could,
+Jack Daly felt the ball barely graze the end of
+his gloved fingers. Away it went toward the left-field
+bleachers, and the coacher sent Dillingham
+on to the plate.</p>
+
+<p>Joe Welch got the ball, and lined it to the pan
+in a hopeless attempt to stop that second run.
+The throw was a bit wide; and when Nelson, lunging
+with the ball, tagged Dillingham, the umpire
+spread out his open hands, palms downward.</p>
+
+<p>The game was over! Locke had thrown it
+away at last.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_113"></a>[113]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI<br>
+<small>HOT WORDS</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">In a small, bare room of the clubhouse Al Carson
+waited, his face dark as a storm cloud.
+At times he muttered to himself. From the
+adjoining quarters of the defeated players there
+came no sounds of joshing or laughter. The loss
+of this game was a disagreeable pill for either
+management or men to swallow.</p>
+
+<p>After a time a heavy step sounded outside, the
+door opened, and Lefty Locke appeared before
+the manager. He was pale now beneath his
+healthy tan, but still his once handsome, good-natured
+face wore a sullen, defiant expression,
+and his flinty eyes met Carson’s withering look
+without wavering.</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” he said, his voice strangely harsh,
+“you sent for me.”</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Carson felt that he was going
+to blow up like a firecracker, but, somehow, he
+managed to control himself in a measure.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I sent for you,” he said. “I want to
+hear what you have to say for yourself.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m not going to say anything.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_114"></a>[114]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Oh, you’re not! You’re not going to say anything
+after handing the Specters that game on a
+platter? You’re not going to say a word after
+an exhibition that would make a jackass weep?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t see any tears in your eyes.”</p>
+
+<p>Then Carson did go up. “You infernal, insolent,
+swell-headed cub!” he shouted. “You
+think you can talk to me that fashion just because
+you happen to have a pull with—” Barely in
+time he bit the sentence short. His breast heaving,
+his nostrils distended, he announced: “I’ll
+show you! I’ll teach you that you can’t deliberately
+throw a game!”</p>
+
+<p>“Any man who says I ever deliberately threw
+a game is a liar!”</p>
+
+<p>Rarely in his baseball career had a player
+talked to Carson like that. The manager could
+scarcely believe the evidence of his ears, and
+for a moment he choked, his face purple, in an
+effort to articulate.</p>
+
+<p>“I oughter beat your head off!” he finally
+ground forth.</p>
+
+<p>“Try it!” invited Locke.</p>
+
+<p>The manager knew better than to try it. That
+tall, compact, finely built man looked like a thorough
+athlete, and just now the expression on his
+face seemed to betoken that he would gladly welcome
+a hand-to-hand scrap with anyone.</p>
+
+<p>“I won’t maul you,” panted Carson.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_115"></a>[115]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I’m sorry,” regretted the southpaw.</p>
+
+<p>“But I’ll teach you something, just the same.
+You’re fined twenty-five and suspended.”</p>
+
+<p>For a moment or two Lefty was silent. “Perhaps
+you think you can make that penalty stick,”
+he said presently. “Perhaps you think, simply
+because I lost a game—I’m not denying I lost it—you
+can call me into a private room and browbeat
+me, and fine me when I fail to cower and eat
+humble pie.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m fining you for your rotten work on the
+field. I’d fined you then and there if I’d got hold
+of you before you loped off.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re fining me from pure malicious revenge,
+nothing else. As a manager you play your favorites,
+and I don’t happen to be one of them.”</p>
+
+<p>“Shut up!” roared Carson. “Shut up, or I’ll
+double it!”</p>
+
+<p>“Double and be—hanged! I don’t have to
+play baseball for a living. You can suspend me
+as long as you please. I’m getting tired of the
+game, anyway, and thinking about quitting.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, you’re a quitter, all right. I reckon old
+Brennan, of the Hornets, had you sized up about
+right in the first place.” Carson’s total lack of
+diplomacy was amazing. Had he tried, with deliberate
+forethought, to create an unbridgable
+breach between himself and the left-hander, he
+could not have chosen a surer course. “The yellow<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_116"></a>[116]</span>
+streak always crops up sooner or later in
+any man who has it,” he went on. “You can
+pitch, with everything breaking for you, but you
+lack heart. A little streak of success swelled you
+up till you began to think yourself a king-pin.
+You had an idea that you were a better man than
+Pete Grist, and now—”</p>
+
+<p>“Have you finished?” interrupted Lefty, his
+voice quivering strangely. “I think I’d better
+go. In about ten seconds more I’ll do something
+that will put me liable to a fine for assault and
+battery.”</p>
+
+<p>His attitude was that of a man about to attack
+another when the door opened and Charles Collier
+entered, followed by a clean-looking, tall
+young man. Both stopped and stared in astonishment
+at the tableau.</p>
+
+<p>“What—what’s the matter here?” spluttered
+the owner of the Blue Stockings. “What’s the
+trouble, Carson?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, nothing,” answered the manager. “Nothing,
+only this fellow threatens me with assault
+when I give him a call-down for his wooden-headed
+work in that last inning.”</p>
+
+<p>“Really, Locke, I’m astonished,” said Collier,
+beginning to show a touch of anger himself.
+“You must know Mr. Carson has a right to feel
+sore.”</p>
+
+<p>“But he hasn’t a right to blackguard me. He<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_117"></a>[117]</span>
+can do that with other men, perhaps, but he can’t
+put it over on me.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m simply telling him the cold facts,” the
+manager hastened to assert. “He thinks himself
+so high and mighty that no one has a right to
+say a thing to him. He’s been coddled and
+spoiled. There’s no surer way to spoil a cub
+than to feed him taffy. It’s his first season out
+of the bush, and he’s beginning to reckon himself
+a second Walter Johnson.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re both excited,” said Collier, in an attempt
+to be soothing. “Of course, there’s a good
+reason, the game to-day meaning so much, but
+it’s better to talk these things over in cold blood.
+Let’s calm down a little, all of us.”</p>
+
+<p>His effort to cast oil on the troubled waters
+was partly successful, as far as Carson was concerned;
+for the manager did not wish the magnate
+to think him a person to lose his temper unreasonably
+in dealing with any player.</p>
+
+<p>“I called him in to talk it over decently,” he
+said; “but he became nasty right off the reel.”</p>
+
+<p>“Any man can talk to me decently,” muttered
+Lefty, though the resentful light still lingered in
+his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s right, my boy; that’s the way to feel,”
+said Collier, rubbing his hands. “It’s too bad
+we lost the game, but we’ll simply have to fight
+the harder for the rest of the series. If we break<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118"></a>[118]</span>
+even, we’ll still have it on the Specters. Perhaps
+Hazelton has been working too hard. I understand
+Kennedy used him a great deal. Perhaps
+he needs a rest.”</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe he does,” growled Carson. “Anyhow,
+I’m going to give him one.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s likely a few days will put him back into
+form. My daughter is a good judge of baseball
+players, and she has confidence in Lefty.”</p>
+
+<p>The young man who had entered with the owner
+moved his shoulders uneasily, and bit his lip.
+Suddenly Collier seemed to remember him.</p>
+
+<p>“Mr. Carson,” he said, “let me introduce a
+man who wanted to meet you. A friend of myself
+and daughter—Mr. Parlmee. Shake hands
+with Carson, Franklin.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m very glad to meet you, Mr. Carson,” said
+Parlmee, as he gave the manager his hand.</p>
+
+<p>“And Mr. Hazelton, too,” said the magnate,
+with a wave toward the southpaw. “Son of an
+old friend of mine. Unfortunately, his father
+has a prejudice against baseball, so he’s playing
+under the name of Locke.”</p>
+
+<p>For the first time since the appearance of the
+club owner and his companion, Lefty’s eyes rested
+on the face of the latter. In a moment he was
+vaguely aware that he had seen the man before,
+but not until Parlmee had bowed coldly, without
+an attempt to shake hands, did Locke recall the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_119"></a>[119]</span>
+occasion. Then he remembered how in the last
+home game with the Specters, while he was talking
+with Virginia Collier, he had seen a young
+man watching him gloweringly from the stand.
+This was the same man, and between the two
+there existed a singular feeling of antipathy, as
+yet unaccounted for in the pitcher’s mind.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly it seemed to Lefty that everything
+was against him, the whole world—fate, even.</p>
+
+<p>“If there’s nothing more,” he said, his voice
+cold and harsh, “I think I’ll be going.”</p>
+
+<p>“Sullen dog,” said Parlmee, when the door had
+closed behind the departing man.</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_XVII">CHAPTER XVII<br>
+<small>THE UNAPPROACHABLE LOCKE</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">“Men go stale on college teams,” said
+Charles Collier apologetically. “Perhaps
+that’s the trouble with Locke.”</p>
+
+<p>“He ain’t stale,” asserted Carson. “That
+ain’t the trouble with him. Look how he pitched
+when he wanted to.”</p>
+
+<p>“He seemed very erratic to me,” put in Parlmee.
+“I’ve seen plenty of pitchers like him.
+They’re never to be depended on.”</p>
+
+<p>“But you haven’t seen him at his best,” said
+the club owner. “This is the first full game
+you’ve ever seen him pitch. He certainly was
+reliable enough earlier in the season.”</p>
+
+<p>“The only trouble with him is in that swelled
+bean of his,” declared Carson. “Under Kennedy
+he was petted and coddled and made to believe
+he was the real thing, spelled with capitals.
+As soon as he gets the same deal from me that
+every other man is getting, and is handled on his
+merits, he turns ugly.”</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose,” observed Collier, “he has an idea
+that you rate Grist at the top of the list.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, why shouldn’t I? Look at Grist’s record<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_121"></a>[121]</span>
+and experience. There’s more baseball in his
+little finger than this cub has learned yet. If
+we’d had old Peter on the mound to-day—”</p>
+
+<p>“Why didn’t you put him in when you saw the
+youngster wabbling?”</p>
+
+<p>“Put him in, and then have it said I gave
+Locke the hook without reason? Who could
+foresee the fellow was going to throw the game
+at the last minute? I know he threatened to
+blow up several times, but he always tightened.
+Two were gone when he let Murray steal home.
+Even then there’d been a chance, for I might have
+run in another man; but he followed his dumbness
+up with a fool heave to the left-field bleachers.
+There wasn’t a bit of sense in it, and, unless
+he was trying to pass over the game, I can’t
+understand why he did it.”</p>
+
+<p>“It was the silliest thing I ever saw a pitcher
+do,” asserted Franklin Parlmee.</p>
+
+<p>“I admit that it was crazy,” agreed Collier.
+“But he can pitch, and we need the best that’s
+in our twirling staff in order to keep first place
+this year. The loss of a single pitcher would be
+pretty sure to fix us now. You’ve got to use
+sober judgment, Carson, if you land the championship,
+and doing that means something to you,
+as well as myself. The old burg will support a
+winning team and make it a money-maker, but
+it hasn’t much stomach for losers.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_122"></a>[122]</span></p>
+
+<p>“You can bank on it, Mr. Collier,” said Carson,
+“that I’m going to do my level best to land on
+top. I’m not in the game, any more than you are,
+for the fun there is in it. If you hadn’t reckoned
+I knew my business, I wouldn’t be where I am
+now.”</p>
+
+<p>“Surely not,” agreed the owner. “Kennedy
+did a good turn last season, and I’d not thought
+of displacing him if he’d shown an ability to keep
+the bunch united. Jealousy and cliques on a ball
+team always put it to the bad. It’s up to you to
+smooth things out, and I’m afraid you’re not
+succeeding. But for internal troubles, the Blue
+Stockings’ lead now would make it practically impossible
+for the Specters or any other team to
+head ’em.”</p>
+
+<p>Al Carson was not at all pleased by the criticism
+of his employer, but he had sufficient good
+sense to repress open resentment. He made the
+plea that he should be given time to “smooth
+out the wrinkles.”</p>
+
+<p>“If I’m going to be given full swing,” he said,
+“I think I should have it. I let Locke go the
+limit to-day because of criticism in my handling
+of him. Give me the proper rope, Mr. Collier,
+and I’ll deliver the goods; but no manager can
+do that unless he’s unhampered.”</p>
+
+<p>“It has never been my intention to interfere in
+a way to hamper you,” returned Collier a bit<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_123"></a>[123]</span>
+tartly. “Naturally, I presume I have the right
+to talk things over with you.”</p>
+
+<p>Half apologetically Carson hastened to state
+that it was not his intention to question that
+point.</p>
+
+<p>“Leave me to handle this grouchy man,” he
+promised, “and I’ll bring him into harness. I
+know we need him to do a certain amount of pitching,
+but he’s got to understand that there’s such
+a thing as discipline. He ought to know he can’t
+be sassy to his manager.”</p>
+
+<p>While this talk was in progress Lefty’s teammates,
+starting for their hotel in a motor bus,
+wondered what had become of him. It was Rufe
+Hyland who announced that he had seen Locke
+taking a trolley car all by himself.</p>
+
+<p>“S’pose he feels rotten,” said Rufe, “and so
+he sneaked.”</p>
+
+<p>“There was something doing ’tween him and
+the old man,” said Kid Lewis. “Carson called
+him for a private confab, and I heard sounds of
+fireworks.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s a shame,” said Laughing Larry, looking
+strangely doleful, “a beastly shame he had that
+spasm in the ninth.”</p>
+
+<p>“Spasm?” growled Herman Brock. “Looked
+to me more like a trance. What ailed him, anyhow?”</p>
+
+<p>“What’s been ailing him for some days?”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_124"></a>[124]</span>
+questioned Jack Daly. “He don’t eat, and I happen
+to know he ain’t sleeping well.”</p>
+
+<p>Dalton knew this also, although he had said
+nothing about it. Suddenly, to the surprise of
+the others, Grist, who had taken no part in the
+conversation, spoke up.</p>
+
+<p>“The boy must be off his feed,” said Pete.
+“Any youngster is apt to have a slump. Give
+him time and he’ll come round.”</p>
+
+<p>Now this was particularly generous of Grist,
+who at other times, with Lefty going at his best,
+had shown a disposition to belittle the southpaw’s
+fine work. Promptly Dalton’s heart warmed
+toward the old veteran.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re right, Pete,” he said, “and mebbe
+you’re the very one to put him back on his pins.”</p>
+
+<p>“Me?” grunted Grist.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, you.”</p>
+
+<p>“How y’ mean?”</p>
+
+<p>“By talking to him. By encouraging him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Huh!” grunted the old twirler. “He wouldn’t
+listen to me.”</p>
+
+<p>“I believe he would, Pete. Lefty’s a ripping
+fine fellow when he’s right—the finest ever. He’s
+generous and whole-souled, without a touch of
+jealousy in his make-up. All of a sudden he’s
+gone wrong, and nobody can account for it. His
+particular friends can’t talk to him. They’ve
+tried.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_125"></a>[125]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Then I dunno why I should waste my breath,”
+said Grist slowly. “Likely he’d jump on me and
+sink his spikes to the sole leather.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t believe it,” protested Larry earnestly.
+“He acts like he’d somehow got a fool notion that
+everybody’s sore on him. Now, if he saw that you
+didn’t feel that way—”</p>
+
+<p>“All right,” snapped Grist shortly. “Leave
+it to me; I’ll talk to him like a father to a wayward
+son.”</p>
+
+<p>“But be careful,” cautioned Dalton. “Handle
+him right.”</p>
+
+<p>“Leave it to me, I tell yer,” advised Grist once
+more.</p>
+
+<p>That night Lefty ate alone at the hotel, shunning
+his teammates. He picked at his food like a
+man insulting his appetite, if he had one. When
+he left the dining room and walked out through
+the lobby without looking to the right or left,
+Grist followed him.</p>
+
+<p>Ten minutes later Grant, Hyland, and Dalton,
+chatting in a front window, were startled to see
+old Peter appear before them, his face the picture
+of anger and disgust.</p>
+
+<p>“Say,” snorted the veteran twirler, “when
+anybody gets me to try anything like that again
+he’ll know it. Why, that dub would slap his
+grandmother’s face if she peeped to him. I overtook
+him by chance on the street and tried to talk<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_126"></a>[126]</span>
+decent. What did I get? He seemed to think I
+was trying to rub something into him, and I
+couldn’t argue it out of his dumb noddle. The
+more I said the dirtier he got. I just had to
+give it up and quit sudden before I forgot myself
+and handed him a bunch of fives. Anybody that
+wants to talk to him hereafter can do so. <em>Excuse
+me!</em>”</p>
+
+<p>“He wouldn’t listen?” asked Dalton in deep
+disappointment. “Did you make him understand
+that your motives were friendly?”</p>
+
+<p>“Dunno. I tried hard enough. ’Twan’t no
+good. If anybody else’d met me that way, I’d
+soaked him. Now I’m done with Lefty Locke.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_127"></a>[127]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII<br>
+<small>UNDER A CLOUD</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">Sometimes it takes very little to upset the
+poise of a Big League team. Even when
+a winning organization is running smoothly,
+an injury to a single player may throw the whole
+machinery out of mesh. To an outsider—a mere
+spectator who has not studied the peculiarities of
+baseball at close range—this often seems unaccountable.
+To him, in a club with first-class substitutes
+waiting to fill the position of any man,
+there seems to be no reason why the loss of a
+regular player should make such a remarkable
+difference in the work of the entire outfit.</p>
+
+<p>Few outsiders realize how evenly matched the
+clubs often are in the first division. Many times
+the action of an astute manager in replacing a
+player who seems to be doing splendid work in
+his position with another player, apparently no
+better, has turned a losing club into a winner, the
+secret of this being that the man substituted
+fitted in more nicely with the fine adjustment of
+the great machine, like a perfectly made pinion
+in the works of a watch.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_128"></a>[128]</span></p>
+
+<p>It is not drawing it too fine to compare a first-class
+Big League team to a high-grade watch.
+Time after time the spectators wonder at the
+clockwork precision of the living machine upon
+the field. Now and then, at rare intervals, of
+course, this piece of machinery temporarily goes
+wrong; but a little oiling or adjusting puts it
+right again, and it once more resumes its accurate,
+methodical, mechanical course.</p>
+
+<p>The pitching staff may be likened to the mainspring
+of the watch. Without pitchers of the
+highest grade any club, no matter how strong it
+may be in other departments, is badly handicapped;
+with such a staff it often happens that
+a team of otherwise inferior caliber makes no
+end of trouble and worriment for the leaders.
+And, despite his ill-advised handling of
+Lefty Locke, no one knew this better than Al
+Carson.</p>
+
+<p>When it became known that Lefty had been
+fined and suspended, some of his teammates attempted
+to condole with him in a cheerful, joshing
+way, but not one of them repeated such advances;
+for he cut them short with such snappy,
+savage abruptness that they were justified in
+their resentment of his manner.</p>
+
+<p>The second game of the series between the
+Specters and the Blue Stockings proved to be a
+slugging match, in which each team used three<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_129"></a>[129]</span>
+pitchers. Pink Dillon, starting for the visitors,
+was pounded off the mound in the second inning
+and replaced by Orth. He lasted until the seventh,
+and then gave way to Grist, who took up
+the burden with the locals leading by one run.
+Even “Old Reliable” was not respected by the
+Specters, who slashed his slants mercilessly.
+Nevertheless, by a great batting rally in the
+ninth, the Blue Stockings tied up the score. But
+Grist was forced to work like a horse for three
+more long innings before his teammates got to
+Jim Donovan and hammered out the run which
+finally gave them the game fourteen to thirteen.</p>
+
+<p>The newspaper reporters called it a “swat
+fest.” In his wire to the <cite>Blade</cite>, Jack Stillman,
+on the road for his paper with the Blue Stockings,
+vaguely hinted at future trouble for Carson on
+account of the condition of his pitching staff.
+Besides Carson himself, no one realized better
+than Stillman the peril of this crucial period in
+the great struggle.</p>
+
+<p>Under suspension, Lefty Locke was not on the
+bench with his teammates. Stillman, who had
+twice tried to get an interview with Lefty, saw
+him soberly watching the struggle from a portion
+of the stand near the reporters’ section, and wondered
+what really had happened to change this
+fine, open-hearted fellow into a gloomy grouch.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll get at him again,” thought the reporter.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_130"></a>[130]</span>
+“He’s got to talk to me. He can’t stand me off
+like an iceberg.”</p>
+
+<p>But after the game Locke disappeared with the
+crowd that disappointedly melted away, and Stillman
+was compelled to postpone his interview.</p>
+
+<p>With his ears open for everything connected
+with his business, the newspaper man that night
+heard something which sent him in search of
+Carson for confirmation. However, he obtained
+little satisfaction from the manager. Then, remembering
+his desire to have another talk with
+Locke, he tried to find Lefty, and failed. The
+southpaw was not in his room, and none of the
+players seemed to know where he could be located.</p>
+
+<p>In Dirk Nelson’s room Stillman found Kid
+Lewis and Jack Daly lounging and talking things
+over with the catcher. Being well liked by the
+entire team, he was invited to join them.</p>
+
+<p>“We was just figgerin’ on our chances to-morrer,”
+said Daly. “We’ve got to have another
+one of the games here to keep us afloat on the
+roller.”</p>
+
+<p>“If the Specters play the way they did to-day,”
+said Stillman, “you ought to cop one more, anyhow.”</p>
+
+<p>“Huh!” grunted the Kid, twisting off a chew
+of tobacco with his square teeth, “seems to me
+we didn’t shine like stars of the first magnitude
+this <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span> Why, with old Peter on the firing line<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_131"></a>[131]</span>
+we was barely able to rake in the plum by one
+measly run.”</p>
+
+<p>“And the way Grist had to go, he won’t be in
+any shape to-morrow,” said Nelson. “Neither
+Orth nor Dillon can hold this bunch of sack
+swipers, and, besides pitching yesterday, Locke’s
+suspended. We’ve got a couple of reserves, but
+Handy’s arm is broke in the middle, and Carney
+has been sick for a month. Excuse my tears.”</p>
+
+<p>“I wish you’d tell me,” said Stillman, “what’s
+the matter with Locke, anyhow.”</p>
+
+<p>“Tell <em>us</em>,” invited the trio in chorus.</p>
+
+<p>The reporter shook his head. “I’ve tried to
+find out, but he won’t talk to me. Anybody would
+think,” he added in an injured way, “that I was
+his worst enemy; and I was about the only news
+man who pulled hard for him all the way after
+he joined the Hornets in the South last spring.”</p>
+
+<p>“He’s sick,” cried Nelson, thumping his knee.
+“If he ain’t, he’s crazy, and oughter be shut up
+somewhere with the rest of the bugs. Think of
+him going wrong just now! Wouldn’t it make a
+parson use bad language!”</p>
+
+<p>“I heard something to-night,” said Stillman.
+“I wonder if you fellows have got wind of it?
+There’s a rumor that Carson has a deal on.”</p>
+
+<p>“What sort of a deal?” asked Daly.</p>
+
+<p>“A trade. They say he got busy on the wire
+this morning, and that he’s trying to make arrangements<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_132"></a>[132]</span>
+to trade Locke off for another
+pitcher.”</p>
+
+<p>“Who says so?” snapped Lewis.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t believe it!” shouted Daly.</p>
+
+<p>“Thunder!” breathed Nelson.</p>
+
+<p>“You know I can’t go round blowing the source
+of my information,” said Stillman, “but it seemed
+to come straight enough.”</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps it is straight,” said Nelson. “Carson
+ain’t never took to Locke. But who’s the
+man he’s after?”</p>
+
+<p>“You couldn’t guess,” said the reporter. “I
+won’t prolong your agony. If the report is true,
+it’s Chick O’Brien, of the Wolves.”</p>
+
+<p>Even with the warning he had given them, this
+statement seemed to strike them like a bursting
+bombshell. The Wolves, although in the second
+division, had harried the leaders all through the
+season, mainly by the marvelous work of O’Brien,
+and it was generally agreed that with a first-division
+team behind him Chick would show himself
+one of the great pitchers in the business.</p>
+
+<p>“Sufferin’ snakes!” cried Lewis, his face glowing
+and his eyes snapping. “If we could get
+Chick now, I’d begin right away planning how to
+spend my post-season money.”</p>
+
+<p>“Me, too,” agreed Daly.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s nothing to it,” announced Nelson.
+“You couldn’t pry O’Brien away from the Wolves<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_133"></a>[133]</span>
+with a twenty-thousand dollar lever. Old Frazer
+wouldn’t let him go for <em>two</em> youngsters like Locke
+and a barrel of money to boot. Every manager
+in the league has been after him, and Frazer’s
+held on with the grip of death, knowing the
+Wolves would go plumb into the sub-cellar without
+Chick.”</p>
+
+<p>“Collier’s got the dough to buy almost anything,
+and he’s a plunger when he gets started,”
+said Stillman. “I reckon he’d be willing to lose
+money this season to cop the championship again.
+Anyhow, Carson wouldn’t deny that he was trying
+to put such a deal across. He wouldn’t say anything
+about it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Whether it’s true or not, the story is bad for
+Locke,” said Nelson; “and if it gets to his ears
+it’s going to make him worse than he is.”</p>
+
+<p>“Or brace him up,” put in Daly. “Mebbe it
+will do that.”</p>
+
+<p>Of course, the rumor spread swiftly, and in
+short order every man on the team had heard of
+it, save Locke himself. For reasons, no one told
+Lefty.</p>
+
+<p>The fears of the Blue Stockings seemed justified
+when the Specters walked away with the
+third game of the series by a score of eight to
+two. Such a defeat, instead of disheartening
+them, seemed to fire them with desperation, and the
+fourth and final game proved to be another terrific<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_134"></a>[134]</span>
+battle, in which the two teams seesawed from
+start to finish, resorting to every legitimate device
+and trick as opportunities arose. Nevertheless,
+only for a fluke in the eighth inning, the locals
+doubtless would have taken the game.</p>
+
+<p>With two down and two on the cushions, Herman
+Brock banged the ball into deep left, and it
+went bounding to the fence, with Forbes in hot
+pursuit. The fielder had been playing deep,
+knowing Brock’s menace as a slugger, and, but
+for an unforeseen freak of fate, he doubtless
+would have secured the ball and held the enemy
+to a single run. It happened, however, that close
+to the ground there was a small hole in the fence—a
+hole barely large enough to push an ordinary
+baseball through; and never before had the sphere
+sought out that little opening hidden by a thin
+fringe of grass. Now, with seeming perverseness,
+it went straight through the hole, giving Brock a
+homer and putting the visitors again in the lead.</p>
+
+<p>Orth had been wabbling, and Carson had wisely
+kept Dillon warming up all through the game.
+Now, when the Specters came to bat again, the
+manager took a chance and sent Pink to the
+hillock.</p>
+
+<p>Strange as it seemed, the slants and benders of
+this second-string pitcher, which had been so easy
+for the locals to fathom two days before, now
+proved tremendously puzzling. And, though the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_135"></a>[135]</span>
+fighting “ghosts” became menacing in both the
+eighth and ninth, they could not quite succeed in
+pushing a runner round the course.</p>
+
+<p>Therefore, for all of the tattered condition of
+their pitching staff, the Blue Stockings broke even
+in the series with their most dangerous rivals.</p>
+
+<p>But they were now to invade the territory of
+the Terriers, always to be feared, and the dark
+cloud swung lower.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_136"></a>[136]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX<br>
+<small>THE STRANGER</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">The train was swinging along through
+open, rolling country when Locke, now
+being left severely to himself on account
+of his churlishness by his resentful teammates,
+tired of gazing dully at the flying landscape, rose
+and passed down the aisle of the special car.
+Scarcely anyone seemed to observe him, and he
+noticed no one. When he had disappeared, however,
+Billy Orth shook his head and turned to
+Larry Dalton.</p>
+
+<p>“Thundering shame, Larry,” he said in a low
+tone. “Do you know, I think I’ve solved the
+trouble.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then you’re wiser than the rest of us.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s the girl business, to begin with.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, we’ve all guessed that much, but being
+thrown down by a girl isn’t enough to put an
+ordinary well-balanced chap, same as Lefty
+seemed to be, all to the punk. Of course, it
+might affect a fellow, but it wouldn’t turn him
+from a fine, jolly soul into a sour, nasty-tempered,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_137"></a>[137]</span>
+unreasoning grump. You’ve got to go farther,
+Billy.”</p>
+
+<p>“I have been,” asserted the other with assurance.</p>
+
+<p>“What way?”</p>
+
+<p>“He’s taken to hitting the booze.”</p>
+
+<p>“No!” breathed Laughing Larry incredulously.
+“Why, he never drank. He’d take a glass of
+beer now and then, to be sure, but you couldn’t
+drive a drink of hard stuff into him. You’re
+wrong, Orth.”</p>
+
+<p>“When a man gets double crossed in love he’s
+liable to do any freakish thing, and lots of ’em
+affiliate with the jag juice.”</p>
+
+<p>“But Locke hasn’t been full. No one has
+seen him under the influence.”</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps he’s under the influence right now.
+Perhaps he’s keeping about so much redeye in his
+skin all the time. Maybe that’s why he herds by
+himself so much. He sure has had plenty of
+chance to drink by his lonesome lately.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, but— Oh, say, you’ve got to have something
+better than mere supposition to base this
+on.”</p>
+
+<p>“I have.”</p>
+
+<p>“What?”</p>
+
+<p>“Saw him coming out of a saloon last night.
+Couldn’t believe my eyes at first, but it was Lefty,
+sure. You know firewater works in peculiar<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_138"></a>[138]</span>
+ways with some men. Occasionally it turns a
+jolly good fellow into an ugly dog. Lefty hasn’t
+hit it up enough to stagger or show the usual
+signs, but in his effort to drown his sorrow he’s
+taken just enough to change him completely.
+Something ought to be done. But when a fellow
+is absolutely unapproachable, what can you do?”</p>
+
+<p>“What can you?” echoed Larry.</p>
+
+<p>In the meantime, passing through the train,
+Lefty had entered the ordinary smoker, which
+chanced to be so well filled that nearly every seat
+was taken. Through a blue haze of smoke he
+peered in search of a seat as he walked along the
+aisle. Suddenly a young man took a brierwood
+pipe from his mouth, stared hard at the pitcher,
+and rose to his feet.</p>
+
+<p>“By Jove! Phil Hazelton!” he exclaimed.
+“Why, how are you, old man?”</p>
+
+<p>Lefty stared, unsmiling, at the speaker, apparently
+failing to notice the extended hand.</p>
+
+<p>“Pardon me,” he said; “I don’t remember
+you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t remember me?” cried the other incredulously.
+“Great Scott! Have I changed so
+much? I know I’m threatened with premature
+baldness, but still it can’t be that in such a short
+time you’ve forgotten Walt Hetner.”</p>
+
+<p>“Hetner?” said Locke, frowning and shaking<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_139"></a>[139]</span>
+his head in a puzzled way. “I don’t have the
+slightest recollection of you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Cæsar’s ghost! I knew you at Princeton.
+We were college mates.”</p>
+
+<p>“Princeton?” said Lefty. “Yes, I was at
+Princeton, I believe.”</p>
+
+<p>“You pitched for the varsity nine. Your old
+man didn’t like it, and was pretty sore. I’ve
+heard lately that you’ve gone into professional
+baseball. Don’t get a chance to see many games
+myself nowadays, but the report is that you’re
+<em>some pitcher</em> for the Blue Stockings.”</p>
+
+<p>“I have been pitching for them,” admitted
+Locke slowly. “Sorry I don’t remember you.”</p>
+
+<p>His pride hurt, Hetner sank back into his seat,
+and Lefty passed on. The rebuffed man turned
+to his companion, who was an old acquaintance he
+had met on the train.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, wouldn’t that frost you some, Wilson?”
+he exclaimed, his face flushed. “Why, I knew
+that fellow at college as well as I know you, and
+he’s the last man I’d expect to hand out anything
+of that sort.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you think he didn’t recognize you, Doctor?”</p>
+
+<p>“Recognize me? Of course he did. That’s
+what makes me hot. I don’t know why he should
+play the cad. It’s beyond me. Perhaps he’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_140"></a>[140]</span>
+ashamed of the fact that he’s playing professional
+baseball under a fake name.”</p>
+
+<p>“Still,” said Wilson, “he might be decent, at
+least.”</p>
+
+<p>Lefty came to a seat in which a slender, pallid,
+sad-eyed young man sat alone.</p>
+
+<p>“I beg your pardon, stranger,” he said; “is
+this seat taken?”</p>
+
+<p>The young man started a bit, glanced up, and
+smiled faintly.</p>
+
+<p>“No, it isn’t taken, pal,” he answered. “But
+how the dickens did you happen to know my
+name?”</p>
+
+<p>“Your name?” said Lefty, sinking down, a
+puzzled frown plowing a deep furrow between his
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. You called me Stranger. That’s my
+monacker—Robert Stranger; Bob for short.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I get you,” said Lefty, failing to return
+the young man’s engaging smile. “It was just
+by chance that I called you that.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, for a moment I thought you knew me.
+It’s mighty lonesome taking this jaunt without
+anybody to chin to, and I’m glad you came along.
+Traveling alone yourself?”</p>
+
+<p>“In a way I am,” answered Lefty, betraying a
+willingness to talk to this chance acquaintance
+which would have surprised his antagonized
+friends in the special car. “I’m a ball player,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_141"></a>[141]</span>
+but I ducked to get away from the rest of the
+bunch. They’re on this train.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, a ball player!” murmured Mr. Stranger.
+“Professional? Big League?”</p>
+
+<p>“The Blue Stockings.”</p>
+
+<p>“They’re some,” beamed the man by the car
+window. “Of course I hear plenty of baseball
+talk. Can’t help it. But I never did take to the
+game much. It may sound like bunk to you, but I
+never saw a real game in my life.”</p>
+
+<p>“Really?” said Lefty, in an expressionless way.
+“That is rather odd.”</p>
+
+<p>“S’pose I’m a crank,” laughed the other; “but
+all the guff I hear and see in the newspapers about
+baseball makes me weary; it sure does. Seems
+like ninety per cent. of the population has gone
+dippy about the game. Once on a time I was mistook
+for a pitcher I happened to look like. A gent
+blew up and called me by that ball tosser’s name
+and asked me how I was coming on at it. He
+didn’t believe me when I told him I’d never
+pitched a ball in my life. Why, I don’t know a
+curve from a wedge of restaurant pie.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re a rare bird,” said Lefty.</p>
+
+<p>“I am, pal, and I’m rather proud of it.”</p>
+
+<p>“What’s your business, if it’s not too personal?”</p>
+
+<p>The young man hesitated and coughed behind
+his hand.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_142"></a>[142]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I’m a—a diamond cutter,” he answered.
+“That is, I have been, but I’ve had to give it up
+on account of my health. Too confining, you
+know. I’m not much on being confined,” he continued
+oddly. “You can see it has rather taken
+hold of me. My health isn’t just what it should
+be.”</p>
+
+<p>“I noticed you were unusually pale.”</p>
+
+<p>“That comes from confinement. A pill slinger
+told me it would be a good thing for me to get
+out into the country and find a job somewhere in
+the open air. I’m looking for work on a farm.
+The rural life for mine, far from the lure of high-cut
+swinging doors. Between us, pal, I’ve hit it
+up a bit too hard in my day. I always was a
+wild one,” he went on garrulously. “Even when
+I was a boy I touched too many of the high spots.
+I’ve been a mark, too. Ever play poker? Well,
+I’ve been the easiest dub you ever saw at that
+game. But I like it. Can’t seem to keep away
+from it. Every time I get a roll on hand I go
+searching for a game and someone to pass the
+velvet over to. Even now I’ve got a little wad
+of long green that’s burning in my pocket. Before
+you came along I was thinking I’d like to
+find three or four good sports and get up a little
+game.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t play poker—for blood,” said Lefty.
+“A bunch on the team are at it every chance they<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_143"></a>[143]</span>
+get; though, of course, they only play a little
+game.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, that would suit me. I don’t want to
+really gamble, you know. I’m a minister’s son.”</p>
+
+<p>Lefty refrained from saying that he was another.</p>
+
+<p>“Brought up in a straight-laced family,”
+Stranger went on. “My old man thought cards
+the tools of Satan. And my mother”—a cloud
+seemed to come to his face and his smile faded—“it
+broke her heart when she found out I was
+playing penny ante with a bunch of game lads.
+Mebbe that’s what finished her. The old gent
+didn’t last long after she was put away under the
+daisies.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then your father and mother are both dead?”</p>
+
+<p>“Both gone. But come, what’s the use to talk
+of things like that? Let’s see if we can’t find a
+couple of lonesome travelers looking for amusement.
+Let’s start something. A little game of
+poker to pass away—”</p>
+
+<p>The sentence never was finished. At this moment
+there came a sudden jarring, grinding,
+crashing sound. A broken rail had given way on
+a curve, and it shot half the train from the track
+to strew it into a splintered mass of wreckage
+along the foot of the embankment.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_144"></a>[144]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX<br>
+<small>THE RETIRED MANAGER</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">Throughout his baseball career it had
+been the object of old Jack Kennedy to
+quit the game voluntarily with honors
+and retire to his little Ohio farm in the town of
+Deering. Being of a somewhat frugal turn, he
+had saved from his earnings while in the game
+enough to pay for the farm to the last dollar,
+which was a matter of no small satisfaction to
+him when Charles Collier, the new owner of the
+Blue Stockings, dropped him from the management
+of the team in order to give Al Carson that
+position.</p>
+
+<p>Without egotism, Kennedy knew himself to be
+more capable than Carson; but still he made no
+protest, and, in spite of his evident regret over
+bidding the players good-by, he succeeded very
+well in hiding the sore spot.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m done with baseball, boys,” he said.
+“Henceforth it’s the rural life for me, raising
+corn and pumpkins and garden sass in general.
+If any of you ever come through my way, don’t
+forget where I live. You’ll make a hit with me<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_145"></a>[145]</span>
+if you take my wigwam for the home plate and
+squat on the bench at my fireside.”</p>
+
+<p>Kennedy knew full well the real trouble with
+the Blue Stockings, and it had been his object to
+break up the cliques and smooth out the wrinkles
+on the team in his own level-headed way. He
+knew also that Carson was due to have his troubles,
+and, like the generous man he was, he had
+approached the new manager and attempted to
+put him wise. These advances, however, were not
+pleasing to Carson, who had cut him short in a
+way that caused Kennedy to bottle up abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>“All right,” old Jack had muttered to himself.
+“All right, my wise gink. Go your way and see
+where you land. I’m betting it won’t be on top.”</p>
+
+<p>Despite the fact that he had said he was done
+with baseball, it was no more than natural that
+he should keep track of the career of the Blue
+Stockings under the new management, and the
+sporting department of the big daily newspaper
+he received regularly by mail was the first page
+examined. Each day he drove a mile and a half
+into town to get the two o’clock mail, and the letters
+he received never seemed to have much attraction
+for him until he had ripped off the cover
+of his paper, glanced at the percentage of the
+Big League teams, and perused the report of the
+last contest in which the Blue Stockings had participated.
+While he was doing this his face was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_146"></a>[146]</span>
+a study. Sometimes he would smile, but more
+often he frowned and shook his head, and occasionally
+he muttered to himself. Once a man,
+standing near, was startled to hear him suddenly
+exclaim:</p>
+
+<p>“What’s the matter with the boy, anyhow?
+Either he’s slumped or Carson’s handing him a
+rotten deal.”</p>
+
+<p>Of course he was speaking of Lefty Locke, and
+when, later, he saw a printed reference to the
+southpaw’s poor form, he puzzled still more over
+the matter. For Kennedy had realized the need
+of new blood on the pitching staff of the Blue
+Stockings, and had banked a good deal on the
+ability of Locke to aid in holding the team in first
+place.</p>
+
+<p>With an excellent overseer on his farm, old
+Jack did not labor hard enough to hurt himself.
+The truth was, he found it difficult to step directly
+from the baseball harness into something so
+wholly different and so decidedly tame and monotonous
+by comparison. At times he fretted a
+little, although he did his best to overcome the
+restless spells that assailed him.</p>
+
+<p>“When an old race horse is turned out to pasture,”
+he told himself, “it’s a good thing for him
+to realize that his track days are over.”</p>
+
+<p>Now it chanced that the town of Deering supported
+one of the teams which composed a four-cornered<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_147"></a>[147]</span>
+bush league, and, although the loyal
+citizens had put their hands deep into their pockets
+to finance the club, the “Deers,” as the local
+organization was known, were running a rather
+bad third in the race. This fact was the cause
+of no small dissatisfaction to Peter McLaughlin,
+proprietor of the Central House, the principal
+hotel, and one of the most generous contributors
+to the fund. In the old days McLaughlin had
+played baseball a little himself, and he was confident
+now that he knew just where the trouble with
+the local club lay.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s in the management,” he told the other
+members of the board of directors. “Sperry
+made a record as manager for a little jerkwater
+college club, therefore he thinks he knows all about
+it. But I tell you he’s no match for old Hank
+Bristol, of the Buccaneers, to say nothing of Hi
+Pelty, who’s handling the Stars. Last year, this
+time, the Buccaneers were in third place, where
+we are now, and we was banging away trying to
+get ahead of the Stars. This year we’re down
+next to the Boobs in the basement, and unless
+something’s done even that bunch of dummies will
+get ahead of us. Sperry better throw up his job
+as manager and stick to his regular business drawing
+sody water at Folsom’s drug store.”</p>
+
+<p>“If he did that,” said Lawyer Gange, secretary
+of the baseball association, “who’d we get to fill<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_148"></a>[148]</span>
+his place? Nobody else wants the job—unless
+you do, Peter.”</p>
+
+<p>“Excuse me,” said McLaughlin. “I’ve got my
+own business to look after. I’ve coughed up a
+hundred bucks to back the team, and I’m ready to
+put in another hundred if necessary, but I couldn’t
+waste my time trying to run the outfit, even if I
+knew how.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, that’s the way with the rest of us, so
+what are we going to do?”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve got an idea. There’s Jack Kennedy
+home on his farm, and he knows more baseball in
+a minute than anybody in this town, or in the
+whole league, for that matter, except possibly old
+Hank Bristol. If we could get Kennedy to—”</p>
+
+<p>“<em>If</em> we could,” exclaimed Rufe Manning, the
+treasurer. “There’s that if. You don’t s’pose
+Kennedy would monkey with a little bush team
+like ours after being manager of Big League
+champs, do yer?”</p>
+
+<p>“No tellin’. Perhaps he might.”</p>
+
+<p>“He won’t,” said the lawyer. “He told me
+himself that he was done with baseball. Why, he
+hasn’t even had interest enough since coming
+home to see one of our games, though he’s been
+invited to do so.”</p>
+
+<p>“No tellin’ what can be done with him,” persisted
+the hotel proprietor. “He ought to have
+enough local pride to want to see his own town<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_149"></a>[149]</span>
+stand well in this league. If somebody could
+prick that pride a little, mebbe he’d take holt. I
+don’t reckon he’s workin’ himself to death on his
+farm. He’s got the time.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, you’re the man to try him,” said Gange.
+“It’s up to you, Peter.”</p>
+
+<p>“All right,” agreed Peter. “Leave it to me
+and I’ll see what I can do. We’re going up
+against Bristol’s bunch of Buccaneers this afternoon,
+and I’ll look out for Kennedy if he comes in
+for his mail same as usual.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_150"></a>[150]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI<br>
+<small>BACK IN THE GAME</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">When he cornered old Jack at the post
+office, half an hour before the game
+was to start, McLaughlin’s proposition
+failed to arouse the retired manager’s interest.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m done with the game, Peter,” said Kennedy.
+“I’m just a plain farmer now. As long
+as I don’t mean to get mixed up with it again, it’s
+best that I should keep away from the field.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you know, Jack,” said the hotel man,
+“folks around here say you’ve got a grouch.
+They say you’re sore on baseball ’cause you was
+turned down. We’ve been rather proud of you
+in this town. When you come home twice after
+winning the championship we gave you a blow-out
+both times. You seem to have forgot that.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, I haven’t forgot it, Peter. But when a
+man has quit a certain line of business, and quit
+it for good, he’d better cease to monkey with it.
+With me baseball was a business for a good many
+years. I own up that I was rather proud of my
+record at it.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_151"></a>[151]</span></p>
+
+<p>“And you was so proud of being manager of
+Big League champs that now you won’t even ask
+how the little fellers are doing in your own home
+town. You used to set round my office winters
+and talk it over with the boys and give them
+points, but this time you’re changed so folks
+scarcely know you. Why, there’s Hank Bristol,
+manager of the Buccaneers, who’s asked for you
+every time he hit Deering, saying as how he used
+to know you well and he’d like to put his blinkers
+on you again. He was some baseball player once
+himself, and he’s pretty clever at it yet, as fur as
+our sort of baseball goes. I should think you’d
+like to see him operate around second base. He’s
+up to the field right now with his bunch, and he
+says he’s goin’ to drive another nail in our coffin.
+His team ain’t only a few points behind the Stars,
+and Hank reckons the pennant’s as good as
+nailed.”</p>
+
+<p>“Bristol always did talk a lot with his mouth,”
+said Kennedy. “If he can’t win any other way,
+he’ll bluff out a victory.”</p>
+
+<p>It was the sore spot not yet healed which had
+caused Kennedy to avoid Bristol; for Jack,
+knowing old Hank would ask questions, was
+far from eager to furnish explanations regarding
+his sudden release by Collier.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, well, do as you’re a mind to,” said McLaughlin,
+with pretended indifference. “I’ve<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_152"></a>[152]</span>
+done some personal favors for you. When we
+give you that banquet at the hotel last year—”</p>
+
+<p>Flushing, Kennedy interrupted. “If you’re
+going to put it up to me that way, Peter,” he said,
+“I’ll go out and watch the game to-day. Perhaps
+I can give your manager some tips that will help
+him.”</p>
+
+<p>In this manner it came about that Kennedy saw
+the struggle that afternoon between the Deers
+and the Buccaneers and warned the manager of
+the former team, in the midst of the game, that
+Bristol’s players had the signals of the locals and
+were, therefore, forewarned and prepared for
+every method of attack. This warning, however,
+was not sufficient to prevent the Buccaneers from
+winning. In the eighth inning they secured a lead
+of two runs through their disposition to take
+chances on the paths, and the failure of the Deering
+pitcher to hold the runners close to the cushions,
+and at the end of the ninth they were still
+one tally to the good, although outbatted and outfielded.
+With a supercilious, confident grin adorning his
+homely face, Bristol encountered Kennedy after
+the clash was over.</p>
+
+<p>“You see how easy it is out here in the bush,
+Ken, old hoss,” he chuckled. “It’s a reg’lar cinch
+to make a winning team if you’ve got any mater’al<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_153"></a>[153]</span>
+to work with. Before next week’s over we’ll be
+leadin’. I took it easy to-day. Saved my best pill
+slinger for the Stars to-morrow. Your poor little
+Deers are due to find a resting place in a deep,
+dark hole.”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t call them <em>my</em> Deers, Hank,” remonstrated
+Kennedy. “I ain’t got nothing to do with
+them. If I had—”</p>
+
+<p>“It would be just the same, Jack, old boy.
+You had a streak with the Blue Stockings, I own
+up; but it was broke before they put Carson in
+your place. I reckon you lost your rabbit’s foot.
+If I’d ever had your chance—”</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve had chances enough in your day,” cut
+in Kennedy a trifle warmly. “I was about ready
+to quit baseball, anyhow; that’s why I bought my
+farm here.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, you was always a clever gink holding on
+to the dollars and salting ’em away,” returned
+Bristol.</p>
+
+<p>In truth, he was jealous of Kennedy’s success,
+although he endeavored to disguise the fact beneath
+a joshing exterior. Such joshing, however,
+was not calculated to please.</p>
+
+<p>“Let me tell you something, Hank,” said Kennedy.
+“If the manager of this Deering bunch
+knew his business he could eat you up. It wasn’t
+much of a trick to swipe such a simple code of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_154"></a>[154]</span>
+signals, and any sort of runners could steal on a
+pitcher with a movement like Corey’s. Don’t get
+so chesty.”</p>
+
+<p>“Old hoss,” retorted the Buccaneer manager,
+“if you had the Deers it would be just the same,
+believe me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps so,” said Kennedy.</p>
+
+<p>Twenty minutes later he was talking with Peter
+McLaughlin in a private room at the hotel.</p>
+
+<p>“What was that proposition you made to me,
+Peter?” he asked. “Did you say the town generally
+thought Sperry inefficient as a manager and
+wanted someone else?”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s what I said,” answered the landlord.
+“We’ve talked it over, and you’re the man we’d
+like to have. Sperry would get out willingly, too.
+He’s got about enough of it, with everybody
+kickin’ at him.”</p>
+
+<p>“If you’re giving it to me straight,” said Kennedy,
+“I’ll stand. You may tell the association
+that.”</p>
+
+<p>At a meeting of the directors, called that night,
+Sperry resigned as manager of the Deering baseball
+team and Jack Kennedy was chosen to fill
+the position vacated.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_155"></a>[155]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII<br>
+<small>BUILDING UP THE TEAM</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">With the season three-quarters over,
+it was no cinch for anybody to whip
+into winning form a bush team like
+the Deers, and Jack Kennedy soon realized that
+he had a real problem on his hands. Having
+shouldered the responsibility, however, he went
+at it with the same conscientious earnestness he
+would have devoted to a Big League organization,
+and the bushers, who had been taking things
+easy and “soldiering” under Sperry, quickly
+learned that there would be no loafing or fooling
+with the new manager. Whenever possible there
+was regular forenoon practice, and when this
+could not be secured it was necessary for the team
+to appear on the playing field for a long warming-up
+before any league game.</p>
+
+<p>The code of signals arranged and put into use
+by Sperry and Toots Kilgore, second baseman
+and captain of the Deers, was promptly cast into
+the discard. In place of these incomplete and
+rather simple signals, old Jack introduced a new<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_156"></a>[156]</span>
+code, at which the men were drilled on the field
+and off, the requirement being that every one
+of them should become so familiar with the signs
+that there could be no possible misunderstanding,
+doubt, or hesitation in any event.</p>
+
+<p>Of course, Kennedy secured a suit for himself,
+which enabled him not only to sit on the bench
+and direct his men, but to go on to the coaching
+lines or take the place of another player as a
+pinch hitter or upon the field. The loose ends
+were quickly gathered up, and the former hit-or-miss
+style of going after a game was abandoned
+for something bearing a genuine resemblance to
+inside baseball.</p>
+
+<p>Nor did it take old Jack long to perceive that
+the arrangement of the team, as well as the batting
+order, needed doctoring. His first move, of
+course was to line up the batters so that their individual
+work in offense would become as effective
+as possible in securing runs. Almost simultaneously
+he called to the bench the regular center
+fielder, although that individual had established
+a record in the league for his great ground covering,
+sureness on flies, and splendidly accurate
+long throws to the sacks or the plate. It was
+Kennedy’s theory that all outfielders should be
+hitters, and the man benched had the lowest batting
+average on the team. The former first baseman
+was sent out into the middle garden, where<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_157"></a>[157]</span>
+he soon demonstrated that he had the making
+of an outfielder.</p>
+
+<p>The regular third baseman did not handle hot
+grounders to Kennedy’s satisfaction, but in all
+other ways he could cover the sack well, therefore
+the manager switched him round to first, where
+he would not get so many sizzling grass clippers.
+This move proved to be a piece of wisdom, but
+it left the third station vacant, and for some time
+Kennedy was bothered to plug the hole. The
+first person tried was Tim Coffin, the utility man,
+who had been kept on the bench, but Coffin had
+the same trouble with sharp ground hits. Nevertheless,
+at bat he was certain to get one clean,
+hard bingle a game, and his average was nearly
+two, which created in Kennedy’s breast a strong
+desire to keep him regularly at work.</p>
+
+<p>“Have you ever done any backstopping, Coffin?”
+asked the manager.</p>
+
+<p>“A little,” was the reply. “I started out to
+be a catcher.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve got a good whip,” said old Jack.
+“We’ll try you behind the pan to-day. Brinkley
+will have a go at third.”</p>
+
+<p>Behind the pan Coffin did a splendid turn, being
+far more successful than Brinkley in stopping
+base pilfering. Brinkley was one of those backstops
+who could handle almost any sort of pitching
+and rarely let a wild heave get past him if<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_158"></a>[158]</span>
+there was any possible way of touching it, but
+his base throwing was erratic. The players of
+every other team in the league knew this, but they
+soon found that they could not reap the advantage
+of a wild throw off Coffin at a critical time,
+and their first efforts to do so cost them dearly.</p>
+
+<p>But Brinkley was no third baseman, and Kennedy
+kept the wires hot with distress signals in
+his efforts to fill that position.</p>
+
+<p>In response to one of those signals, Joe Digg
+blew into Deering. Digg had come up from the
+sand lots through the minors to the Big League,
+where, after creating a sensation in the early part
+of one season, he passed away in a blaze of red
+fire. Drink had sent Joe back to the minors and
+thence down into temporary oblivion. Kennedy
+knew him as a crackajack third sacker and a
+terror to pitchers when he was sober and in condition.
+Old Jack met the new man at the station.</p>
+
+<p>“Hello, Joe,” he said cordially, shaking Digg’s
+hand. “Glad to see you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Hello, Jack,” returned Digg, with equal cordiality.
+“I’m glad to see you, but I never expected
+it would be managing a bunch of bushers.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, this is just a little matter of sport,” explained
+Kennedy. “I’m out of the game, you
+know. I’m a farmer now. But it happened that
+they had a team here in this burg that was getting
+walloped because of bad management, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_159"></a>[159]</span>
+my friends in town drafted me into service. I
+want you to come out with me to the farm to-night,
+and we’ll have a little chat.”</p>
+
+<p>They did have a chat that night after supper
+on Kennedy’s veranda. In his bluff, open way,
+which seldom caused offense or produced resentment,
+the manager came to the point without
+beating around the bush.</p>
+
+<p>“Joe,” he said, “you ought to be drawing a
+fancy salary to-day in the Big League, and it’s
+your own fault that you ain’t.”</p>
+
+<p>“Tell me something I don’t know,” returned
+Digg, flushing.</p>
+
+<p>“Booze has downed many a good man besides
+yourself. Are you going to let it keep you
+down?”</p>
+
+<p>“I dunno. Seems like I’m such a thunderin’
+fool that I can’t help it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Rot! You can help it. Keep away from jag
+hunters and you’ll be all right. As I said, I’m
+out of Big League baseball for good, but I reckon
+my judgment and my influence would count for
+something with a number of managers who are
+still in the game. If I should say to one of them
+that I had a player who ought to be given a trial,
+that man would get a show, even if he had been
+canned after one fizzle. You get me?”</p>
+
+<p>“I get you, Jack,” nodded Digg, a gleam of excitement
+in his eyes. “If you can work me back<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_160"></a>[160]</span>
+into the game you’ll do me a turn I’ll never forget.”</p>
+
+<p>“But you know I wouldn’t try such a thing unless
+I was satisfied that you had really turned
+over a new leaf and meant to cut drink out for
+good and all. You’ve got to show me, Joe.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s a go!” exclaimed Digg. “If you ever
+catch me drinking anything stronger than water,
+put the tag on me.”</p>
+
+<p>In the first two games in which Digg played
+third for the Deers he accepted eleven chances,
+three of them of the most sensational order, without
+an error, and batted .400.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_161"></a>[161]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII<br>
+<small>THE MAN WHO DENIED HIMSELF</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">His pitching staff gave Kennedy the most
+trouble. No matter how efficient a
+team may be in other departments, it
+cannot aspire to championship honors unless it
+has a capable staff of twirlers. Curley, Sullivan,
+and Heines, the three mound men for the Deers,
+each and all had some weakness which was a
+drawback.</p>
+
+<p>Curley was erratic and never to be depended
+on. One day he might pitch a splendid game, and
+follow it on his next turn with wretched work.
+Sullivan had a long swing which gave base runners
+a big lead and made it almost impossible for
+the best throwing catcher to keep them from stealing.
+Nor could old Jack break the man of this
+swing, for when he tried to do so Sullivan’s short-arm
+delivery proved to be “pie” for the opposing
+stickers. Heines had an arm that was good for
+four or five innings, then broke like the most brittle
+glass.</p>
+
+<p>In one pinch, with Heines’ wing failing in the
+fifth and the Deers having a lead of three runs,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_162"></a>[162]</span>
+Kennedy actually went on to the mound himself.
+Curley had pitched the day before, and old Jack
+knew Sullivan’s delivery would hand the game
+over to the enemy. Never in his life had Kennedy
+attempted to pitch in anything resembling
+a league game, and he was not the possessor of
+as much as one little dinky curve. Yet, using
+from start to finish an underhanded ball, delivered
+from the knee and shot upward close across the
+batter’s shoulder, he managed to pull the game
+out of the fire by a margin of one lonesome tally.</p>
+
+<p>When the Deering fans hailed him as a pitcher
+Kennedy laughed them to scorn.</p>
+
+<p>“That was the greatest case of horseshoes
+ever,” he declared. “I couldn’t do it again
+against a bunch of grammar-school kids. Heines
+had the Stars dizzy by his speed, and when I
+handed them up that subway rise they simply
+broke their backs trying to hit it. If I’d begun
+the game I wouldn’t have lasted an inning.”</p>
+
+<p>All this time, of course, he was trying to get
+hold of other pitchers, and, most of all, he desired
+a left-hander to use against the Buccaneers,
+who had five left-handed batters. Somehow he
+got hold of a southpaw by the name of Billy
+Winkle, who seemed to have speed, curves, and
+control. His lack of head might have been balanced
+by the good judgment of Coffin, who was
+steadily and swiftly improving behind the bat,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_163"></a>[163]</span>
+but Winkle lacked heart as well as head; and in
+the breaks the uproar of the rooters, combined
+with Billy’s fear of what was going to happen,
+invariably cut the guy ropes.</p>
+
+<p>About this time, still eagerly following the
+career of the Blue Stockings, Kennedy was
+startled one day when he opened his newspaper
+and read some black headlines on the first page
+which told of a railroad disaster in which the
+Big League team was involved. In the smash
+seven persons had been killed and twenty-one
+more or less seriously injured. By rare good
+fortune the special car containing the ball players
+had shot down the embankment on its wheels and
+remained in an upright position after plowing
+deep into a boggy place at the roadside. It had
+not been smashed, and, save for a shaking up and
+a few bruises, not one of the men in that car had
+been hurt.</p>
+
+<p>Having read to this point, Kennedy drew a
+deep breath of relief. A moment later, however,
+he uttered a smothered exclamation of dismay,
+for the next paragraph stated that one of the
+players, Lefty Locke, had not been in the car and
+was missing since the catastrophe. He was not
+among those killed or injured, and all efforts to
+find him had proved fruitless.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I’ll be—jiggered!” muttered Kennedy.
+“Wasn’t in the car! Hasn’t been found! Well,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_164"></a>[164]</span>
+what’s become of the boy? He was under suspension.
+I’m afraid—”</p>
+
+<p>He did not state what he was afraid of, but
+the serious, troubled face which he wore, and his
+eagerness for further details concerning the disaster,
+indicated that anxiety over the fate of Lefty
+remained in his mind.</p>
+
+<p>One evening, two days later, shortly after the
+arrival of the seven o’clock train in Deering,
+Kennedy sought Landlord McLaughlin in the
+Central House to consult with him regarding
+some matter concerning the team. As old Jack
+entered the office he saw a man at the desk in
+the act of registering. There was something
+strangely familiar about this man’s back, and
+when the new arrival made inquiries for a room
+with bath the sound of his voice caused the manager
+of the Deers to step forward quickly to get
+a look at his face.</p>
+
+<p>As the clerk was fishing a big brass key from
+a pigeonhole the guest leaned his left elbow on
+the edge of the desk and swung part way round,
+thus bringing himself face to face with Kennedy.
+The latter gasped, and let out something like a
+shout.</p>
+
+<p>“Holy smoke!” he cried delightedly. “As I
+live, it’s Lefty Locke! How are you, son?”</p>
+
+<p>To Kennedy’s astonishment, no light of recognition
+rose into the man’s eyes, and he made no<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_165"></a>[165]</span>
+move to shake the extended hand. Instead, he
+surveyed the old manager in a puzzled, doubting
+way, and slowly shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>“I think you’ve made a mistake, pal,” he said.
+“My name is Stranger—Robert Stranger.”</p>
+
+<p>His mouth open, Kennedy slowly permitted his
+hand to drop at his side. For something like
+half a minute he stared steadily at the person
+who had denied his acquaintance. Suddenly he
+laughed.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s the joke, Lefty?” he asked. “Put
+me wise.”</p>
+
+<p>“Really, there’s no joke,” was the grave assertion.
+“You’ve got me wrong.”</p>
+
+<p>“What’s that?” rasped old Jack. “Do you
+mean to say you don’t recognize John Kennedy,
+your old manager?”</p>
+
+<p>Something like an annoyed frown crept into
+the somber, handsome face of the younger man.</p>
+
+<p>“I tell you,” he said a trifle warmly, “you’ve
+got me wrong. To my knowledge I never heard
+of you in all my life. You call me Locke, but my
+name is Stranger. That’s my monacker—Robert
+Stranger, Bob for short.”</p>
+
+<p>Kennedy pinched himself. “I’m awake,” he
+muttered. “There can’t be two men so much
+alike in the whole world. Besides, he wrote his
+name on the register with his left hand.”</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly he began to feel a touch of anger.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_166"></a>[166]</span>
+“See here,” he said harshly, “maybe your right
+name ain’t Locke, but you can’t deny that it’s
+Hazelton. You can’t deny that you’re a baseball
+pitcher and that you were under my management
+on the Blue Stockings.”</p>
+
+<p>“The Blue Stockings?” said the other.
+“They’re some. I hear plenty of baseball talk.
+Can’t help it. But I never did take to the game
+any. Perhaps it sounds like bunk to you, but I
+never saw a real game in my life.”</p>
+
+<p>“Help!” cried Kennedy. “I’m loony, or he
+is!”</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_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV<br>
+<small>PERPLEXED</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">The brazen, barefaced manner in which
+Lefty Locke denied his identity and professed
+that he had never even seen a game
+of baseball was simply staggering. For old Jack
+still refused to believe the man could be any one
+save Locke himself.</p>
+
+<p>What was Lefty’s object? Surely he ought to
+know that he could not fool his old manager by
+such a silly subterfuge and barefaced falsehood.
+That he was trying to “put over” a puerile joke
+did not appear possible, and certainly there was
+no twinkle of mirth in his steady eyes, no smile
+upon his sober face.</p>
+
+<p>There was something behind the young pitcher’s
+denial of his identity which Kennedy could
+not understand, something which confused as well
+as annoyed him. He was mustering his wits to
+begin all over again when suddenly the new arrival
+said:</p>
+
+<p>“I trust you’ll excuse me, pal. I’ll have to
+wash up before supper, which I see is in progress
+now.” He glanced in the direction of the open<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_168"></a>[168]</span>
+doors to the dining room and turned to the clerk.
+“Can I have my room now?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Your luggage?” questioned the clerk significantly.</p>
+
+<p>“I haven’t any. I’ll pay a day in advance.
+How much?”</p>
+
+<p>“Three dollars.”</p>
+
+<p>Producing a roll of bills, the man peeled off a
+two and a one and shoved them across the desk,
+whereupon the clerk handed the key over to a
+boy, who invited the guest to follow him.</p>
+
+<p>They had not disappeared before Kennedy was
+surveying the register, on which he found written:
+“Robert Stranger, N. Y.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, wouldn’t that freeze you stiff!” he muttered.</p>
+
+<p>He was still muttering to himself when Landlord
+McLaughlin appeared.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s the matter now, Jack?” inquired the
+sporting proprietor of the Central House.
+“You’re growlin’ like a dog with a sore ear.
+Same old trouble ’bout pitchers, I s’pose?”</p>
+
+<p>“I came in to consult with you about that southpaw,
+Mercer, we’ve been trying to get holt of for
+a week. I’ve got him to state his terms at last.”</p>
+
+<p>“Good,” said McLaughlin.</p>
+
+<p>“Bad,” said Kennedy. “He wants sixty a
+week and board. We can’t afford it, Peter, in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_169"></a>[169]</span>
+this little crossroads town. It’ll take us over our
+salary limit, too.”</p>
+
+<p>“We’ve got to have a fust-class pitcher at any
+price. You said so yourself. Ain’t there no way
+to hire him and keep under the salary limit?”</p>
+
+<p>“Only one way. We can release one of our
+other pitchers, along with the utility man we’re
+keeping on the bench for emergencies. If a pinch
+comes I can go into the game myself.”</p>
+
+<p>“Your plan seems all right to me, and I’m for
+it. We can get along without Heines. Three
+pitchers is all we’ve had, anyhow, and they’re
+enough. I say, nail Mercer. We’ve got to have
+somebody quick. I just heard to-night that Bristol’s
+signed a new twirler for the Buccaneers.
+You see, Hank don’t propose to let you git the
+bulge on him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Did you hear the name of Bristol’s new
+pitcher?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yep, but it sorter slipped me. It was Eagan
+or Elywin, or something like that. I’ll bet he’s
+a ripper.”</p>
+
+<p>“He’s probably a good man if Hank’s signed
+him at this late day.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, you see where that puts us. You see
+what we’re up against. We can’t expect to get
+no Big League pitcher now.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know ’bout that,” returned Kennedy<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_170"></a>[170]</span>
+in a low tone, his eyes on a man who was descending
+the stairs, and who turned at once toward the
+dining room. “There goes one.”</p>
+
+<p>“Hey? What?” spluttered the landlord.</p>
+
+<p>“There goes one of the cleverest young portside
+pitchers it has been my luck to see work in
+a game in the last three years.”</p>
+
+<p>“Hey?” spluttered Peter once more. “That
+feller there? The one just goin’ into the dining
+room?”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s the man.”</p>
+
+<p>“What you giving me, Jack?”</p>
+
+<p>“Straight facts.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, what’s he doin’ round here?”</p>
+
+<p>“I dunno. That’s what gets me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Who is he?”</p>
+
+<p>“He registered as Robert Stranger, but he
+played under me with the Blue Stockings, using
+the name of Tom Locke. He was generally called
+Lefty.”</p>
+
+<p>Landlord McLaughlin was in a sudden sweat
+of excitement.</p>
+
+<p>“Played under you? Then you know all about
+him.”</p>
+
+<p>“I reckoned I knew a lot about him,” said Kennedy;
+“but in the last ten minutes I’ve sorter
+changed my mind. Brennan, of the Hornets, got
+him through a scout early in the season, but
+Brennan sized him up wrong and let him go unconditionally.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_171"></a>[171]</span>
+I’d been after him before that,
+and I gave him a try-out. He was there with
+the goods. When I quit, with the exception of
+Grist, he was the most dependable pitcher the
+team had. Since then something has happened to
+him. I dunno what ’tis, but I could tell by the
+papers that he was goin’ wrong. He was in that
+railroad smash the other day. After the smash
+he wasn’t to be found. Now he’s here.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, if you have a talk with him he’ll clear
+things up, of course. He’ll explain it all.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve had a talk with him. Instead of explaining,
+he pretended he didn’t know me. Peter, he
+denied that he was Lefty Locke and claimed his
+name was Stranger, under which he has registered
+here.”</p>
+
+<p>“Jerusalem!” breathed McLaughlin. “That’s
+mighty funny. How do you figger it?”</p>
+
+<p>“I can’t get only one solution. It must be he
+didn’t pull well with the new manager. I know
+Carson, and he’s rough on a man he don’t cotton
+to. Lefty was suspended shortly before that railroad
+smash-up. When that came he improved his
+opportunity to duck. Fool thing to do, but it
+must be just what he done, Peter. Mebbe he
+plans to lay low until Carson gets in a hole and
+needs him desperate. Then, perhaps, he’ll wire
+Carson and try to make terms. It don’t seem to
+me that the Lefty Locke I knew would try any<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_172"></a>[172]</span>
+such jinks as that, but you never can tell what a
+man will do.”</p>
+
+<p>“By goudy!” said Peter. “If that’s what
+he’s up to, mebbe we can get him to do some pitching
+for us while he’s waitin’ to pull the thing off.
+We’d make Bristol go some. Why don’t you try
+it, Jack? You oughter be able to make a deal
+with him, if anybody can.”</p>
+
+<p>Kennedy shook his head. “I dunno,” he
+growled, “I dunno ’bout that. Why, he just said
+not only that he’d never played, but that he’d
+never as much as seen a game. He’s got me
+guessing. I’m afraid I can’t make a deal with
+him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then <em>I’ll</em> try,” announced Landlord McLaughlin.
+“Wait till he comes out from supper.
+Leave it to me.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_173"></a>[173]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV<br>
+<small>STRANGER GETS A JOB</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">When the new guest reappeared from
+the dining room, having finished his
+supper, Landlord McLaughlin met
+him with an engaging manner.</p>
+
+<p>“Welcome to our town,” said Peter. “We’re
+always glad to see strangers drift in. Smoke?”</p>
+
+<p>He tendered a cigar, which the other accepted
+in a somewhat hesitating manner. Peter nipped
+off the end of another cigar and struck a match,
+which he held for the young man to light up before
+lighting his own.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s rather dry,” said the landlord.</p>
+
+<p>“Is it?” said the one who called himself
+Stranger, taking the cigar from his mouth and
+looking at it doubtfully.</p>
+
+<p>“I mean the weather. We ain’t had much rain
+lately. Rather bad for crops, though it’s good
+for baseball, and we’re interested in that round
+here.”</p>
+
+<p>The young man made no reply, but took another
+uncertain whiff or two at the cigar. Suddenly
+he said:</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_174"></a>[174]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I don’t believe I smoke. I don’t care for it,
+anyhow. If you don’t mind, I won’t smoke this
+one.”</p>
+
+<p>To McLaughlin it seemed a bit odd that any
+man shouldn’t know whether he smoked or not,
+but he made no comment as the other tossed the
+cigar into a cuspidor.</p>
+
+<p>“How’s things the way you come from?” he
+asked. “We always like to meet folks from the
+big town. Say, won’t you come into the writing
+room and set down for a little chat?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t mind. I’m a bit tired, but it’s rather
+early to turn in.”</p>
+
+<p>Kennedy was watching them from behind a
+newspaper in a distant corner. He saw them
+enter the writing room, where the landlord placed
+a chair for the guest in such a manner that the
+latter’s back would be turned toward the door.
+Almost immediately Jack rose, and, paper in
+hand, walked quietly toward the writing room.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s your business, if it ain’t too inquisitive
+of me?” McLaughlin was saying as Kennedy
+reached the door.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m a—a diamond cutter,” was the somewhat
+hesitating answer. “But I had to give it up on
+account of my health. You can see it has taken
+hold of me.”</p>
+
+<p>Old Peter gave his husky-looking companion a
+quizzical, sidelong glance.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_175"></a>[175]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Mebbe so,” he half chuckled; “but I’d never
+noticed it if you hadn’t spoke. What are you
+planning to do?”</p>
+
+<p>“A pill slinger suggested that I ought to get
+out into the country and find a job somewhere in
+the open air. I’m looking for work on a farm.”</p>
+
+<p>“On a farm, hey?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, the rural life for mine. Between us, pal,
+I’ve hit it up some in my day. Even when I was
+a boy I was a high flier.”</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t say so!”</p>
+
+<p>The landlord knew that Kennedy had taken a
+seat in the room some distance behind them, but
+he did not look round.</p>
+
+<p>“I always was a wild chap,” the young man
+went on. “When I was a boy I touched plenty
+of high spots. Cards have tripped me, too.
+Ever play poker?”</p>
+
+<p>“Ho! Sometimes winters we have a little sociable
+game of penny ante round here just to pass
+away the time.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve been an easy mark at the game, but I
+like it. Can’t keep away. Every time I get a
+roll I go searching for trouble. I’ve got a little
+wad of long green right now that’s burning in my
+pocket. I’d like to find three or four good sports
+and get up a game.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t cal’late you can kick up one this season
+o’ the year,” said Peter. “’Sides that, we<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_176"></a>[176]</span>
+generally play among ourselves, not caring to
+gamble in the reg’ler sense of the word. The
+strait-laced people round here think that Satan’s
+got a strangle hold on anybody that plays cards
+for money.”</p>
+
+<p>“I was brought up in a strait-laced family, pal.
+My old man thought cards the tools of Satan. It
+broke my mother’s heart when she found I was
+playing penny ante with a bunch of youngsters.
+Maybe that’s what finished her. But come, what’s
+the use to talk of things like that?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yep, what’s the use? Baseball’s the game in
+the summertime hereabouts. We’ve got a pretty
+hot team, I tell you. All we need now is a rattlin’
+good pitcher.”</p>
+
+<p>“The guff I hear and see in the newspapers
+about baseball makes me tired, bo. Seems like
+ninety per cent. of the population has gone bug-house
+about the game.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, that don’t hurt ’em. Folks has got to
+have something for recreation. All work and no
+play is bad policy. Don’t s’pose you know where
+we could get holt of a good pitcher, a left-hander?”</p>
+
+<p>Locke seemed to meditate a moment as if seeking
+to recall something, then in a queer way he
+answered:</p>
+
+<p>“One time I was mistook for a pitcher I happened
+to look like. A gent blew up and called<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_177"></a>[177]</span>
+me by that ball tosser’s name and asked me how
+I was doing at it. Really, he didn’t believe me
+when I told him I’d never pitched a ball in my
+life and that I didn’t know a curve from a—from
+a wedge of—restaurant pie.”</p>
+
+<p>Old Peter cleared his throat with a rasping
+sound and shoved round his chair till he could
+glance at Kennedy, who made a quick, cautioning
+gesture.</p>
+
+<p>“Then if that’s the case,” floundered the landlord
+helplessly, “I don’t s’pose you can help us
+none. I’m sorry. I didn’t take you for a minister’s
+son.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am,” was the prompt assurance. “If I can’t
+help you, perhaps you know where I can get a
+job on a farm.”</p>
+
+<p>“You say you’ve never done no farm work, but,
+still, green hands ain’t to be sneezed at when
+help is short.”</p>
+
+<p>Kennedy rose and stepped forward.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m a farmer,” he said, “and I need a man.”</p>
+
+<p>The new arrival in Deering looked up with a
+slight frown.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re the man I met when I first came in,”
+he said. “Well, if you need a laborer on your
+farm perhaps we can talk business, bo.”</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t look like a sick man to me.”</p>
+
+<p>“My business has been too confining. You can
+see it has affected me. I don’t like confinement.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_178"></a>[178]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I’ll give you all the outdoor work you want,”
+announced Jack, “and if you’re any good I’ll pay
+you twenty-five dollars a month and keep.”</p>
+
+<p>“That suits me. It’s a deal.”</p>
+
+<p>“All right,” said Kennedy; “I’ll be in town to-morrow
+afternoon and take you out to my farm.
+My name, as I told you before, is Kennedy.”</p>
+
+<p>“And mine, as I told you before,” said the
+other, “is Stranger.”</p>
+
+<p>“‘Stranger’ goes,” returned Kennedy. “You
+can call yourself anything you blame please. It’s
+none of my business.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_179"></a>[179]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI<br>
+<small>MIGHTY QUEER</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">Kennedy wanted an opportunity to
+meditate quietly upon the peculiar behavior
+of Lefty Locke, with the hope of
+hitting on a reasonable solution of the problem.
+For a problem it now appeared to the old manager.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s just one thing I’m afraid of,” he said
+to McLaughlin after Lefty had bidden them good
+night and ascended to his room. “He didn’t expect
+to run across me here in Deering. It must
+have been a jolt to him, though he managed to hide
+it mighty clever. Now, he may take a notion to
+sneak sudden and give us the shake. ’Twouldn’t
+surprise me if you woke up to-morrer to find your
+late guest missing.”</p>
+
+<p>“He’ll have some trouble gittin’ out of town
+before the first train in the morning,” declared
+Peter. “If you think it’s worth while, Jack, I’ll
+have Skedge, the boy, set up all night right here
+to see that he don’t sneak out.”</p>
+
+<p>“Anything would be worth while if we could
+only get him to pitch a few games for us.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_180"></a>[180]</span></p>
+
+<p>But if Skedge remained awake and on guard
+all night in the office of the Central House, he
+wasted his time. Apparently the new guest had
+no idea of slipping away, and when he appeared
+at breakfast the next morning everything seemed
+to indicate that he had passed a restful night.</p>
+
+<p>Kennedy came in early for forenoon practice
+at the ball park, but his suggestion that the new
+farm hand should go out to the grounds with him
+was not received favorably.</p>
+
+<p>“If you don’t mind, pal,” said Lefty, “I’ll wait
+for you right here at the hotel till you get ready
+to take me out to your farm. Baseball doesn’t
+interest me at all.”</p>
+
+<p>Jack frowned a bit over that word “pal.” It
+was not like Lefty Locke, and he had noticed that
+at times since his appearance in Deering the fellow
+spoke with a touch of slang that seemed
+quite unnatural and different from his usual manner
+of speech. There was in it, however, no trace
+of the slang of the baseball field.</p>
+
+<p>At noon Kennedy, coming back from the park,
+decided to lunch with Locke at the hotel. During
+the meal, however, he had little success in drawing
+the man into conversation.</p>
+
+<p>“Keep bottled up if you can,” thought old Jack
+resentfully; “I’ll trip you yet.”</p>
+
+<p>The Boobs came in on the two o’clock train, and
+made straight for the field. Kennedy lingered at<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_181"></a>[181]</span>
+the post office to get his daily paper, and stopped
+at the hotel on his way out to the park. McLaughlin
+was waiting for him.</p>
+
+<p>“Tell you what,” said the landlord, “this
+southpaw o’ yourn don’t propose to earn his
+twenty-five a month playin’ baseball. I’ve been
+tryin’ to get him out to the game, but he won’t
+budge.”</p>
+
+<p>“Let me handle this case, Peter,” urged Kennedy,
+spreading out his newspaper. “I don’t
+quite get his drift yet, but I will. Take a look
+at this! Here’s something more about the unexplained
+disappearance of Lefty Locke. They
+can’t seem to trace him. Some think he was killed
+in the smash, but all save one of the dead were
+identified, and the description of that one don’t
+agree at all with the description of Locke. He was
+a slim, slender, blue-eyed chap who looked like he
+was in bad health. That accident, together with
+the loss of Locke, seems to have knocked the
+starch out of the Blue Stockings, for the Terriers
+are eating ’em up in the series. The wise guys
+think it’s going to be a cinch from now on for the
+Specters to get away with the championship.”</p>
+
+<p>“Mebbe that’ll interest our friend here,” suggested
+McLaughlin. “He’s in the writin’ room,
+watchin’ people on the street through the window.
+That’s all he seems to do—jest set around and
+watch folks.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_182"></a>[182]</span></p>
+
+<p>Kennedy found Locke in the writing room. “I
+say, Stranger,” he said, “here’s a daily paper
+that may help you to pass away the time till I
+get back after the game. Just look it over.”</p>
+
+<p>He put the paper in the man’s hand with the
+item regarding Locke and the Blue Stockings
+folded out; but, after a nod and a casual glance
+at that page, Lefty turned to another part of it.</p>
+
+<p>Old Jack rejoined McLaughlin, growling, and
+together they hastened to the field.</p>
+
+<p>About two hours later Kennedy drove up in
+front of the hotel with his rig, and asked for Mr.
+Stranger. The latter seemed to be waiting, for
+he came forth at once, the landlord following
+closely.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, Stranger,” said McLaughlin, as the
+man got into the carriage, “I hope you take to
+your job out on Kennedy’s farm.”</p>
+
+<p>“Thanks, bo,” was the reply, as old Jack drove
+away.</p>
+
+<p>Kennedy had an excellent farm under a fine
+state of cultivation. Besides the overseer, he kept
+a stout, hulking boy, and at times, when needed,
+extra hands were hired. All the buildings were
+in perfect repair, and painted a clean white. The
+house was a big, square, old-fashioned affair, with
+fireplaces and a wide veranda. Kennedy’s sister,
+a widow by the name of Malone, was the housekeeper.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_183"></a>[183]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I’m going to let you take a day or two to get
+the hang of things around the place,” said Kennedy,
+as he showed Locke into a big, square corner
+chamber with four windows, two of which
+opened toward the east. “There’s no hurry
+about your striking in to work, as it’s a bit slack
+just now.”</p>
+
+<p>The new man muttered his thanks, standing in
+the middle of the room and looking around in a
+manner which seemed to indicate slight surprise
+over this sort of treatment, which, perhaps, was
+scarcely what he had expected. Through the
+open door, as he departed, Jack saw him seat himself
+by one of the windows, and, with his head
+resting on his hand, look out at the softly rustling
+trees, the broad fields beyond, and the little lake
+on which the afternoon sunshine was shimmering.
+There was something pathetic and lonely in his
+pose and manner, and to himself, as he descended
+the stairs, Jack muttered:</p>
+
+<p>“Queer—mighty queer!”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_184"></a>[184]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII<br>
+<small>DID HE REMEMBER?</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">After a hearty supper, at which the new
+hand met Mrs. Malone, Kennedy invited
+him out onto the veranda, where they sat
+while Jack puffed at his pipe.</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t smoke?” said Kennedy.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t think so,” was the reply.</p>
+
+<p>“Drink?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know. I’ve been a wild one in my
+day, pal. Hit the high places, and hit ’em hard.
+Cards were my trouble. I was thinking I’d like
+to find three or four good sports and get up a little
+game.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, you won’t find them round here,”
+growled old Jack, puffing savagely at his pipe.
+“Nothing doing, Left—er—Stranger.”</p>
+
+<p>The other betrayed no disappointment.</p>
+
+<p>“We’ll just sit and talk things over comfortable
+like,” said Kennedy, glancing at him sidewise.
+“How’d you get the notion you wanted to go to
+farming?”</p>
+
+<p>“It wasn’t my notion; it was the pill slinger’s.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_185"></a>[185]</span></p>
+
+<p>“You don’t look like there’s been anything the
+matter with your health.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m pale. That comes from confinement.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re brown as an Injun—or a baseball
+player.”</p>
+
+<p>Lefty rubbed his head. “I know what I’ve been
+told,” he said, with a slight touch of resentment.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, don’t swaller everything the doctors
+hand out to you. How do you like my ranch?”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s very comfortable. I like it here, only I
+seem to miss something. It’s quiet.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s the way I feel. You see, when a man
+has been in the hot of Big League baseball year
+after year, it’s a big change to settle down this
+fashion. But we all have to take up something
+after we’ve had our day at the game. If I’d ever
+married it might ’a’ seemed different.”</p>
+
+<p>“You never married?”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” said old Jack, a trifle sadly; “slipped
+up on that play. Made an error, and another fellow
+fanned me out. You know, it’s mighty easy
+to lose in a game like that if you don’t keep on
+your toes all the time. I don’t often talk about
+it, but I don’t mind telling you how it was.”</p>
+
+<p>Lefty said nothing, and the old manager continued:</p>
+
+<p>“She was the only dame I ever got really
+smashed on, a little, dark-eyed Irish girl by the
+name of Madge. Met her after a game in which<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_186"></a>[186]</span>
+I was pretty near the whole show, having made
+two homers, a three-bagger, and a single. She
+was just bubbling over with enthusiasm, and when
+she turned them eyes of hern on me, and handed
+me a smile with her teeth shining like polished
+chinyware, I just felt that it was all up with me.
+I was like a busher in his first Big League game,
+all cold and hot and shaky and queer clean down
+to my toes. I knew in a jiffy that she was the
+one for me.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, there ain’t no need to string the story
+out,” he went on. “I rushed her for all I was
+worth when the team was playin’ to home.
+Things went along swimmin’, and we had it arranged
+somehow before I ever knowed just how
+it come round that we would play the big game
+together on the same team. That is, we was going
+to get spliced some time, and I didn’t care how
+soon the job was done. She had another guy that
+was rushing her, too, before I hove in on the horizon;
+but I had his groove, and he was fanning
+every time he stepped up to the plate.</p>
+
+<p>“Now, listen to me, and hear how the whole
+game went wrong in the ninth inning. My sister
+Kitty comes on to see me unexpected, and, of
+course, I spreads myself to give her a good time.
+Madge didn’t know nothing ’bout it, and she sees
+me blowin’ Kit off to cabs and theaters and feeds,
+and a-kissin’ her good-by when I had to send her<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_187"></a>[187]</span>
+home one night sudden on account of an unexpected
+turn. What did that little hot-headed,
+black-eyed girl do? She just writ me a red-hot
+letter, tellin’ me what she thought of a deceivin’,
+heart-breakin’, double-dyed wretch like I was, and
+announcin’ that she was leavin’ town. She didn’t
+leave no address, either. At first I took it as a
+kind of joke, thinkin’ I could straighten things out
+all right with Madge. But next thing I heard,
+within a week, she was hooked to the other guy,
+and I was down and out in the series.</p>
+
+<p>“I ain’t never struck one like Madge since, and
+I ain’t likely to; so, you see, here I am—an old
+bach. It’s tough on a man when a girl throws him
+that fashion, with no chance to explain; but I’ve
+always tried to console myself by sayin’ that one
+who’d do such a thing would likely keep a guy in
+hot water the most of the time when she got him.
+It’s poor consolation, but it’s all I’ve got.”</p>
+
+<p>Lefty was frowning as he gazed through the
+faint purple shadows toward the little lake, on
+which the afterglow of the sunset was reflected,
+and he stirred uneasily, passing a hand across his
+forehead. After some moments of silence, he
+said:</p>
+
+<p>“Seems to me I’ve heard of a similar case.”</p>
+
+<p>“I s’pose there’s lot of similar cases,” replied
+Kennedy, giving a pull at his pipe, which had gone
+out during the narration. “I was young, and it<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_188"></a>[188]</span>
+broke me up bad. I played so rotten that my
+manager got sore, and put me on the bench. I
+took to hittin’ the bottle, too. Drank altogether
+too much until a friend gave me a talking to and
+showed me what a dumb fool I was. Then I tried
+to forget it and get back into form again. I succeeded,
+too, and I’ve stuck to baseball steady, saving
+my dollars, with the idea of having something
+to live on when my days at the game was finished.
+I am out of it now, though I’m managin’ this little
+Deering team. Kinder got pulled into that. I
+wouldn’t if it hadn’t been for Hank Bristol, who’s
+managin’ the Buccaneers. He sorter rubbed me
+the wrong way, and it’s my object now to beat him
+out if there’s any way to do it. To beat him, I’ve
+got to have another A-one pitcher, and I need a
+left-hander.” Lefty was silent.</p>
+
+<p>“I know the very man I’d like to have,” Kennedy
+went on musingly. “He come out of the
+bush this year. Brennan, of the Hornets, had him
+in the South to start with; but Brennan also had
+another promisin’ young slabman by the name of
+Bert Elgin. It seems that the left-hander and
+Elgin had some sort of a mix-up at college, and
+they didn’t cotton to each other a great deal. Elgin
+put up some sort of a dirty job on the other chap,
+and made him look like a quitter and a useless
+pup. Brennan was fooled, and dropped him.</p>
+
+<p>“I’d been after him before that, and he comes<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_189"></a>[189]</span>
+to me after being handed the can by Brennan. I
+sent him out into the bush with a team from which
+I could pull him in any time I wanted to, and he
+made good out there. My pitchers started cold,
+and didn’t get into the game just right, so I sent
+out a hurry call for the southpaw, and he joined the
+team just in time to pitch in our first game against
+the Hornets. I took a chance on spoiling him by
+shovin’ him into that game. Had to do it, you
+know, though I hated to. The proper way to
+break in a pitcher is to work him against a weak
+team, and give him confidence by a good chance to
+pull off a win to start with. It was hard on him,
+rammin’ him into that game against the Hornets,
+but he come through with flying colors, and he
+pitched against Bert Elgin, too.</p>
+
+<p>“There was a reporter named Stillman who had
+it in his noddle that Elgin was responsible for
+what my left-hander got from Brennan, and he
+chased the thing down and got the proof, which he
+hands out to Brennan hisself. That was Mr. Elgin’s
+finish in Big League company. Brennan
+sent him down into class C company, but he
+didn’t last even there. Nobody seemed to have
+much use for him, and I dunno where he’s faded
+to.</p>
+
+<p>“Now,” continued old Jack, squaring round until
+he could watch his companion without turning
+his head, “if I just had that left-handed man of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_190"></a>[190]</span>
+mine for about two weeks I’d bury the Buccaneers.
+We beat the Boobs to-day, but they’re the weakest
+bunch in this league. After the game I heard that
+the Bucks had beat the Stars, and gone into first
+place by a small margin. We play Bristol’s team
+in Hatfield to-morrow. I’ve figgered the percentage
+out to-night, and if we could take a fall out of
+’em we’d be tied with ’em to-morrow night.”</p>
+
+<p>“I presume that’s all very interesting to you,”
+said Lefty, unmoved; “but, having never cared in
+the slightest for baseball, you’ll pardon me if I
+don’t enthuse.”</p>
+
+<p>Kennedy made a queer sound in his throat.
+“Look a’ here,” he snapped, “was you ever in
+a railroad smash-up?”</p>
+
+<p>“Never,” was the slow answer, coming after a
+moment or two of breathless silence.</p>
+
+<p>Old Jack dropped his pipe, and groped for it.</p>
+
+<p>“Why do you ask?” questioned the other.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, nothing—nothing,” mumbled Kennedy.
+“I’m going to turn in pretty soon. You can go
+to bed any time you want to. We get up ruther
+early here on the farm.”</p>
+
+<p>“Think I’ll turn in now,” said the other, rising.</p>
+
+<p>In his chamber, half an hour later, having made
+sure that Lefty had really gone to bed, Kennedy
+paced up and down a while, his forehead corrugated
+by a deep frown.</p>
+
+<p>“It gets me!” he finally exclaimed, beginning to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_191"></a>[191]</span>
+undress. “I can’t quite make up my mind
+whether he’s faking or really don’t remember. If
+that last is the case, he ought to have treatment by
+a doctor.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_192"></a>[192]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII<br>
+<small>A NEW PITCHER</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">Although there was an early breakfast
+on Kennedy’s farm, when old Jack arose
+his sister surprised him by stating that
+the new man had been up and wandering about
+the place for an hour or more.</p>
+
+<p>“I wonder if he didn’t sleep well?” said Kennedy.</p>
+
+<p>“I asked him,” returned Mrs. Malone, “and he
+said he slept like a log. He’s a fine-looking fellow,
+Jack, but he ain’t no farmer. If you took
+him for one you got bunkoed.”</p>
+
+<p>Kennedy gave her a laughing, knowing wink.
+“Leave it to me, Kit,” he said. “I know my
+business, whether I’m hirin’ farm hands or ball
+players.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m thinking you’d be much more successful
+picking the latter,” she replied. “You may call
+yourself a farmer, but it’s baseball that’s still got
+the hook on ye.”</p>
+
+<p>“Mebbe you’re right, Kitty,” he agreed.
+“Mebbe that’s why I decided to taper off with this
+bush league bunch. Perhaps I’m like a man that’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_193"></a>[193]</span>
+been drinking hard and finds he’s got to quit, but
+it’ll kill him if he stops all to once. When the
+baseball bug gets into a man’s blood for fair he
+never is quite cured. It’s a disease, my girl.”</p>
+
+<p>“If you’d had a square deal you’d be at it
+now.”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t let that worry you. I knew it was coming
+some time. Where’s this man of mine?”</p>
+
+<p>“I wouldn’t wonder if you found him out viewin’
+the scenery. There’s something sort of sad and
+lonesome about him. He acts like he’s lost his last
+friend on earth. But he’s a handsome feller,
+Jack.”</p>
+
+<p>“Now, Kitty, don’t be sentimental. I thought
+you was done with the men?”</p>
+
+<p>“So I am,” she retorted, flushing almost like a
+girl. “Stop your joshing. Me day is over, but
+I can tell the kind that git the girls as well as I
+ever could. Breakfast will be ready in less than
+five minutes.”</p>
+
+<p>Laughing, Kennedy went out to search for
+Locke, whom he found on the veranda. Lefty
+rose at once when Jack appeared.</p>
+
+<p>“Good morning,” he said. “You told me to
+look around, and I’ve been doing so.”</p>
+
+<p>“Right-o! You’re an early bird, all right.
+It’s an appetite you should have for breakfast.”</p>
+
+<p>“I haven’t any working clothes,” said the other.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_194"></a>[194]</span>
+“I’ve been trying to think what became of my outfit.
+Can’t seem to remember.”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got old clothes
+enough, and they’ll do when you want ’em, which
+won’t be to-day. Come in to breakfast.”</p>
+
+<p>At the table Lefty was silent, but, whatever
+else could be said of him, his appetite was healthy
+enough. He seemed wholly unaware of the occasional
+glances of interest from the blue eyes of
+Mrs. Kitty Malone. In every movement he proclaimed
+himself a person of refinement, and it was
+only in occasional lapses of speech when he
+seemed almost trying to remember something, or
+repeating a lesson that had been learned, that
+there was the slightest suggestion of anything different.</p>
+
+<p>After breakfast Kennedy gave his foreman some
+instructions, and later he found Locke waiting for
+him. Old Jack appeared with a soiled baseball
+and a glove.</p>
+
+<p>“I may have to get into the game myself to-day,”
+he said cheerfully, “and I’m a bit out of
+practice. As long as you’re not going to work
+until to-morrow, mebbe you’d throw me a few?”</p>
+
+<p>Lefty frowned, but did not refuse.</p>
+
+<p>“Pull off your coat,” directed the old manager,
+as he paced off and marked the regular pitching
+distance in the yard. “Here’s a flat stone for you
+to put ’em over. I’ll be the catcher.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_195"></a>[195]</span></p>
+
+<p>If he had prepared a trap, the other walked into
+it without hesitation. Taking his place on the
+mark indicated, he caught the ball which Jack
+tossed him, and squared away.</p>
+
+<p>“Take it easy at first,” suggested Kennedy, in
+full remembrance of the smoking speed with which
+Lefty Locke had dazzled the best batters in the
+Big League. “As long as you’re green, you’ll
+hurt your whip if you start in by wallopin’ ’em.”</p>
+
+<p>Lefty complied to the letter, and the old manager’s
+eyes glittered with the secret triumph he
+felt as the young man began putting the ball over
+with perfect control and apparently without effort.
+Gradually Kennedy urged him to speed up, and the
+change made no difference. Wherever Jack held
+his hands behind that flat rock—high, low, behind
+the inside or the outside corner—Lefty Locke
+winged the ball straight into them, so that it was
+scarcely necessary to make the slightest movement
+to catch it.</p>
+
+<p>“Say,” cried Kennedy suddenly, “I thought
+you didn’t know anything about this business?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t,” was the instant declaration. “Don’t
+think I ever handled a baseball before in all my
+life.” But there was a strange flush in his face
+and a peculiar light of aroused interest in his eyes,
+all of which the former Blue Stockings’ manager
+observed with unspeakable gratification.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, if you’re a greenhorn, certainly you’re a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_196"></a>[196]</span>
+wonder,” said Kennedy, still careful to follow the
+other’s lead. “Say, throw me a drop.”</p>
+
+<p>Locke shook his head. “I don’t know how.”</p>
+
+<p>“Easiest thing you ever tried. Here, I’ll show
+you.”</p>
+
+<p>He jogged forward, took the ball, and demonstrated
+how it should be held and in what manner
+it should be released with the proper whirling
+motion to make it drop.</p>
+
+<p>“Now try it that way,” he said, returning to
+his position.</p>
+
+<p>Three times Lefty threw the ball without the
+slightest indication of a drop, but with the fourth
+throw, into which he put a bit more speed, the
+sphere, coming breast-high, took a sudden shoot
+toward the ground just before reaching the stone
+which served for a plate. Kennedy, scooping it
+from the turf, whooped.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s it!” he shouted. “Great smoke!
+That was a peach! It would have had Logie, of
+the Specters, breakin’ his back.”</p>
+
+<p>For the first time since his arrival in Deering,
+something like a faint smile flitted across the
+young man’s face.</p>
+
+<p>“Queer,” he said. “I didn’t know I could do
+that. Pitching can’t be so difficult to learn.”</p>
+
+<p>“It isn’t for some men,” assured Kennedy.
+“Give me another.”</p>
+
+<p>He snapped the ball wide and high to Locke, who<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_197"></a>[197]</span>
+carelessly thrust up his right hand, stopped it,
+and permitted it to drop into his left, a movement
+so familiar to old Jack that he nearly whooped
+again.</p>
+
+<p>“Give me one just like the last,” invited Kennedy,
+“and burn it. Let it come smoking.”</p>
+
+<p>It was like the last, and with only his small
+fielder’s glove to aid him Kennedy lost it.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, some speed, son—some speed!” he rejoiced.
+“The left-hander I told you about last
+night used to have a duplicate of Walter Johnson’s
+hook curve, only it took the opposite twist toward
+the inside corner for a right-hand batter, and so
+was a heap worse to hit. Let me show you how he
+threw it, if I can remember.”</p>
+
+<p>Again he demonstrated, and again Locke apparently
+tried to follow directions. This time he
+threw the hook with the first effort, and old Jack
+bit his tongue to hold himself in check.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s it!” he cried. “Why, I could make a
+pitcher out of you—I sure could! And there’s
+more money in it than working on a farm. It’s
+good, healthy business, too. Just what your
+doctor’d ordered if he’d knowed you could do it.”</p>
+
+<p>“How could he know, if I didn’t know myself?”
+was the good-natured question, all the somberness
+seeming gone from Locke’s face—temporarily at
+least. In every movement he was now a pitcher,
+the same young wonder who had made such a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_198"></a>[198]</span>
+record under Kennedy with the Blue Stockings;
+the same jovial-appearing, resolute, reliable boxman
+who had made a host of friends and admirers,
+and had come to be feared and respected by opposing
+batsmen.</p>
+
+<p>“You throw ’em any way you’re a mind to now,
+and let ’em come,” said Kennedy. “You’re giving
+me some practice, all right.”</p>
+
+<p>There was life, ginger, fire, and marvelous control
+in every delivery. The whistlers that left
+Locke’s fingers made old Jack set his teeth and
+grin painfully as, one after another, they nearly
+lifted him off his feet. In a few moments the old
+manager, unprotected by a big mitt, found that he
+was getting more than enough.</p>
+
+<p>“That will do!” he shouted, dropping the ball,
+and blowing on his smarting right hand. “Perhaps
+you never saw a ball game, but, believe me,
+you can pitch—and I know pitchers.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_199"></a>[199]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX<br>
+<small>AT THE FIELD</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">When Manager Kennedy rode into
+town to take the ten-ten train for
+Hatfield with his players, Mr. Robert
+Stranger came with him. Old Jack stopped at
+the Central House, and found Landlord McLaughlin
+on the point of leaving for the station.</p>
+
+<p>“Howdy, Jack,” said Peter. “I see you’ve
+got your new farm hand with ye.”</p>
+
+<p>“’Sh!” breathed Kennedy. “I’ve induced him
+to go over with us to see the game, and I’m takin’
+along an extra suit of mine—one I wore with the
+Blue Stockings, with the letters cut off.”</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t mean to say—” gasped Peter.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t mean to say anything now.”</p>
+
+<p>“But he ain’t owned up?”</p>
+
+<p>“Not a word. It’s the queerest thing I ever
+bumped against—it sure is. We’ve got to catch
+that train, so let’s be movin’. On the way over
+I’ll tell you about it.”</p>
+
+<p>Locke accompanied them to the station, where
+Kilgore was waiting with his teammates. Some
+eighteen or twenty Deering fans who could get<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_200"></a>[200]</span>
+away had purchased round-trip tickets, while at
+least fifty more were on hand to give the Deers a
+send-off. Kennedy bought tickets, after which
+he introduced Locke to the players who gathered
+around them.</p>
+
+<p>“Shake hands with Bob Stranger, boys,” he
+said, calling one after another by name. “He’s a
+friend of mine going along with us to-day.”</p>
+
+<p>The locomotive was whistling in the distance
+when Captain Kilgore pulled at Kennedy’s sleeve,
+and whispered, his back toward Locke:</p>
+
+<p>“Say, Jack, who is this guy?”</p>
+
+<p>The manager made a warning gesture. “Not
+a word,” he cautioned. “It’s a secret. He’s a
+southpaw pitcher, and if necessary I may use him
+in the game against the Bucks to-day.”</p>
+
+<p>Toots Kilgore grinned. “Take it from me, it’s
+likely to be necessary,” he said. “It’s going to
+be <em>the</em> game. They’ll fight us like blazes on their
+own field, and they’ve got a new man to put against
+us. Curley won’t last; they can steal right and
+left on Reddy Sullivan, and Heines’ whip is broke.
+You better start your new man on the hill.”</p>
+
+<p>“Leave that to me,” returned old Jack reprovingly,
+“and keep your face closed about him. I’ll
+tell the boys anything they ought to know. Don’t
+even hint to him that you think he’s a pitcher.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I see!” said Kilgore. “You’re planning
+to spring a surprise. Maybe he’s some real gun in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_201"></a>[201]</span>
+the game. Maybe his name ain’t Stranger at
+all.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s the name he goes by—now,” said the
+manager of the Deers, as the train roared up to the
+station and stopped.</p>
+
+<p>The crowd cheered them as they got aboard,
+carrying grips, bat bags, and other paraphernalia.</p>
+
+<p>“Git this game, Jack—you’ve got to git it!”
+cried a big man on the platform. “We need it,
+and we depend on you.”</p>
+
+<p>Kennedy’s only reply was a nod, which brought
+another cheer from the crowd, who continued to
+make a demonstration until the train pulled out.</p>
+
+<p>Old Jack saw to it that Lefty Locke was seated
+in the midst of the players, where he remained
+during the journey to Hatfield, listening with a
+strange sort of interest to their chatter about the
+game and the standing of the teams, which to them
+seemed quite as vital as a Big League race. At
+times Locke evinced more than usual interest as
+some chance phrase fell on his ear with a familiar
+ring, and for the time being the shadow in his eyes
+was dispelled. Although he had little to say, his
+manner was that of one who again found himself
+with his own people, and felt once more the vital
+throb and thrill of life which is experienced daily
+by the man who has found the vocation for which
+he is best adapted.</p>
+
+<p>Kennedy missed none of this, although he took<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_202"></a>[202]</span>
+pains not to give Locke the impression that he was
+being watched.</p>
+
+<p>“Got him going,” mused the old manager, with
+deep satisfaction. “He tried to duck the game,
+but the germ is in his blood, and he can’t keep
+away from it. If I need him, I’ll have him pitching
+before the game is finished this afternoon.”</p>
+
+<p>Hatfield was a thriving, prosperous place—nearly
+a young city—in rather strong contrast
+to the quiet, almost sleepy town of Deering. It
+seemed presumptuous that a somnolent village like
+Deering should presume to the championship in
+a bush league represented by Hatfield, for surely
+the latter had the advantage, in the way of backing,
+population, attendance, and general resources.</p>
+
+<p>From the station, Kennedy led his men to
+Tower’s Hotel, which gave them special rates,
+and furnished the most satisfactory table.</p>
+
+<p>An hour’s rest followed dinner; then, as two
+o’clock approached, the Deers gathered up their
+trappings, and set forth for the park, toward which
+the early fans were already turning their faces.</p>
+
+<p>Reaching the field, they entered a dressing room,
+and began stripping down to don their playing
+togs. Still with them, Lefty watched and listened
+after the manner of one to which all this seemed
+familiar, yet as an outsider.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s an extra suit,” said Kennedy, placing<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_203"></a>[203]</span>
+his grip on a shelf, and being sure that Locke
+saw and heard. “Everything a man needs, down
+to shoes. Perhaps it won’t be used to-day, but if
+anyone should happen to want it, it can be found
+right there.”</p>
+
+<p>Kilgore wondered why old Jack’s new pitcher
+did not get into that suit at once; but, having no
+small respect for the manager’s cleverness, and
+thinking he knew the sort of game he was playing,
+the captain of the Deers made no remark.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s no rules here to prevent you from sitting
+on the bench with us, Stranger,” explained
+the manager, as the players were ready to leave
+for the field. “It will give you a chance to watch
+the game from close range.”</p>
+
+<p>The Deers followed their manager and captain
+to the field. The Buccaneers had not yet appeared,
+so the visitors had everything to themselves.</p>
+
+<p>They began practice by “fungo” batting and
+the catching of liners and flies, cheered only by the
+little group of Deering fans who had followed them
+and were waiting to give them encouragement.
+Those cheers were not the only sounds to greet
+them, some of the more rabid local partisans
+shamelessly hissing or groaning. For out in the
+bush baseball rivalry is almost always intense,
+and there is little of the fair-minded impartiality
+among the spectators which sometimes, in a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_204"></a>[204]</span>
+place like New York, leads the home crowd to
+applaud famous players of opposing nines.</p>
+
+<p>In less than ten minutes the Buccaneers came
+forth with a dash, Hank Bristol at their head.
+In appearance they justified their name, for their
+blue suits were almost black, and the dash of crimson
+upon their caps, together with their crimson
+stockings, gave them a somber, awesome appearance,
+which was heightened by the husky build of
+almost every man, and the mocking savageness of
+their faces. If ever a baseball nine was calculated
+to win from the awe it would inspire in the breasts
+of opponents, the Bucks were that organization.</p>
+
+<p>With an assumption of cordiality, Hank Bristol
+shook hands with Jack Kennedy.</p>
+
+<p>“Sorry for you, old hoss,” he grinned, “but
+you should have known better than to let ’em
+coax you into the game again.”</p>
+
+<p>“Save your sympathy till I need it, Hank,”
+returned the manager of the Deers. “You’re old
+enough and wise enough to know one never can tell
+what’s going to happen in this game.”</p>
+
+<p>“I know what’s going to happen to-day. We’re
+going to put another nail in your coffin. You’re
+a dead one, Jack, but you don’t know it. Why,
+you don’t worry us at all. We’re not even going
+to start our new pitcher against you, and I don’t
+believe we’ll need him. Jewett ought to find you
+easy picking.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_205"></a>[205]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Where’s your new man?” asked Kennedy.</p>
+
+<p>“There he goes, walking by your bench now,”
+answered Bristol, pointing.</p>
+
+<p>At this moment a ball, thrown from the field,
+went bounding past them into the bench of the
+visitors, where Lefty Locke sat. Immediately he
+secured it, and stepped forth to throw it to the
+signaling batter.</p>
+
+<p>The Buccaneers’ new pitcher stopped short, and
+stared in astonishment at Lefty, who did not seem
+to observe him.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I’ll be hanged!” exclaimed the surprised
+man, his eyes fastened on Locke. “It’s you, is it?
+You didn’t last so long in big company, did you?”
+He finished with a sneering laugh full of unspeakable
+satisfaction and joy.</p>
+
+<p>Lefty looked him over blankly. “Speaking to
+me?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Who did you think I was speaking to?” retorted
+the other as he passed on, still laughing.</p>
+
+<p>Frowning, Locke stared after him.</p>
+
+<p>“Who’s that man?” he asked, a few seconds
+later, as old Jack came to the bench.</p>
+
+<p>“That man?” repeated Kennedy. “He’s the
+Buccaneers’ new pitcher. His name is Bert Elgin.”</p>
+
+<p>“Queer,” said Lefty. “He seemed to have an
+idea he knew me, but I’ve never seen him before.”</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_XXX">CHAPTER XXX<br>
+<small>BASEBALL LUCK</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">The words were uttered in such a sincere
+manner that they came near dispelling
+Kennedy’s last doubt. “He’d be
+a fool to try to keep up a bluff like that,” thought
+the manager, “and Lefty Locke never was no
+fool.”</p>
+
+<p>Aloud he said: “That’s the cub I was tellin’
+you ’bout who put up a job on my southpaw pitcher
+when he was gettin’ a try-out with the Hornets.
+He can pitch, but he’s got a yaller streak, and he’s
+about as mean as dirt.”</p>
+
+<p>“Will he pitch to-day?” asked Lefty.</p>
+
+<p>“Dunno. Perhaps so. Bristol won’t use him
+’less he has to. I see he’s goin’ to warm up with
+the others. Keep your eye on him.</p>
+
+<p>“Somethin’s gone wrong with the man,” he muttered,
+as he turned away. “It’s no bluff. His
+noddle is twisted.”</p>
+
+<p>From the bench, Locke watched the two teams
+take turns at practice, but for the most part his interest
+seemed to center in the opposing pitchers,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_207"></a>[207]</span>
+who were warming up. Having been told all
+about the crippled condition of the Deers’ staff,
+he realized the probable advantage of the home
+team with a new man ready to jump on to the slab
+if needed—a man considered by Bristol a star of
+the first magnitude.</p>
+
+<p>The critical nature of this game turned out a
+crowd which filled the bleachers and packed the
+stands—a crowd bubbling with enthusiasm for the
+locals, who could obtain an added grip on first
+position by taking this contest.</p>
+
+<p>And more than nine-tenths of the assemblage
+seemed to believe such a result a foregone conclusion.</p>
+
+<p>In warming up, Elgin attracted the most attention,
+for nearly everyone had heard of Bristol’s
+new man. Knowing the eyes of the crowd were
+upon him, he posed vainly, and finished limbering
+his flinger by whipping three or four speedy ones
+to the catcher which caused many witnesses to
+gasp.</p>
+
+<p>The time for the game to start came at last, and
+the clang of a bell called the visitors to their bench,
+while the locals took the field. Then one of the
+umpires, with a megaphone, announced:</p>
+
+<p>“Battrees to-day: For Deering, Curley and
+Coffin. For Hatfield, Jewett and Yapp.”</p>
+
+<p>At this there was a murmur from those who had
+wished to see the new man pitch. Elgin, hearing<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_208"></a>[208]</span>
+this murmur and understanding, laughed to himself.</p>
+
+<p>Chick Collins, the Deers’ right fielder, was the
+first man to face Jewett, and, as Collins had the
+reputation of being a man who “waited it out”
+and made a pitcher put them over, Jewett started
+in by cutting the pan with the first ball delivered.</p>
+
+<p>To his surprise, Chick did not take one; instead,
+he met that straight ball on the trade-mark, and
+cracked it safely into right, which caused the little
+bunch of Deering fans to give a howl of joy.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s the stuff!” sounded the voice of Peter
+McLaughlin. “He won’t last an inning at that
+rate. Go to him, Truly!”</p>
+
+<p>Hen Truly, familiarly known as “Yours Truly,”
+followed Collins to the plate, fully instructed by
+Kennedy. Jewett, a bit nervous, threw three
+times to first to hold the runner close. Then he
+wasted two while Truly waited and grinned. Having
+put the twirler in a hole the batter signaled to
+Collins that he would bunt the next ball pitched,
+and the runner was off for second with the swing
+of Jewett’s arm.</p>
+
+<p>Truly dropped a bunt in front of the plate, and
+stretched himself for first. Jewett fell over himself
+trying to field the ball, and the attempted sacrifice
+was turned into a scratch hit when his throw
+reached first a second too late.</p>
+
+<p>“Where’s your new pitcher?” cried Landlord<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_209"></a>[209]</span>
+McLaughlin. “You better put him in right
+away.”</p>
+
+<p>Bristol remained apparently unmoved upon the
+bench; but Jewett, glancing toward his manager,
+knew that he was on the verge of getting the hook.</p>
+
+<p>Joe Digg was the next hitter—Digg, the formidable,
+who still had the highest batting average
+among the visitors. Jewett feared Digg; yet to
+pass him now would fill the corners, with no one
+down, and Hallett, a man almost as dangerous,
+followed. In this dilemma, wabbling in the effort
+to get his pins under him, the Buccaneer flinger
+sought to coax Digg into reaching.</p>
+
+<p>On the first ball pitched, Truly, seeming to forget
+that second was occupied, shot down the line.
+Instantly Yapp winged the ball to first, and even
+as he did so Collins stretched himself for third.
+Seeing this, the first baseman attempted to cut
+Collins off by a throw across, and Truly went on to
+second. By a fine slide, Collins shot under the
+third baseman, who made a sweeping, ineffectual
+jab at him, and then threw to second to stop the
+crafty Truly. Truly was there ahead of the ball,
+and had the baseman not been alive to the situation,
+which led him to whip the sphere to the plate
+without an instant’s delay, Collins would have
+tried to score. As it was, he got back to third a
+second ahead of the ball, and the delayed double
+steal was a complete success. With second and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_210"></a>[210]</span>
+third occupied, a long single in the right quarter
+would give the visitors a start of two runs.</p>
+
+<p>Out of the corner of his mouth, Hank Bristol
+spoke to Bert Elgin.</p>
+
+<p>“Take Putnam,” he said, “and go down into a
+corner, and keep your arm warm. I may want you
+any minute.”</p>
+
+<p>Jewett saw the new pitcher and the change
+catcher leave the bench, and knew what it meant.
+Desperate, he whipped over a jumper to Digg,
+who attempted to lace it out, and simply hoisted a
+short fly to second.</p>
+
+<p>Leaving the bench, Kennedy took Tom Boyd’s
+place on the coaching line, Boyd being the batter
+who followed Hallett.</p>
+
+<p>“Got ’em going!” grinned old Jack. “Hit it
+a mile, Hallett! Give ’em a chance to use their
+new wizard right away.” While apparently encouraging
+Hallett to smash the ball, he gave the
+signal for the squeeze play, which doubtless would
+be unexpected at this moment, when everything
+seemed to indicate the immediate downfall of the
+unsteady pitcher.</p>
+
+<p>Jewett handed up another. With the first hint
+of his movement Collins started like a shot for
+the plate. Hallett lifted his bat, held it slack, and
+bunted. Instead of falling to the ground, the ball
+rebounded in a little fly, which was caught by
+Jewett without moving from his tracks.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_211"></a>[211]</span></p>
+
+<p>Collins, warned by a shout, tried to stop. He
+saw Jewett with the ball, and realized what had
+happened. The pitcher, elated, laughed at him;
+and the sphere was tossed to third for a double
+play, which put an abrupt end to the fine start the
+Deers had promised to make. It also let Jewett
+out of a bad hole through a streak of great luck.</p>
+
+<p>Nevertheless it was probable Bristol would use
+the new man with the coming inning; and far out
+in a corner of the field Elgin, working easily with
+the change catcher, awaited the call.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_212"></a>[212]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI<br>
+<small>PITCHERS’ WATERLOO</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">Although Bristol said nothing to
+Jewett, it was sheer luck which kept the
+pitcher from receiving a call-down by
+his manager. It was also luck, combined with
+poor work on the part of Curley, that gave Jewett
+an opportunity to reclaim himself in the second
+inning; for the locals got after Curley with such
+effect that two runs had been secured through hits
+and errors, with only one man down, when Kennedy
+pulled the twirler from the mound, and sent
+Sullivan out. On Sullivan’s long swing another
+run came in before the home team was retired.
+With this comfortable lead of three tallies, Bristol
+decided to save his new man for a tight pinch
+or some other game.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s uphill work now, boys,” said Kennedy to
+his players; “but a bunch that can’t fight an uphill
+game is no good. Get after that easy mark,
+and force Bristol to show us what he’s got out
+there in the offing. Make him use his new colt.”</p>
+
+<p>Already the wise old war horse had sent Heines
+out to keep his flipper oiled, fearing that Sullivan<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_213"></a>[213]</span>
+would prove meat for the Bucks. Despite Jack’s
+urging, which possibly made the youngsters of his
+team a bit too eager, Jewett got away with it in the
+first of the second, only one man threatening from
+third before the side was retired without cutting
+down that lead of three.</p>
+
+<p>“Now,” said Spider Hogan, field captain of the
+Buccaneers, “it’s up to us to put the wood to Sullivan.
+That old soup bone of his can’t keep this
+bunch in check. Every man that gets on first
+steals on his swing. Don’t forget.”</p>
+
+<p>Kennedy also had his fears for Sullivan’s
+“soup bone.” He spoke to Lefty Locke, who was
+watching the progress of the struggle with the
+keenest interest.</p>
+
+<p>“Reddy can’t hold ’em,” he said; “nor Heines,
+either. If I had that left-handed youngster of mine
+to put in here now the boys would support him, and
+perhaps they’d tie this thing up sudden before
+Bristol got cagy and shoved his new man on to the
+slab. You’re left-handed, and you’ve found out
+that you can handle a baseball.”</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t mean—” muttered Locke.</p>
+
+<p>“You know where that grip of mine is containing
+an old suit. There’s everything in it but a
+left-handed glove, and Collins is left-handed.
+He’d let you have his fielder’s glove. He could
+get along without it out in right.”</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t mean—” repeated Lefty.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_214"></a>[214]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I can’t tell you any plainer what I mean.
+Which had you rather do, pitch baseball for me at
+fifty a week and keeps, or work on a farm at
+twenty-five a month?”</p>
+
+<p>“If I thought—” Locke still hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>“Let me do the thinking for you,” urged Kennedy.
+“Get into that suit, and watch your chance
+to take Heines’ place warmin’ up the minute I
+have to use him. You can reach the dressing room
+by going round this side of the field.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll try it,” said Lefty, rising; “but don’t
+blame me—”</p>
+
+<p>“There won’t be any kicks comin’,” promised
+Kennedy, elated. “I’m taking the chance. You
+haven’t made any profession of being a ball
+tosser. Go to it.”</p>
+
+<p>Thus encouraged, while Sullivan was trying to
+hold the Buccaneers in check, and getting away
+with the inning by allowing them only one run,
+Locke sauntered to the dressing room, found Kennedy’s
+old uniform, and got into it. As he passed
+Heines, the little pitcher gave him a look, and
+called:</p>
+
+<p>“It’s about time you got into gear if Jack’s going
+to use you to-day. He’s worked the rest of
+us stiff, and the Bucks have grabbed the game already.”</p>
+
+<p>Lefty made no retort. Having prepared himself
+for the field, he waited, watching Heines.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_215"></a>[215]</span></p>
+
+<p>In the third inning the visitors, steadied by their
+manager, again bumped Jewett, and this time old
+Jack’s form of attack was not defeated by a streak
+of luck. Jewett, sweating and worried after the
+first two men had hit safely, lost his control,
+passed another, hit the fourth with a pitched ball,
+and forced a run. Still Bristol delayed, and the
+next Deer, slashing out a clean two-bagger, drove
+two more runners across the pan before Hank
+gave his pitcher the hook. Elgin came trotting
+in from the far corner, and ascended the hillock.</p>
+
+<p>He was greeted by a roar from the great crowd,
+which brought a smile to his face, and caused him
+to touch his cap proudly.</p>
+
+<p>“I knew he’d have to do it,” bellowed Peter
+McLaughlin, when the ovation died down. “Go
+right after him, boys. You can get his alley, too.”</p>
+
+<p>Elgin glanced in the direction from which the
+landlord’s voice came, and shrugged his shoulders
+disdainfully.</p>
+
+<p>“Give that calf more rope, or he’ll bellow his
+head off,” he said; at which would-be witticism
+the local crowd in the vicinity of McLaughlin broke
+into a chorus of jeers and catcalls.</p>
+
+<p>“A pitcher who talks back,” muttered the hotel
+proprietor, “has a goat to let. We’ll get his before
+the game’s done, or I’m no judge.”</p>
+
+<p>Elgin found the plate with a couple of pitches,
+and nodded to the batter, who stepped into his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_216"></a>[216]</span>
+place. Behind the pan, Yapp, signaling, spoke
+only for the hitter’s ear:</p>
+
+<p>“He’s got awful speed. He kills ’em sometimes.
+Look out for his bean ball.”</p>
+
+<p>Following the signal, Elgin whipped a scorcher
+straight at the head of the batter, who gasped, and
+ducked barely in time.</p>
+
+<p>“Look out!” cried the pitcher even as the sphere
+left his fingers. And then, as Yapp handled it and
+returned it promptly, he said apologetically: “I
+haven’t pitched for a week, and I may be a little
+wild.”</p>
+
+<p>That was enough for that hitter, whose three
+swings failed to touch anything more solid than
+the ozone.</p>
+
+<p>“So that’s his game in the bush, is it?” growled
+Kennedy. “Don’t let him drive you away from
+the plate. Everybody stand up and hit the ball.”</p>
+
+<p>No one, however, seemed to care to be hit by
+Elgin’s speed, and the new man stopped the Deers
+in their tracks; which brought him another ovation
+from the local crowd.</p>
+
+<p>Sullivan started badly by handing one to the
+first Buccaneer who faced him in the third which
+the hitter slashed into right for a single. Remembering
+Bristol’s instructions, the runner
+went down to second on Sullivan’s first swing,
+from which anchorage it would be possible for
+him to score on the right kind of a safety. Then<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_217"></a>[217]</span>
+Sullivan dealt out a pass, which brought Kennedy
+to his feet, and caused Heines to come trotting
+slowly and reluctantly toward the mound.</p>
+
+<p>Lefty Locke, joining the spare catcher, began
+to warm up.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_218"></a>[218]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII<br>
+<small>FILLING THE BREACH</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">Like Jewett in the first two innings, Heines
+was lucky, and the change enabled the
+Deers to hold the locals, despite their
+savage efforts to increase the lead.</p>
+
+<p>“Keep after them!” urged Kennedy, as the
+players came to the bench. “There are six more
+innings to follow. If you can hit this fellow Elgin
+at all, and we can hold them where they are,
+we’ll be neck and neck with them to-night, or I’ve
+never seen a game of baseball. Elgin has got a
+jinx, and he’ll show up before long. Don’t let
+him put the Injun sign on you with his bean ball.”</p>
+
+<p>But, in spite of old Jack’s attempt to encourage
+his batters, Elgin seemed to have the “Injun
+sign” on the Deers.</p>
+
+<p>“You can’t hit him,” Yapp told the three batters
+who faced Buck’s pitcher in the first of the
+fourth. “If you did you’d never get farther than
+first, for you’d see him tighten like a bowstring.
+You never could hit a real pitcher, anyhow.”</p>
+
+<p>He made them believe it, too. And when a batter
+thinks he cannot hit a pitcher it is only by the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_219"></a>[219]</span>
+most remarkable bull luck that he ever gets as
+much as a scratch single. So Elgin had it easy,
+striking out two men and fielding the weak roller
+which the third sent his way.</p>
+
+<p>“Gods of war!” growled Kennedy. “I’ll have
+to get out there myself, and show them how to hit
+this gink. If they ever fell on him he’d take a
+sail. Where’s Locke? Oh, there he is—at it.”</p>
+
+<p>Old Jack watched the work of Heines like a
+hawk, waiting for the first show of wabbling; for
+by this time Locke had loosened his wing, and
+could come to the rescue. Just what he could do
+against Bert Elgin, Kennedy believed he knew.
+The old manager remembered that first game with
+the Hornets, when the two youngsters had faced
+each other in the Big League; remembered that
+Elgin had gone down to defeat and disgrace, while
+Lefty Locke made his reputation under the most
+trying circumstances a new man could possibly
+meet. Just now, as on that other occasion, with
+the great mass of spectators favoring him, Elgin
+seemed invincible; but with the first cry of “Take
+him out!” Kennedy believed the yellow streak
+would show. Would the break in the game lead
+the local crowd to shout for his removal? While
+he was going strong the little bunch of Deering
+fans might howl themselves black in the face without
+effect.</p>
+
+<p>Peter McLaughlin kept up his efforts to get<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_220"></a>[220]</span>
+Elgin’s goat, even though by so doing he was inviting
+personal injury from rabid Hatfielders
+within reach of him. And when a scrap starts
+out in the bush it is liable to make Ty Cobb’s whipping
+of an insolent fan look like fisticuffs between
+kittens at play. McLaughlin, however, had a
+mouth, and he was not afraid to use it in Hatfield
+or at home.</p>
+
+<p>“Shut up, you old toad,” commanded an angry
+spectator, “or somebody will hand you a wallop
+on the ear!”</p>
+
+<p>“When you come to Deering,” old Peter flung
+back, “you can talk and holler all you please, and
+anybody that tries to stop you will get into trouble
+with me. You can’t muzzle me here.”</p>
+
+<p>Those who knew him were aware that nothing
+save a sleep jab or a gag would keep him still, and
+some there were who found amusement in his apparently
+futile efforts to jar Elgin.</p>
+
+<p>Two more outfield catches promised to let
+Heines get away with another inning, but, with
+every man hitting the ball when he put it near the
+plate, it was his support that saved him to that
+point. Two safeties, however, landed runners on
+first and second, and a successful double steal
+caused Kennedy to shove out the hook again.
+Then the change catcher told Locke that his turn
+had come. The crowd watched the southpaw jogging
+to the slab; only McLaughlin and the Deering<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_221"></a>[221]</span>
+fans cheered him. Following that cheer, Elgin,
+on the coaching line, called to Pop Doyle, the
+man at bat:</p>
+
+<p>“Here’s a portsider with a straight ball and a
+prayer. He’ll put one over in your groove if you
+wait, and then you’ll show ’em why he isn’t pitching
+in the Big League now.”</p>
+
+<p>Doyle, a left-handed hitter, did not like southpaw
+pitchers, but Elgin had told every man on the
+team that the fellow who called himself Stranger
+was a frost; and the batter grinned like a wolf
+while Locke got the range of the pan with two or
+three throws, after Coffin had told him the signals.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s the fence, Pop!” cried Bristol, swinging
+two bats, with the expectation of following
+Doyle. “Get another pair of shoes by putting it
+over. You’ve won enough footwear to last you
+five years already. You can start a little retail
+store of your own when the season’s over. Make
+Kennedy’s new man contribute to your stock.”</p>
+
+<p>“You can’t get his goat that way,” howled
+McLaughlin. “He’s your jinx, and you know it.
+Give him a cheer, boys!”</p>
+
+<p>The bunch of Deering rooters responded lustily,
+but their cheer was drowned by the crowd roaring
+for Doyle to lace it out.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_222"></a>[222]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII<br>
+<small>THE MAN ON THE MOUND</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">Pop Doyle rapped the rubber and
+squared away like a man who believed he
+could drop another one over the fence
+any time he wished. This was the time to do it,
+too. This was the time to break the new pitcher’s
+heart before he could get his feet under him.
+This was the pinch in the game, with the temporarily
+faltering tide threatening to flow on and
+overwhelm the Deers.</p>
+
+<p>Nor was the sympathy of all the visitors with
+the new pitcher. Curley, Sullivan, and Heines
+knew that the success of Stranger might mean
+that at least one of them would receive his release,
+and, together on the bench, they nursed their ineffective
+whips, waiting and hoping to see Doyle do
+things to the southpaw.</p>
+
+<p>What passed in Lefty Locke’s mind as he toed
+the slab and took Coffin’s signal not even Kennedy
+could know. Did he remember other occasions
+when he had faced batters more formidable than
+Doyle and felt no tremor of apprehension, or was
+the past a forgotten blank? Was he at that moment<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_223"></a>[223]</span>
+the Phil Hazelton who had made good under
+Kennedy with the majors, or was he Bob Stranger,
+now pitching for the first time in a game of baseball?
+Did he remember Elgin, whose trickery had
+so nearly ended his Big League prospects, or was
+his present rival and former foe absolutely unknown
+to him? Whatever he thought at that moment,
+his face revealed nothing. It was as
+impassive as a mask; the grim, determined mask
+of one who knew his task and was ready to meet it.</p>
+
+<p>Coffin, having signaled, put up his glove behind
+Doyle’s shoulder, and, as he had thrown at old
+Jack’s hands in the morning, Lefty Locke whipped
+the ball past the batter’s chin and into the pocket
+of that yawning mitt. There was no attempt to
+drive the batter back from the pan, yet Doyle,
+jerking his head away, heard the umpire declare a
+strike. Instantly he kicked on the decision, and
+Hank Bristol flung one of his two bats high into
+the air. The local fans roared their disapproval,
+encouraged by these movements of the batter and
+the manager.</p>
+
+<p>“Robbery!” shouted Bristol.</p>
+
+<p>“Robbery! Robbery!” came from the crowd.
+“That was a ball!”</p>
+
+<p>Coffin, laughing, snapped the sphere back to
+Lefty, who stopped it with his gloved right hand,
+and permitted it to drop into his bare left, the old
+movement which was so familiar to Kennedy.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_224"></a>[224]</span></p>
+
+<p>“That’s him!” whispered old Jack to himself.
+“That’s Lefty, sure. Let him get squared away,
+and they’re through scoring. If they don’t make
+another run this inning, it’s all off, and we’ve got
+’em going.”</p>
+
+<p>Lefty gave little heed to the anxious base runners.
+He had selected Doyle for his victim, and
+it was easier and safer to keep after him than to
+take the chance of throwing to the sacks when it
+was not necessary to drive the runners back.</p>
+
+<p>Having made his kick, Doyle was satisfied,
+though Bristol kept it up until warned by the umpire
+that he would be chased from the game.
+The next one pitched by Lefty was wide. When
+it was called a ball, the crowd sarcastically howled
+at the umpire, and asked him if he was sure it was
+not a strike.</p>
+
+<p>Peter McLaughlin found it almost impossible
+to remain on his seat. “You’ve got him!” the
+old man shouted. “He can’t hit ye, Stranger!
+He can’t see your fast ones. Give him a curve
+now, and see what he can do with it.”</p>
+
+<p>Without looking in the direction of the excited
+hotel proprietor, Lefty nodded and smiled.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m going to try you with a curve, Doyle,” he
+told the batter. “Let’s see if you can win any
+shoes off it.”</p>
+
+<p>Coffin called for another straight one across
+Doyle’s shoulder, but Locke shook his head.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_225"></a>[225]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I told him I was going to pitch a curve,” he
+said. “Mr. Kennedy showed me one or two this
+morning. I wonder if I’ve forgotten how to use
+them?”</p>
+
+<p>“Lay one over anywhere,” invited Doyle, “and
+I’ll break the fence.”</p>
+
+<p>Even as he spoke, Locke pitched, starting the
+ball high, and making it take a break across the
+batter’s shoulders. Whereupon Doyle pounded
+the air for a second strike.</p>
+
+<p>“Told you you had him foul!” whooped McLaughlin.
+“How can he hit ’em? He can’t.”</p>
+
+<p>“Make him put ’em across, Pop,” urged Bristol.
+“Don’t let him fool you again.”</p>
+
+<p>Now, Lefty had deceived Doyle completely by
+telling him just what he was going to pitch, for the
+batter had looked for something entirely different.</p>
+
+<p>“Try another,” he entreated. “Give me another
+like that, and see it go out of the lot.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” said Lefty, “I’ll do it, if you’ll agree
+to swing.”</p>
+
+<p>“Look out for the straight one now!” shouted
+Elgin from the coaching line. “I know his pitching.
+That’s the way he mixes ’em—a curve and
+a straight one. That’s why he didn’t last in the
+Big League. They got wise to him. Meet it, Pop—meet
+it!”</p>
+
+<p>But, to the surprise of Elgin, although Lefty
+swung his arm as if about to waft over a smoker,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_226"></a>[226]</span>
+he made such a beautiful change of pace that
+Doyle barely saved himself by holding the bat
+back on the swing. The slow ball dropped to the
+ground six inches in front of the plate, and Coffin
+gathered it on the bound.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s two and two,” said Elgin. “It takes
+only one to hit it.”</p>
+
+<p>Lefty rubbed his bare hand on the hip of Kennedy’s
+old Blue Stocking pants. “I’ve got another
+curve,” he observed thoughtfully. “Let me
+see if I can remember that one.”</p>
+
+<p>He threw it a moment later, the hook which
+dropped and twisted to the far side of the plate
+beyond Doyle; and again the batter checked himself
+on the swing, rejoicing when the umpire’s decision
+made it three to two.</p>
+
+<p>“Now,” he said, “you’ve got to put it over or
+hand me a walk. You don’t dare put it across!”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m going to put it across,” promised Lefty;
+“and of course I’ll have to use a straight one.”</p>
+
+<p>In such a hole some pitchers would have found
+it necessary to use the straight one. Apparently
+Locke pitched with that intention. Doyle tried
+to meet the ball and hoist it over the fence. It
+was another of those baffling “Johnson hooks”
+to the outside corner, and he missed by inches.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re out!” cried the umpire; and Peter
+McLaughlin had a fit then and there.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_227"></a>[227]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV<br>
+<small>THE OTHER PITCHER</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">Old Jack Kennedy’s lips were pressed together,
+not a word coming from them as
+Lefty Locke strode to the bench; but in
+the depths of the manager’s eyes there was a
+wonderful glow, and he could feel his usually
+steady pulse pounding with an erratic throb.</p>
+
+<p>“Here’s the boy who could have pitched the
+Blue Stockings to a pennant,” he thought; “and
+Al Carson didn’t know a good thing when he had
+it. He didn’t know how to handle the lad.”</p>
+
+<p>“Did I get away with that all right?” asked
+Lefty, with surprising simplicity.</p>
+
+<p>“Huh!” grunted Kennedy. “They didn’t
+score, did they? You ain’t heard anybody kickin’,
+have you?”</p>
+
+<p>“He’s some pitcher—he really is,” murmured
+Coffin, slipping into place between Sullivan and
+Curley.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, wait,” muttered the big red-headed
+pitcher. “He’s only had to face one man, and I
+didn’t see that he showed so much.”</p>
+
+<p>“The Bucks will size him up in about two innings,”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_228"></a>[228]</span>
+prophesied Curley, “and when they do—good
+night, Mr. Stranger!”</p>
+
+<p>“They’ve got a real pitcher in that fellow Elgin,”
+said Sullivan. “He struts like a peacock,
+sure; but he’s got speed and slants, and he knows
+where to put ’em.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s my opinion,” said Coffin, “that Bob
+Stranger has got a little smoke himself, and that
+queer, twisting drop of his would fool old Honus
+Wagner.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, it would!” scoffed Curley. “It fooled
+Doyle once, but wait till next time, Coff—just you
+wait!”</p>
+
+<p>Even while this brief conversation was taking
+place, Elgin, still graceful, confident, and filled
+with ginger by the applause of the crowd, retired
+Captain Kilgore by the pop-fly route, and took on
+Buster Brown. Coffin, who followed Brown, began
+looking around for his pet bat.</p>
+
+<p>“You look to me like a blowed-up bladder,” said
+Brown, addressing Elgin. “Put one across, and
+see me nail it. But look out you don’t blow all to
+pieces when the bladder’s pricked.”</p>
+
+<p>“Get his goat! Get his goat!” howled Peter
+McLaughlin from the stand. “You can get it!”</p>
+
+<p>Elgin gave Brown a contemptuous smile.
+“Why,” he said, “you couldn’t hit me if I told you
+what I was going to throw. This will be a spitter.
+You never could hit a spitter.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_229"></a>[229]</span></p>
+
+<p>Holding the ball covered by both hands, his head
+went back with a motion which seemed to indicate
+that he pasted one side of the ball with saliva.
+Then he actually threw the spitter to Brown, and
+Brown missed.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll give you another, you big dub!” said Elgin.
+“Another just like that. Now, go ahead
+with your puncturing.”</p>
+
+<p>As good as his word, he threw another spitter,
+and again Brown fanned.</p>
+
+<p>“Say,” said the batter, “you’re copying the
+style of Kennedy’s new left-hander, ain’t you, telling
+the batter what you’re going to throw?
+You’re nothing but a plain copy, anyhow.”</p>
+
+<p>Somehow this touched Elgin, and his face
+burned. “If I was going to copy anybody,” he
+retorted, “I’d take a real pitcher for a model.”</p>
+
+<p>“Keep him chewin’ the rag,” bellowed McLaughlin.
+“You’ll git that goat yet.”</p>
+
+<p>Indeed, Elgin was so exasperated that he made
+a tremendously wild pitch, and, seeing it coming,
+Brown took a chance, and pretended that he was
+trying to hit it. With the swing, he let his bat fly
+to one side, and was off toward first, which he
+reached before the disgusted Yapp could recover
+the ball and stop him.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, wow, wow!” laughed Buster mockingly.
+“It’s a good thing the stand was behind Yapp.
+They’d never found that wild heave if it hadn’t<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_230"></a>[230]</span>
+been. Keep on shooting your face off, peacock.
+We like it.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’d never get to first any other way,” said
+Elgin. “Congratulate yourself.”</p>
+
+<p>“Never mind him,” called Yapp, as the catcher
+for the Deers walked out to the plate. “Put a nail
+in this Coffin. You can do that just as well as you
+can Kilgore.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, you’re a real wit, Yappy,” said Coffin.
+“Why don’t you get his umps to call time while
+you laugh at your own jokes?”</p>
+
+<p>“Speaking about jokes,” returned Yapp,
+“you’re one. I heard Kennedy kept you in the
+game and put you behind the bat for your hitting.
+Well, you won’t fat your average off Elgin.”</p>
+
+<p>Now, Yapp really knew Coffin’s weakness, and,
+with Elgin’s perfect control, the man was worked
+for a strike-out, although Brown stole second
+while this was taking place.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t exert yourself,” said Elgin, looking
+around at Buster; “’twon’t be necessary.”</p>
+
+<p>Lefty Locke was the hitter now, and Elgin
+seemed to have little doubt in his mind as to what
+he could do with him.</p>
+
+<p>“You thought you was something when you
+made the Blue Stockings, didn’t you?” said Elgin,
+as Lefty took his place in the box.</p>
+
+<p>“I beg your pardon,” returned Locke. “I
+think you’ve got me mixed with some other man.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_231"></a>[231]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Oh, you do, eh?” sneered Bert. “Call yourself
+Stranger now, eh? I sure don’t blame you at
+all.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why don’t you pitch instead of talking so
+much?” demanded Lefty impatiently.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I’ll pitch in a minute,” returned the other,
+nodding to Yapp to signal. “You seem in a big
+hurry to strike out.”</p>
+
+<p>Lefty made no further remark, but waited in position
+to swing easily at anything the pitcher
+might put over. Nevertheless, two strikes were
+called on him, and he had not attempted to hit
+one, much to the amusement of the great crowd,
+before he finally got what he wanted. The ring
+of wood meeting leather brought a gasp from the
+crowd. It was a line drive straight over the head
+of Berlin, who jumped vainly for it.</p>
+
+<p>Now, at Elgin’s suggestion, the fielders had all
+been switched round to the left; for, despite the
+fact that he was a left-hander, Locke frequently
+hit hard into left field. This movement had
+brought the right fielder almost in line with that
+tremendous drive; otherwise he could not have
+touched it. The change enabled him to make a
+marvelous running bare-handed catch which
+robbed Lefty of a three-bagger, at least, and prevented
+Brown from tying up the score.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, dear, dear!” sighed Peter McLaughlin,
+sinking back into his seat. “What a crack!<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_232"></a>[232]</span>
+What luck! Why, that fellow can hit ’em—he just
+can.”</p>
+
+<p>Brown, swinging toward home after crossing
+third, and being told that it was useless to run,
+twisted his mug at Bert Elgin.</p>
+
+<p>“Luck saved you that time, Mr. Pouter Pigeon,”
+he said. “You’re due to get yours good and
+plenty before the day is over.”</p>
+
+<p>Although he shrugged and sneered, away down
+deep in his heart Elgin felt a touch of apprehension
+lest the words of Buster Brown were
+prophetic.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_233"></a>[233]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV<br>
+<small>THE STEAL HOME</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">The game, which had started out so loosely,
+and threatened to become wretched at any
+moment, was now turned into a pitchers’
+battle, with Locke and Elgin working against each
+other. Settling down, Lefty became silent, attending
+strictly to business. At no time, save in
+the threatening moments, did he seem exerting
+himself to his utmost. The uproar of the crowd,
+calculated to disturb his coolness, seemed no more
+effective than the murmur of a summer breeze.</p>
+
+<p>“If they think they can rattle him in this little
+one-horse burg,” Kennedy whispered to himself,
+“they should have seen him pitchin’ before thirty
+thousand howlin’ fans in the Big League. Why,
+he’s just monkeyin’ with that bunch. With him,
+we can walk away with the bunting, sure as fate.”</p>
+
+<p>With him! But what right had he to keep
+Lefty Locke, under contract with the Blue Stockings?
+What right had he to hold this man, the
+lack of whose pitching might prevent the Blue
+Stockings from taking the championship? Was
+it not his duty to notify Al Carson as soon as possible<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_234"></a>[234]</span>
+that the missing pitcher had turned up in
+Deering?</p>
+
+<p>“But Lefty’s under suspension,” thought Kennedy.
+“They wouldn’t be using him now if they
+had him. Oh, I’ve got to talk it over with him,
+and talk straight. It’s the only way.”</p>
+
+<p>There was little time for thoughts like these.
+The locals still held that one-run lead, and Elgin,
+pitching like a man with life at stake, refused in
+the sixth and seventh innings to let one of the
+Deers as much as threaten to tie it up. On the
+other hand, in both of those innings the Bucks got
+a runner to second with only one out, whereupon,
+however, Locke tightened promptly, and there was
+nothing further doing.</p>
+
+<p>The eighth opened with Brown leading off, and
+he talked to Elgin a blue streak until the pitcher
+finally fanned him.</p>
+
+<p>“Go sit down, and close up that hot-air vent,”
+said Bert.</p>
+
+<p>Coffin picked a slant, and smashed it like a
+bullet straight into the hands of the shortstop for
+the second out.</p>
+
+<p>Then, again, Lefty Locke stepped forth, and
+Peter McLaughlin shrieked:</p>
+
+<p>“Here’s the man to hit him! Here’s the boy!
+It’s all off now! He’ll tie it up.”</p>
+
+<p>Once more, away down in Elgin’s heart, he felt
+that throb of apprehension. This was the man<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_235"></a>[235]</span>
+who had ruined his chances in the Big League, the
+man who had seemed favored in everything by
+luck—Lucky Locke he should be called, Elgin
+thought. And only for the chance that had
+brought Hartford over nearly into center field,
+Locke would have scored Brown on a clean drive
+the last time up.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll pass him,” declared Elgin suddenly.
+“I’ll pretend I’m trying to put the ball over, but
+I’ll pass him.”</p>
+
+<p>It was the weak spot, the yellow streak coming
+to the surface. With two out and no one on the
+sacks, there was really little danger that Locke
+could make a home run; yet Elgin was afraid.
+From over at one side, in the midst of the little
+knot of Deering fans, Peter McLaughlin seemed
+to realize Elgin’s purpose by the time Bert had
+handed up the second wide one.</p>
+
+<p>“He’s scat!” yelled the old hotel man. “Yaller—yaller!
+He don’t dare put one over! He’s
+quittin’!”</p>
+
+<p>The coachers took up the cry of “Yellow,” and
+Elgin viciously bit his under lip.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll just put one bender over,” he decided.
+“I’ll show them that I’m not afraid to slant one
+across.”</p>
+
+<p>Using his curve, he put the ball over; but it
+never reached the waiting hands of Yapp. Again
+Lefty met it fairly, and again it went whistling<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_236"></a>[236]</span>
+out on a line. This time, however, neither infielder
+nor outfielder could touch it. Only for a
+long rebound from the fence into the hands of a
+player, who promptly returned the sphere to the
+diamond, Locke, covering ground like a deer,
+would have turned the hit into a homer.</p>
+
+<p>McLaughlin and the Deering bunch were howling
+themselves purple in the face. Old Jack Kennedy,
+on the coaching line, flapped his arms and
+laughed at Elgin, whose face was pale as a sheet
+of paper.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, he knows how to hit you, Elgin. He can
+do it every time,” said the old manager. “If the
+head of the list wasn’t up now, I’d go in myself
+and pound him across. Collins,” he snapped, as
+Chick came out from the bench with a bat, “if you
+dodge a bean ball this time I’ll fine you a week’s
+pay. Take it on the nut if he throws it.”</p>
+
+<p>“If he—if he does,” muttered Elgin hoarsely,
+“you’ll carry him home in a box.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, no—oh, no!” derided old Jack. “Why,
+you couldn’t crack a pane of glass with your swift
+one. Get hit, Chick, if he throws at you—get hit.”</p>
+
+<p>“All right,” grinned Collins. “Let her come.”</p>
+
+<p>Elgin pitched only once to Collins before something
+happened. Yapp snapped the ball back, and
+Bert, catching it with one hand, was kicking a pebble
+out of the pitching box when a sudden wild yell
+arose. He turned in surprise, and saw Locke racing<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_237"></a>[237]</span>
+down from third, actually attempting to tie
+the score by stealing home. And that with the
+head of the batting order up! The astounding
+unexpectedness of such a thing took away Elgin’s
+breath, and made him hesitate for a fraction of a
+second.</p>
+
+<p>Yapp, leaping forward to block the runner off,
+shrieked for Elgin to throw the ball. Awaking
+suddenly, Bert threw it. In his haste, however,
+he whipped it wide, and Yapp was forced to reach
+in the wrong direction.</p>
+
+<p>Lefty Locke hit the dirt feet first, shot under
+the Buccaneers’ catcher, and scraped one foot
+across the rubber.</p>
+
+<p>“Safe!” shouted the umpire, his hands outspread.</p>
+
+<p>The great crowd was silent—all save a little
+bunch led by Peter McLaughlin, who were yelling
+like lunatics. Elgin, ghastly white, was dumb. It
+had happened, after all—the thing he feared;
+this fellow Locke had snatched the opportunity
+to make him ridiculous before a bush-league
+crowd. Like poison fire, hatred burned and
+seethed in Elgin’s heart. He did not hear Bristol
+raging at him from first. His eyes followed
+Locke as the latter, rising, pounded the dust out of
+Kennedy’s Blue Stocking uniform, and turned toward
+the bench as calmly as if stealing home was
+a common thing with him.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_238"></a>[238]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI<br>
+<small>STRANGER IS ANNOYED</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">“Gods of our fathers!” said Buster
+Brown as Locke reached the bench.
+“You done it, old boy, and you done
+it slick. I’ll bet that man Elgin goes up so far
+you can’t see him with the Lick telescope.”</p>
+
+<p>As for Elgin, he spent some minutes in an apparent
+endeavor to steady himself; then, when he
+pitched again to Collins, Chick smashed out a safe
+drive.</p>
+
+<p>The fusillade of singles and doubles and triples
+which followed gave the Deers four more runs before
+Bristol came to realize that Elgin was wholly
+gone, and sent another man to the mound.</p>
+
+<p>“Got his goat! I knew we would!” rejoiced
+Landlord McLaughlin. “It’s all over but the
+shouting. Nobody is afeared of the Buccaneers
+now.”</p>
+
+<p>Appalled and silenced by the sudden turn of the
+game and the amazing and unexpected downfall
+of their pitching hero, many of the disgusted local
+spectators crept out of the stand and stole away
+before the Buccaneers went down to defeat in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_239"></a>[239]</span>
+last of the ninth, vainly seeking up to the finish to
+fathom the delivery of Kennedy’s southpaw.</p>
+
+<p>When it was all over, Locke lost not a moment
+in dashing away toward the dressing room—an
+action which seemed instinctive or born of baseball
+experience in other days. He was pursued
+by the shrill cheering of the little bunch of delighted
+Deering fans.</p>
+
+<p>Elgin had vanished. Crushed, bitter, unspeakably
+humiliated, after his removal from the box
+he had lost no time in leaving the field. He could
+not realize that retribution had reached forth its
+iron hand and touched him again, as it will any
+and all of us who do wrong and have a conscience
+that must cause us to suffer.</p>
+
+<p>Reaching the dressing room, Lefty had peeled
+off the old uniform, and was ready for a hasty
+shower before his teammates arrived. They came
+in rejoicing, with the possible exception of the
+jealous pitchers who had failed in the early stages
+of the game.</p>
+
+<p>“Stranger, of the southpaw!” cried Kilgore, as
+Locke seized a towel and began rubbing himself
+dry. “You were there when the hour struck.
+That steal home broke Elgin’s heart. Never saw
+a man blow up so sudden before. Couldn’t touch
+him before that; everybody hit him afterward.”</p>
+
+<p>Old Jack Kennedy came in. “Let me massage
+that portside flinger of yours, Stranger,” he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_240"></a>[240]</span>
+urged. “We’ve no regular rubber to look after
+it, so I’ll have to give it what it needs.”</p>
+
+<p>Lefty submitted to the massaging of his strong,
+free-swinging left arm and shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>“How did you happen to try that steal to the
+plate?” asked Kennedy, as he worked over the
+man’s arm.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know,” was the answer. “Seems to
+me I’ve done it before, but of course I haven’t,
+never having played baseball.”</p>
+
+<p>“You have played baseball—take it from me,”
+said Kennedy. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten about
+it, but you’ve played the game aplenty.”</p>
+
+<p>“Anyhow,” said Locke, “something told me to
+go home when I saw Elgin getting a bit careless
+in the box. I knew it would tie things up if I
+scored, and it might put him off his pins. If I
+failed, we’d still have another chance in the first
+of the ninth inning. Before I knew it I was
+streaking to the plate. Of course it was luck.”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course there was some luck about it,”
+agreed old Jack; “but it took nerve and judgment.
+If you’d failed, everybody would have handed you
+the laugh.”</p>
+
+<p>“That wouldn’t have disturbed me,” said
+Locke. “A man can’t do much if he’s never going
+to try anything for fear he’ll be laughed at if he
+fails. Sometimes a sense of humor helps; other
+times it hurts.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_241"></a>[241]</span></p>
+
+<p>“That’s philosophy,” said Kennedy. “Now
+you’re talking like yourself, son.”</p>
+
+<p>Indeed, at that moment Locke appeared like
+the fine, forceful, jovial fellow Kennedy had
+known him to be, having lost much of his shadowy
+gloom and all that peculiar style of talk which
+had bothered old Jack not a little.</p>
+
+<p>Locke was fully dressed and ready to leave when
+a prematurely corpulent young man arrived at the
+dressing-room door and inquired for Phil Hazelton.</p>
+
+<p>“Nobody by that name here,” he was told.</p>
+
+<p>“Wait a minute,” called Kennedy, who had
+heard the words. “Who’s that? The young doctor
+who follows up the Bucks? I’ve seen him over
+in Deering.”</p>
+
+<p>“My name is Hetner,” said the man at the door.
+“I’m Doctor Wallace Hetner, and I’d like to have
+just a word with my old college friend, Hazelton.
+Perhaps he doesn’t call himself by that name in
+baseball. Perhaps he calls himself Locke. And
+I see by the score sheet that he was down to-day
+as Stranger.”</p>
+
+<p>Lefty turned and stepped to the door to face
+the speaker.</p>
+
+<p>“You must mean me,” he said. “I’m the
+Stranger who pitched for the Deers.”</p>
+
+<p>“And you’re Phil Hazelton,” said Doctor Hetner.
+“I wondered what had become of you, Hazelton.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_242"></a>[242]</span>
+You were on the train with me when the
+smash came. You were on that very smoking
+car. I spoke to you a short time before the car
+jumped the track. Don’t you remember?”</p>
+
+<p>Locke shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s a singular thing,” he said, “but people
+get me mixed up with someone else. They persist
+in thinking I’m some other person. My name is
+Robert Stranger, pal. I’m a diamond cutter by
+trade. My health ain’t just what it should be, and
+a pill slinger advised me to get outdoors somewhere
+and work on a farm. That’s how I happen
+to be here.”</p>
+
+<p>Hetner’s jaw dropped, and he stared hard at
+the speaker. At the same time, behind Locke’s
+back, Kennedy clenched his right fist, and his eyes
+narrowed as he listened to this sudden change in
+the young left-hander’s style of speech.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s right, doctor,” he said suddenly.
+“Folks seem to think that Stranger, here, is someone
+else. Even I made that mistake. It annoys
+him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you mean to tell me,” persisted Doctor
+Hetner, his eyes fastened on Locke, “that you
+weren’t on that train when a broken rail sent us
+into the ditch? I looked for you among the injured
+or killed, but couldn’t find you.”</p>
+
+<p>“I never was in a train wreck in my life,” said
+Lefty.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_243"></a>[243]</span></p>
+
+<p>Baffled, the doctor turned away, mumbling an
+excuse, although not at all satisfied.</p>
+
+<p>“I wish they’d quit that,” said Lefty, brushing
+a hand across his forehead. “I wish they’d stop
+taking me for some other person. It’s infernally
+annoying.”</p>
+
+<p>“It must be,” agreed Kennedy, turning to Toots
+Kilgore. “Toots,” he said, in a low tone, “take
+the boys to the hotel and get supper. If I’m not
+there, I’ll meet you at the train.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_244"></a>[244]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII<br>
+<small>THE DOCTOR’S DOUBTS</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">“Yes,” said Doctor Hetner, sitting in his
+office, facing Manager Kennedy, “of
+course it’s possible for such a thing to
+happen. Of course, the man’s mind may be affected,
+and he may not remember his former life
+and friends. At the same time, he may be suffering
+under a delusion, which has led him to take
+a new name and assume a different character.
+Such instances, although rare, are well known to
+medical science.”</p>
+
+<p>“What brings them about?” inquired Kennedy
+eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>“Overstudy, overwork, a diseased condition of
+the body or mind, a sudden shock—oh, numerous
+things. It has almost a thousand different forms.
+Psychologists and physicians who make a study
+of the subject recognize many of the symptoms.”</p>
+
+<p>“Have you made a study of it, doc?”</p>
+
+<p>“Not what you might call a thorough study, although,
+of course, among my books I have many
+which deal with neurasthenia and its allied forms.
+Still, I’ll give you my word that I never for a moment
+recognized the symptoms in Hazelton. It<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_245"></a>[245]</span>
+seemed to me that the fellow, when he met me on
+the train, was simply declining to acknowledge an
+old acquaintance for reasons of pride or something
+of that sort. That it was aphasia didn’t
+occur to me. It’s likely you know how he happened
+to go into baseball under a fake name?”</p>
+
+<p>“But there ain’t no disgrace playing baseball
+these days,” growled the old manager. “There’s
+as clean a set of fellers in the game as you can find
+anywhere.”</p>
+
+<p>“Nevertheless, prejudice exists in the minds of
+many old-fashioned persons, such as Phil Hazelton’s
+father must be. To them, playing baseball
+is a great deal like taking part in a circus
+performance. They can’t see that it has become
+an honorable, legitimate, recognized profession,
+followed by hundreds upon hundreds of clean, honest
+young men. You understand why I doubt this
+being a genuine case of loss of identity? I believe
+Hazelton is trying to hide himself under an
+assumed name and personality.”</p>
+
+<p>Old Jack shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>“He ain’t no fool, doctor; he can’t help knowing
+that I know him and you know him. Elgin
+knows him, too. If he was a simple-minded idiot,
+he might continue to try to keep up the bluff. I
+tell you, that boy has gone wrong in his garret,
+and something ought to be done for him. I don’t
+know just how to do it.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_246"></a>[246]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Well, now, look here,” said the doctor; “I’m
+coming over to Deering in a day or two, Kennedy.
+In the meantime, I want you to try to trip Hazelton.
+Lead him into some sort of a give-away, an
+admission, then nail him. Tell him it isn’t any
+use to stick to the bluff.”</p>
+
+<p>“And have him get red-headed and tell me to
+go straight to—well, you know where.”</p>
+
+<p>“Never mind that.”</p>
+
+<p>“But I do mind. With him pitching for the
+Deers, we can put ourselves into first place in two
+weeks’ time. I know just what he can do. Talk
+about John Coombs, the iron man, or ‘Cy’ Young
+in his palmy days—why, Lefty Locke is as good
+as either of them. He can pitch three days running,
+if necessary; and two or three games a week,
+with a day between each, is like loafing for him, especially
+in this bush league. Oh, I don’t want
+him to quit me!”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t blame you,” said Hetner, laughing;
+“but I don’t believe he’ll quit. Yet, if he belongs
+to the Blue Stockings, and they’re in need of
+him—”</p>
+
+<p>Kennedy growled. “Then it’s up to me, if I’m
+decent, to let ’em know where they can find him.
+No matter how I feel about the way I was treated,
+it’s up to me just the same.”</p>
+
+<p>“Still,” said the physician, “if the man isn’t
+right in his head, it would be wrong for him to go<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_247"></a>[247]</span>
+on pitching baseball without any treatment whatever.”</p>
+
+<p>“Treatment?” said Kennedy. “Does treatment
+always cure ’em?”</p>
+
+<p>“Sometimes it won’t do a blessed bit of good.
+Nothing cures them but a long rest, and, perhaps,
+a sudden accidental occurrence which flashes back
+into their brain the realization of their true identity.
+Sometimes a situation may be successfully
+planned to bring this about; more often the most
+skillful planning results in absolute failure. But
+remember, I haven’t stated that Hazelton is a victim
+of such a delusion.”</p>
+
+<p>“We’ll find out whether he is or not, doctor,”
+said the old manager, rising. “If he’s fooling,
+I’ll catch him at it. I’ll let you know right away
+if I trip him somehow. So long, doc.”</p>
+
+<p>Kennedy had time to snatch a bite at the hotel
+and accompany the team to the station to take the
+train for Deering. Arriving at the latter place,
+they were welcomed by a gathering at the station,
+for the whole town had learned by telephone the
+result of the game in Hatfield.</p>
+
+<p>“Where’s your new pitcher, Jack—where is
+he?” they shouted. “He ought to be all right.”</p>
+
+<p>“He is,” assured Kennedy, waiting on the car
+platform until Lefty was forced to appear. “He
+didn’t let the Bucks have a run after he mounted
+the slab. Here’s Bob Stranger, gents, and, believe<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_248"></a>[248]</span>
+me, he’s the man I’ve been looking for to
+win the pennant with. If I can keep him, we’ll
+nail it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Keep him!” yelled one of the crowd. “If you
+let him get away, your life won’t be safe around
+these parts!”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_249"></a>[249]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII<br>
+<small>FIRST POSITION</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">Of course, Locke went out to the farm
+with old Jack, and again they sat on the
+veranda, this time watching the moon
+coming up over the eastern horizon. For a long
+time Kennedy was silent as he smoked, and Locke
+also seemed busied with his thoughts. The moonlight,
+creeping beneath the veranda, fell upon
+Lefty’s face, making it seem strangely handsome
+and strangely sad. Suddenly the old manager
+burst out laughing.</p>
+
+<p>“Wonder if Bert Elgin will get his release the
+way he did the first time you went up against him
+with the Blue Stockings behind you, son?” he said.
+“You remember what Brennan done to Elgin after
+that game was over?”</p>
+
+<p>Locke swung round and faced the speaker.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t remember anything at all,” he said,
+“because, as far as I’m concerned, it never happened.
+Like the others, Mr. Kennedy, you’ve got
+me mixed up with another man.”</p>
+
+<p>“Mebbe so,” said old Jack; “but I don’t believe
+it. Look here, if you ain’t Lefty Locke, the boy<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_250"></a>[250]</span>
+who pitched for me when I was handling the Blue
+Stockings the first of the season, how does it happen
+that you can go into a game same as you did
+to-day and pitch like a veteran?”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s one thing I can’t answer,” was the
+confession. “Of course, you gave me some practice
+here in the morning, but—”</p>
+
+<p>Kennedy snapped his fingers. “All I gave you
+didn’t amount to that, unless you knew how to
+pitch before,” he declared. “No matter how
+much you remembered, it was what you didn’t
+seem to remember that was telling you what to do
+in that game. That’s how you could go in there
+and win for us. I don’t know where you picked
+up the name of Stranger, but—”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve always had that name. I’m a diamond
+cutter, pal. My folks were rather strait-laced, and
+I was a wild one. They’re both gone, and I’m
+alone in the world.”</p>
+
+<p>“That sounds first-rate as fur as it goes,” said
+Kennedy; “but it don’t go fur. Where was you
+born, and where was you brung up? You’ve got
+plenty of folks who know about you, of course.
+Where be they?”</p>
+
+<p>“I was just trying to think,” said Locke.
+“Something has made me forget, but I’ll remember
+to-morrow, perhaps.”</p>
+
+<p>“Hope you do,” said Kennedy. “If you remember,
+you’ll get it straightened out that I was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_251"></a>[251]</span>
+your manager. The new owner fired me, and Al
+Carson took my place. Something happened between
+you and Carson. You didn’t get along. I
+was watching things in the papers. You was fined
+and suspended. Then the team was mixed up in
+that railroad smash, an—”</p>
+
+<p>“Stop!” interrupted Locke, in mingled excitement
+and confusion. “I can’t follow you as fast
+as that. No use for me to try.”</p>
+
+<p>“But you remember—you remember now?”
+persisted Kennedy.</p>
+
+<p>“Not a thing,” was the reply. “I still think
+you’re mistaken.”</p>
+
+<p>The following morning Kennedy sent a telegram
+to Al Carson, of the Blue Stockings:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="noi">Can tell you where to find your missing pitcher, Locke.</p>
+
+<p class="right"><span class="smcap">John Kennedy.</span><br></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>By noon he received an answer:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="noi">Don’t want to find him. He’s blacklisted for quitting.</p>
+
+<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Carson.</span><br></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>“Hooray!” said Kennedy, as he thrust the message
+into his pocket. “I’ve done my duty. They
+don’t want him. Now I can keep him—unless he
+gets cured of a sudden, and goes hustling back to
+them.”</p>
+
+<p>For a time the old manager felt nothing but
+keenest satisfaction over the situation. Gradually,
+however, having a conscience, he began to fret<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_252"></a>[252]</span>
+and worry. It was all wrong, he told himself, and
+the fact that Carson was prejudiced and had given
+Locke a rotten deal did not excuse him for remaining
+silent under the circumstances and using the
+youngster to his advantage. If Locke’s mind was
+affected immediate treatment was what the young
+man needed—immediate attention by an expert
+in mental disorders; and Kennedy could not con
+himself into satisfaction by saying over and over
+that nothing could be better for Lefty than the
+peace and quiet of the country, together with an
+occasional game of baseball to keep awake his interest
+in a life of action.</p>
+
+<p>“But I’ll wait till Monday, when the Bucks come
+over here,” he told himself. “That young doctor
+likely will come along at the same time, and we can
+talk it over again. I’ve got to have advice.”</p>
+
+<p>In this manner he pacified his troublesome conscience
+for the time being.</p>
+
+<p>In the afternoon, playing the Stars upon Deering
+field, the Deers, with Curley on the hillock,
+had it pretty much their own way. Danger of
+release had spurred Curley to do his level best,
+and in all the pinches he pitched with a skill which
+made his performance one of the finest exhibitions
+he had ever given in that bush league.</p>
+
+<p>Furthermore, the snatching of the game from
+the Buccaneers had inspired the Deers with new
+hope and fire, and they backed Curley up in an<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_253"></a>[253]</span>
+errorless manner, and hit well. Not only that,
+but both Sullivan and Heines, before the game
+started, had asked to pitch.</p>
+
+<p>Kennedy knew what that meant. The work of
+Locke, and the probability that some one of the
+others would get his release, had put them all on
+their mettle.</p>
+
+<p>“Got ’em now,” thought old Jack; “got ’em
+where I want ’em. They’ll all work till they drop
+in the harness, and it’s only up to me to keep
+watch that I don’t push ’em beyond the limit.”</p>
+
+<p>On the other hand, the Stars were nervous and
+fearful and altogether too eager. They seemed
+to realize that the Deers, unless beaten right away,
+would eventually leap into first place and clinch
+the championship. A day or two earlier they had
+feared the Buccaneers most, but the victory of the
+Deers over the Bucks had brought a new menace to
+the front; and the former champions, having endured
+the strain to the seventh inning, went to
+pieces generally, handing the locals a well-earned
+but rather staggering victory.</p>
+
+<p>Lefty Locke sat on the bench, again wearing
+Kennedy’s Blue Stocking uniform. He had
+warmed up a little, although the manager had
+scarcely a thought of putting him in under any
+circumstances; and the visitors had watched him
+with the utmost interest. For surely an unknown
+twirler thrown into a game at Hatfield by Kennedy,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_254"></a>[254]</span>
+and able to stop the fierce Buccaneers in
+their tracks, was a real pitcher.</p>
+
+<p>“I wonder who he really is?” the bushers asked
+one another. “Stranger—that ain’t his name,
+never!”</p>
+
+<p>After the game was over, Kennedy, outwardly
+calm, but inwardly chuckling with satisfaction,
+made his way to the Central House, where he
+found Landlord McLaughlin ready to set out the
+cigars for everybody.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, say, Jack,” called the proprietor, as
+Kennedy strolled in, mopping his perspiring face,
+“things have turned our way, sartain. I knowed
+you could do it if we could only get you to take
+holt of the team. That there championship is as
+good as ourn.”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t count your chickens before they’re
+hatched, Peter,” advised Kennedy. “You’ll find
+the Buccaneers and Hank Bristol still in the game.
+Of course, they put the Boobs to the mat to-day,
+but our winning from the Stars keeps us neck and
+neck with ’em, and ready to step into fust place
+before we go under the wire at the finish. To-morrow
+we’ll have a crack at the Boobs, and Monday
+we get another swing at the Bucks right here
+to home. Monday I’ll pitch Stranger again.
+Watch him trim them, if the boys back him up the
+way they did Curley to-day.”</p>
+
+<p>“Say, Jack,” chuckled the old man behind the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_255"></a>[255]</span>
+cigar counter, as he put forth box after box, “this
+town is sartain red-hot baseball crazy right now.
+Talk about Deering being dead! Why, it’s the
+liveliest little burg between the two oceans. Mark
+me, next Monday we’ll have out the best crowd
+that has ever seen a baseball game in these
+parts.”</p>
+
+<p>From a near-by booth came a sharp call of the
+telephone bell.</p>
+
+<p>“Mebbe that’s the report of the game at Somerset,”
+said McLaughlin, leaving the cigars for anybody
+who wanted them to take one or a handful,
+and turning toward the booth. “I’ll just see if
+’tis, and find out how bad the Buccaneers beat the
+Boobs.”</p>
+
+<p>He entered the booth, and closed the door.
+Those outside heard him shouting into the receiver
+a few minutes later: “What? What’s that?
+Say it over. Ain’t you got that wrong end to?
+Well, I swan to man! Good-by.”</p>
+
+<p>The minute he could push open the door and
+stick his head out, he cried:</p>
+
+<p>“The Bucks have gone up! The Boobs beat
+’em four to two. We’re at the head of the league.
+Hooray!”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_256"></a>[256]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX<br>
+<small>A TROUBLED MIND</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">A person who has never had any experience
+with baseball in the bush can
+scarcely realize the effect upon Deering
+of the knowledge that the local team had jumped
+into the lead and stood more than a fair prospect,
+managed by Kennedy, of winning the championship.
+The place, which ordinarily seemed rather
+sleepy and lifeless, suddenly seethed. Almost
+everyone, save crabbed old men or cranks prejudiced
+against the game, talked baseball, praised
+Kennedy, and speculated concerning his new left-handed
+wonder, who had beaten the dangerous
+Buccaneers.</p>
+
+<p>On Saturday afternoon the crowd that came
+streaming out to the field gladdened the hearts of
+the team’s backers by the manner in which they
+forked over their quarters at the box office. A
+flow of silver poured in, and the Deers, who had
+once seemed likely to end the season several hundred
+dollars in debt, saw a prospect of coming out
+ahead in finances—a prospect which made everyone
+rejoice.</p>
+
+<p>Of course Lefty Locke was the hero of the day.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_257"></a>[257]</span>
+Everyone stared at him. The girls whispered and
+giggled as they looked in his direction, and even
+young married women discreetly ventured to say
+that they considered him a very handsome man.
+There was something about his reserved bearing,
+the melancholy touch in his face, and the somber
+shadow in his eyes which seemed poetical and
+fascinating to those of the fair sex who observed
+him.</p>
+
+<p>In some manner, stories about him began to be
+whispered around. It was suggested that he had
+a broken heart, caused by some foolish girl, who
+had thrown him over for another man. Another
+story was that he was mourning for his sweetheart,
+who had died. The one humorous yarn of the lot
+was that he was a married man and the father
+of several children.</p>
+
+<p>But no matter what baseless speculation was
+circulated, each and every one of these stories
+simply made him seem all the more fascinating and
+attractive to the young women of Deering.</p>
+
+<p>But Lefty favored not one of them with more
+than a passing glance, and never in his eyes was
+there as much as a twinkling light.</p>
+
+<p>They had a chance to see Locke in action in the
+ninth inning, when, after pitching a great game to
+that point, Sullivan let down a little, and the
+Boobs, scampering over the sacks as they chose,
+threatened to snatch victory from defeat.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_258"></a>[258]</span></p>
+
+<p>Old Jack was watching every turn like a hawk,
+and promptly he pulled Sullivan from the mound,
+and sent out Locke, who had warmed up once before
+and once during the game, but was now cold.</p>
+
+<p>With one man down, Lefty took the next two
+batters in hand, and buried the whooping, aggressive
+Boobs in short order. The first man he
+fanned, and the next he forced into putting up a
+little pop foul back of first base, which ended the
+game.</p>
+
+<p>Coming down from the park, half an hour later,
+Locke was surrounded and pursued by at least
+twenty youngsters, who openly discussed him for
+his own ears to hear, all agreeing that as a pitcher
+Christy Mathewson had nothing on this great
+southpaw.</p>
+
+<p>Ordinarily this would have provided no small
+amount of amusement for Lefty; now, however, he
+scarcely seemed to hear or see any of them as
+he strode along, his expression one of troubled
+thought.</p>
+
+<p>Was it possible that he was beginning to realize
+that his name was not Robert Stranger, and that,
+for all his protestations that he had never played
+baseball before coming to Deering, he had a past
+upon the diamond? At any rate, he moved like a
+shadow among those admiring people of Deering—among
+them, but not of them.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_259"></a>[259]</span></p>
+
+<p>Sunday followed—Sunday on Kennedy’s farm.
+Old Jack made a suggestion about church, but
+Locke shook his head, saying he did not care to attend.
+And all day long he wandered restlessly
+about the farm, or sat idly on the veranda, declining
+to read, apparently striving to think—to
+think.</p>
+
+<p>“The poor boy’s worried, Jack,” said Mrs.
+Kitty Malone. “It upsets me complete to see him
+this way.”</p>
+
+<p>“Kit, I never thought the sight of any man
+would upset you again,” returned her brother.
+“I thought you’d had enough of them.”</p>
+
+<p>“So I have. But this is different—this case.
+He’s only a boy. I feel like a mother toward
+him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, you do!” laughed Kennedy. “Oh, yes,
+you do—not. Why, you’re not so much older, Kit—not
+more than ten year, and he really is almost
+a boy.”</p>
+
+<p>“But ten year,” she said sadly. “If ’twere
+t’other way ’twould be different. Do you know
+what’s on his mind, Jack?”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m not sure,” he replied; “but mebbe I could
+make a guess. He had a girl once, if I remember
+right.”</p>
+
+<p>“Once!” she exclaimed. “I’m jealous this
+minute. But, then, I don’t see how he could help<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_260"></a>[260]</span>
+having twenty of them. What’s become of
+her?”</p>
+
+<p>Kennedy shook his head. “Ask me!” he said.
+“There’s a whole lot about Lefty Locke that I’m
+guessin’ at.”</p>
+
+<p>“Lefty Locke? He calls himself Stranger.”</p>
+
+<p>“A man can call himself anything he pleases;
+there’s no law against it.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s a real pitcher he is, Jack?”</p>
+
+<p>“Sis, you should have seen him pitch against
+Bristol’s Bucks! If you want to, you’ll have a
+chance to see him pitch against them Monday. I’m
+going to put him in. You should have seen him
+pitch for the Blue Stockings. They lost the best
+man on the staff when they lost him, but Al Carson
+is such a pig-headed chump that he won’t acknowledge
+it. He’d rather lose the pennant than own
+up that he’d made a mistake.”</p>
+
+<p>“And that’s the man they threw you down for,
+Jack, is it—after you’d won the championship
+twice before? It’s always the way in this world.
+The one who delivers the goods is thrown down
+for another who’s got the cheek to crowd himself
+in.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not always the way, sis,” contradicted Kennedy,
+shaking his head. “It sometimes happens
+so, and when it does pessimists are inclined to
+say it always happens.”</p>
+
+<p>“What are these pessimists ye speak of?” she<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_261"></a>[261]</span>
+asked quickly. “I don’t think I ever met one of
+them.”</p>
+
+<p>“You were a bit inclined to be one yourself,”
+he replied, “until Robert Stranger came to the
+farm.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_262"></a>[262]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XL">CHAPTER XL<br>
+<small>THE REPORTER</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">Everyone had heard that Locke would
+pitch again on Monday, and, having seen
+him wind up the game for Sullivan, their
+curiosity and interest was whetted to the highest
+point. Doubtless Bristol would be fierce and determined
+to get back into the running by downing
+the Deers, and perhaps he would use again his
+wonderful new pitcher, who had held the Deers
+scoreless until Stranger stole home on him in the
+eighth inning. Naturally that man would be more
+than eager to retrieve himself in another struggle
+against Locke.</p>
+
+<p>Kennedy was on the steps of the Central House
+when Bristol, accompanied by two or three of his
+players, came hustling up from the railroad station.</p>
+
+<p>“Hello, Hank!” said old Jack, in a friendly
+way. “Glad to see you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Hello!” growled Bristol. “I s’pose you are.
+I’d be, if I was in your place. Say, you’ve been
+having luck, ain’t yer? You put the jinx on us,
+all right. Think of it, being beat by them Boobs!<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_263"></a>[263]</span>
+We’ve got to git back at you to-day, and we’re
+goin’ to come blame near doing it, too!”</p>
+
+<p>“That sounds interesting,” returned Kennedy.
+“I suppose you’ll pitch Elgin again?”</p>
+
+<p>“Elgin be—hanged!” rasped Bristol.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, what’s the matter?”</p>
+
+<p>“He’s quit.”</p>
+
+<p>“Quit?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yep. That feller was yaller all the way
+through. He went to pieces like a stick of dynamite.
+Didn’t even wait to collect the few dollars
+that was due him. Jumped a train and got
+out.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, he <em>was</em> a quitter,” agreed Kennedy.
+“I’m really sorry for you, Hank. It makes a man
+sore to be stung in his judgment of a pitcher that
+fashion.”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t seem that you got stung much in that
+feller Stranger. Say, who is he, anyhow? You
+must ’a’ had him yarded out in the outlaws somewhere,
+or back in the bush, with a string on him,
+so you could yank him in any time you needed
+him.”</p>
+
+<p>“I had him with a string on him, all right,” confessed
+Kennedy.</p>
+
+<p>“I thought so. Well, we’re going after him
+to-day. He can’t repeat on us. All the boys are
+just itching to have another crack at him.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’d better buy some ointment for that itching,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_264"></a>[264]</span>
+Hank. I judge they’ll still need it after the
+game’s over.”</p>
+
+<p>“Mebbe so,” said Bristol, walking on, “but I
+doubt it.”</p>
+
+<p>He was not twenty feet away when a young,
+clear-eyed man came hurrying toward Kennedy,
+who had turned to call McLaughlin from the hotel.</p>
+
+<p>“I beg your pardon, Jack, old man,” called a
+familiar voice. “Recognized you a block away.
+So this is the way you’re farming, is it?”</p>
+
+<p>Kennedy, whirling sharply, found himself gazing
+into the eyes of Jack Stillman, the <cite>Blade</cite> reporter.</p>
+
+<p>“Hello, boy!” he exclaimed, grasping the newspaper
+man’s outstretched hand. “What are you
+doing here?”</p>
+
+<p>“Hush!” chuckled Stillman, making an extravagant
+gesture of caution. “I’m doing a little Sherlock
+Holmesing for the <cite>Blade</cite>. I’ve followed a
+trail that has led me right here to this town of
+Deering.”</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t say!”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, yes, I do. I repeat.”</p>
+
+<p>“Who are you after?” Although Kennedy
+asked the question, he knew the answer in advance.</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose you’ve been reading the papers right
+along?” said Stillman. “Then you’ve seen all
+about the railroad smash, and how Lefty Locke
+hasn’t been found since that happened.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_265"></a>[265]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I read about it.”</p>
+
+<p>“It was proved that he wasn’t among the killed
+or injured, so, of course, he simply improved that
+opportunity to fade away. You know, he and
+Carson didn’t seem to get along right well together.
+Carson favored Grist, and Grist had some
+feeling about Locke.”</p>
+
+<p>“I thought I had that pretty near cured before
+they took my scalp,” said Kennedy. “Grist was
+the veteran with the experience, but he was on the
+point of going backward. Locke was the youngster
+without experience, but he was coming like a
+whirlwind. Both had their supporters, and there
+were a few who tried to remain impartial. It affected
+the playing of the team, and I was working
+hard to restore harmony just when they handed
+me mine.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, there’s not much harmony left now, and
+Locke’s gone,” said the reporter. “The Blue
+Stockings are getting it right and left, and only for
+the fact that the Specters have had a bad streak
+they would be out of the running already. The
+loss of Locke has put the whole team on the blink.
+Take it from me, Charles Collier is getting sore
+himself, and there’s liable to be something didding
+any day. Meantime, I am trying to locate Lefty
+Locke. Where is he, Kennedy?”</p>
+
+<p>“He’ll pitch for me this afternoon,” answered
+old Jack.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_266"></a>[266]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLI">CHAPTER XLI<br>
+<small>THE MAN WHO KNEW</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">“Calls himself Stranger, does he?” muttered
+Jack Stillman, as he watched the
+work of Locke from amid the crowd,
+having taken pains to keep away from the bench
+of the Deers. “Pretends he’s forgotten his right
+name or something like that, hey? The whole
+business is queer. But he can pitch—he can pitch
+as well as he ever could. If the Blue Stockings
+had him, with old Jack handling the team, they’d
+have the championship nailed already.”</p>
+
+<p>Besides Stillman, another man was an intensely
+interested spectator of Lefty Locke’s work on the
+mound. It was Doctor Wallace Hetner, of Hatfield,
+who, according to his promise to Kennedy,
+had come over with the team. As far as possible
+during the last few days, Hetner had spent time in
+meditating upon Locke’s singular behavior, and
+now he watched the man for some sign, some indication
+which would denote that he was actually the
+victim of a mental disorder.</p>
+
+<p>“He doesn’t look like a sick man,” decided the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_267"></a>[267]</span>
+doctor. “He doesn’t show it. But there’s something
+decidedly wrong, or he’d not be calling himself
+Stranger. I wonder if Kennedy has succeeded
+in leading him into a give-away?”</p>
+
+<p>He found the old manager, and called him
+from the bench. With the game running all in
+favor of the Deers, Kennedy did not hesitate to
+answer Doctor Hetner’s call.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, he’s Lefty Locke, all right,” he said.
+“Ain’t no question about that. No, couldn’t make
+him admit a thing, but I know what I’m talking
+about. Say, there’s another man here in town
+who knows him well—a reporter by the name of
+Stillman. You two ought to get together and talk
+it over. I’ll find Stillman, and introduce you after
+the game.”</p>
+
+<p>“Thanks,” said the doctor.</p>
+
+<p>Despite Bristol’s threat, the Buccaneers could
+do nothing with Lefty Locke; but in turn one of
+Bristol’s regular pitchers succeeded in holding
+the locals down to three hard-earned runs.</p>
+
+<p>Hetner, Stillman, Kennedy, and McLaughlin
+held a consultation in a private room of the Central
+House after the game was over.</p>
+
+<p>“I haven’t said a word to Lefty yet,” said the
+reporter. “I’ve kept away from him. Whatever
+his reason for ducking off the map, he’s certainly
+keeping himself in A-one pitching trim. I told
+Collier I’d find him.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_268"></a>[268]</span></p>
+
+<p>“You told Collier so!” exclaimed Kennedy.
+“Didn’t he know where Locke was?”</p>
+
+<p>“No. How would he know?”</p>
+
+<p>“I wired Carson three days ago that I could tell
+him where to find his missing southpaw. He answered
+that he didn’t want to find him. I supposed
+he told Collier about my message.”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t believe he chirped a word of it,” said the
+reporter. “Carson’s making a mess of the management.
+The team misses you, Jack—it certainly
+does.”</p>
+
+<p>“No bouquets,” protested Kennedy.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m not throwing any; I’m giving it to you
+straight. They miss you and Lefty Locke. I’ve
+been thinking of something odd. There was a man
+killed in that train wreck who passed sometimes
+under the name of Bob Stranger. He was a crook
+and general confidence man—Pink Kelly—who
+had just been released from the pen. For some
+time nobody recognized him, so his name was not
+given in the first newspaper reports of the identified.
+I was the one who finally recognized that
+gink. Bob Stranger! Locke calls himself that?”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s what he does,” replied Kennedy.</p>
+
+<p>The reporter struck the fist of his right hand
+into his open left palm.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll bet you a thousand dollars,” he cried,
+“that Locke and that crook were talking together
+before the smash came. That smash must have<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_269"></a>[269]</span>
+knocked everything out of Locke’s head. He’d
+been going a bit wrong for some time before that,
+and that might be the very thing to put him all to
+the bad. Why, do you know, some of the fellows
+even thought he’d taken to drinking. I’ve an idea
+I really know what’s at the bottom of the whole
+trouble.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then you’ll be mighty valuable in straightening
+this mess out,” said Kennedy. “What was at
+the bottom of it?”</p>
+
+<p>Stillman then told them of Lefty’s deep interest
+in Janet Harting, and explained how the misunderstanding
+between them had been caused by
+Locke’s innocent attentions to the daughter of the
+new owner of the Blue Stockings.</p>
+
+<p>“I beg your pardon,” interrupted Doctor Hetner
+excitedly. “I think I can see a method of
+straightening the man out and bringing back his
+memory. If I had a picture of that girl—the one
+he’s really struck on—”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve got it,” laughed the reporter. “Say, I
+scented a corking old news story in this affair, and
+so I just took care to get Miss Janet Harting’s
+photograph, as well as one of Miss Virginia
+Collier. By the way, there’s a fourth party mixed
+up in the business—a young man by the name of
+Franklin Parlmee. It seems that he had a case
+on Collier’s daughter, and they quarreled. It
+didn’t seem to shake her much, but he was raw as<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_270"></a>[270]</span>
+a flea-bitten pup, and he didn’t lose an opportunity
+to soak Locke to old man Collier.”</p>
+
+<p>“Something of a romance, I declare!” said Doctor
+Hetner. “You say you have Miss Harting’s
+photograph? Have you brought it with you?”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure!”</p>
+
+<p>“Will you let me have it?”</p>
+
+<p>“You bet, if you’ll return it. I wouldn’t lose
+it for anything. If I write the story—”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s an interesting story,” said the doctor,
+“and I suppose you’ll write it, anyhow, being a
+reporter.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_271"></a>[271]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLII">CHAPTER XLII<br>
+<small>FAILURE</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">Kennedy found Locke, and brought him
+to that room, where the young southpaw
+was met by Stillman, while the doctor and
+landlord looked on.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course you remember me,” said the reporter,
+wringing Locke’s unresponsive hand.
+“You know how I got the proof on Elgin, and
+showed him up to Brennan. I knew you’d make
+good in the Big League, and I never lost a chance
+to say so.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s mighty good of you to talk like this,” returned
+Locke, “but you wouldn’t if you knew how
+you confuse me. If I’m the man you think me to
+be, how is it I only remember that my name is
+Robert Stranger, and that on account of my
+health I came out into the country to get a job
+on a farm?”</p>
+
+<p>“Pink Kelly, a card sharp, crook, and con man,
+was talking to you just before that railroad smash-up.
+Sometimes Kelly went by the name of Bob
+Stranger. He was killed, but you seemed to escape
+without as much as a scratch.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_272"></a>[272]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I don’t remember it,” persisted Locke, shaking
+his head. “If I wasn’t hurt in that smash-up,
+what made me so twisted? For I’m twisted,
+or you are, every one of you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps,” said Doctor Hetner, “the railroad
+smash simply completed what was gradually taking
+place before that. I saw you on that smoking
+car. I spoke to you, but you didn’t recognize me.
+I thought you were lying. Now I’m inclined to believe
+you were honest.”</p>
+
+<p>“Thank you,” said Lefty, on whose forehead
+little beads of perspiration were standing thickly.
+“It’s a rotten thing for a man to get twisted the
+way I am. I’ve tried to remember, but the more I
+try the less I can recall.”</p>
+
+<p>“There are reasons,” said the doctor, “why you
+should strive to recall the past.”</p>
+
+<p>“The principal reason,” said the reporter, “is
+Miss Janet Harting. Don’t you remember her,
+Lefty?”</p>
+
+<p>Locke brushed his hand almost fiercely across
+his forehead. “No,” he answered, “I don’t remember
+her.”</p>
+
+<p>“I have a notion,” said Stillman, “that you are
+engaged to her, though there was a quarrel or
+something of the sort, brought about by your being
+seen with Virginia Collier—old man Collier’s
+swell daughter. I don’t know just how it came
+round, but Miss Harting failed to accept your explanations,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_273"></a>[273]</span>
+if you made any. That broke you up.
+Now can’t you remember?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, not a single thing!” answered Lefty, in
+deep distress. “It’s all as if it never happened
+to me.”</p>
+
+<p>“If you saw the girl!” cried Stillman. “Doctor,
+where’s that photograph you took from me?”</p>
+
+<p>“Here it is,” said Hetner, handing it over.</p>
+
+<p>The reporter placed it in the hands of Locke,
+who gazed long and hard at the pictured likeness
+of one who had seemed to him the most beautiful
+of all girls.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s no use,” he declared, after some minutes
+of tense and breathless silence. “If I ever saw
+her, I have no recollection of it, and therefore I
+might as well never have seen her. It drives me
+desperate, trying to remember, and I must stop—”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s right,” said Doctor Hetner, who had
+been watching him closely. “It will do no good,
+this straining after what your mind refuses to recall.
+When it comes, if it does, it will come easily
+and suddenly, when you’re not trying to break
+down the wall that shuts you off from the past.
+Some day you’ll shake the identity and the name
+of the dead man, and become yourself again; and
+it’s both dangerous and useless to make further
+efforts until your mind is in condition to grasp the
+truth and revive the past.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_274"></a>[274]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLIII">CHAPTER XLIII<br>
+<small>THE COME-BACK</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">Jack Stillman went in search of Janet
+Harting, while Lefty remained pitching
+for Jack Kennedy under the name of
+Stranger. As a mascot and a winning pitcher, he
+proved to be such a success that, with the close of
+the season a week away, the Deers were entrenched
+in first position beyond any possibility
+of dislodgment.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, the Blue Stockings were being battered,
+and their lead cut down, until even old Pete
+Grist lost heart, and bewailed the missing southpaw.</p>
+
+<p>“Another week,” he groaned; “another week,
+and we’ve got to win four games out of six to
+home, with no pitchers. If we get two of them
+games we’ll do well. If we had Locke in trim we
+could take them. I’ll agree to win my share. Carson
+has failed, and the old man’s sore. After all,
+Kennedy was the best manager the Blue Stockings
+ever had.”</p>
+
+<p>To make matters worse, Carson and Collier
+quarreled violently.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_275"></a>[275]</span></p>
+
+<p>About this time Stillman, whose place had been
+filled by a cub for nearly two weeks, came back,
+and interviewed Charles Collier. Although the
+reporter had made his business a secret affair,
+more than one of the Blue Stockings guessed that
+he was searching for Lefty Locke. Daily the
+<cite>Blade</cite> was scanned for some word which would indicate
+that the clever reporter-detective had made
+progress in this search, and daily those in looking
+for that word were disappointed. Stillman was
+taking the chance of being scooped in order to
+spring a big sensation at the most dramatic moment.
+He did not even dare tell his editor what he
+had learned.</p>
+
+<p>The almost hopeless fight of the Blue Stockings
+aroused the sympathy of the fans, even while the
+management of Al Carson was bitterly criticised,
+and also the judgment of Charles Collier in letting
+old Jack Kennedy go in order to fill his place with
+a man like Carson.</p>
+
+<p>Pete Grist had made good by winning two games
+of the last six. He even saved another game when
+three of the battered pitchers had been pounded
+out of the box. Then followed two defeats, and
+upon the day before the final and deciding game
+was to be played Stillman sprang his sensation in
+the <cite>Blade</cite>.</p>
+
+<p>He announced that Carson had been permanently
+shelved by the owner of the Blue Stockings,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_276"></a>[276]</span>
+who had sent a distress call to the old manager,
+Jack Kennedy, receiving in reply the assurance
+that Kennedy would be on hand early in the morning,
+and would bring with him a cracking portside
+pitcher by the name of Stranger, who had been doing
+marvelous work out in the bushes.</p>
+
+<p>Stillman wrote, in conclusion:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>I’ve seen this Stranger pitch, and, believe me, he’s able to
+deliver the goods. He’s the equal of Lefty Locke when Locke
+was at his best. If Stranger can pitch a winning game for
+the Stockings to-morrow, the championship is ours after all,
+and old Jack Kennedy will have saved the day at the last
+moment.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Forty-eight hours before this article appeared
+in print, Lefty Locke, pitching for the Deers, had,
+while batting in the ninth inning, been hit full and
+fair on the head by a pitched ball delivered with all
+the speed the man on the slab could command.</p>
+
+<p>Locke sank to the ground without as much as a
+gasp. In a moment he was surrounded by a number
+of his teammates. Kennedy lifted the stunned
+man’s head, calling sharply for water.</p>
+
+<p>“He ought to have a doctor,” said someone.
+“Perhaps his skull is fractured.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t need a doctor,” declared Locke, suddenly
+sitting up. “I’m all right. A little tap like
+that never hurt anybody. Donovan hasn’t got
+much speed to-day.”</p>
+
+<p>“Donovan!” exclaimed Kennedy. “Why,
+that’s Colfax pitching.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_277"></a>[277]</span></p>
+
+<p>Locke looked at the old manager queerly. “Colfax?”
+he muttered. “Who’s Colfax! Never
+heard of him. The Specters are ahead, aren’t
+they?”</p>
+
+<p>“Where do you think you are?” choked Kennedy,
+his excitement growing. “You’re playing
+the Semour Stars, out in the bush. You’re pitching
+for the Deers, of Deering.”</p>
+
+<p>It was Locke’s turn to appear bewildered. “I
+don’t think I get you right,” he muttered blankly.
+“What are you doing here, anyhow? Carson is
+managing the team now.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not this team, he ain’t,” retorted old Jack.
+“Look here, Lefty, has that bump on your bean
+put you right again? Who are you? What’s
+your name?”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, my name is Hazelton, though I’m playing
+the game as Tom Locke. What a blame fool question,
+Kennedy!”</p>
+
+<p>The old manager showed his satisfaction, and
+did a dance which caused the crowd to stare at
+him in wonderment.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re all right now, Lefty, old boy! You’ve
+got your noddle cleared up by that bean ball. I’ll
+bet you got one on the koko some other time, and
+that was what started you wrong to begin
+with.”</p>
+
+<p>“Wrong? What do you mean? How wrong?”
+asked Locke, gazing around in surprise at his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_278"></a>[278]</span>
+strange and unfamiliar surroundings. “What am
+I doing here?”</p>
+
+<p>“Playing baseball. I told you a minute ago.
+You’re Bob Stranger. Anyhow, that’s what you
+called yourself when you came to me, and you
+swore you didn’t know how to pitch and had never
+seen a game of ball.”</p>
+
+<p>“Jack, you’re stringing me. I don’t remember
+how I got here, but—”</p>
+
+<p>“Play ball!” cried the umpire. “Shall we give
+you a runner, Stranger, or will you stick in the
+game?”</p>
+
+<p>“If you’re speaking to me,” returned Locke,
+“I’ll stick in the game. That tap on the head
+didn’t jar me a bit.”</p>
+
+<p>In proof of which, after jogging down to first,
+he stole second on the first ball pitched to the next
+batter, and came home with the winning run when
+a right-field single followed.</p>
+
+<p>That night Kennedy did his best to explain
+everything to the satisfaction of Locke.</p>
+
+<p>“I wonder what the team thinks of me?” murmured
+Lefty. “They must figure that I’m just
+about as yellow as Bert Elgin himself. I wouldn’t
+quit because I was suspended—not in my right
+mind, anyhow. I don’t blame Carson for being
+raw and letting me go.”</p>
+
+<p>Kennedy pulled a yellow envelope from his
+pocket, and produced the message it contained.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_279"></a>[279]</span>
+“Carson’s done with the Blue Stockings, anyhow,”
+he said. “Here’s a wire from Collier, asking me
+to come back and take the management of the team.
+I can get there just in time for the last game. If
+we win that game we get the pennant. What do
+you say, Lefty? Will you pitch it?”</p>
+
+<p>“Will I!” cried Locke. “All I want is the
+chance!”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s yours,” declared Kennedy. “You’ll
+pitch, son.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_280"></a>[280]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLIV">CHAPTER XLIV<br>
+<small>BACK TO HIS OWN</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">Not once in a thousand times does such a
+remarkable situation arise in Big League
+baseball. Not once in a thousand times
+would it happen that the two leading teams should
+be scheduled to play off the last three games of the
+season together, and have the championship depend
+upon the result of the final game, which would
+leave one or the other of those teams in the lead by
+a very small percentage.</p>
+
+<p>To down the Blue Stockings the Specters had to
+win three straight, and when they had taken the
+first two the entire baseball world was thrown into
+a great tumult of excitement, to say nothing of
+the home city of the Blue Stockings. That city
+was in a perfect panic, so that business generally
+was tremendously effected, and all one could hear
+talked anywhere he went was baseball, baseball,
+baseball.</p>
+
+<p>The newspapers were crammed with it. They
+were almost savage in their denouncement of the
+new owner and his judgment in displacing Jack
+Kennedy and filling the position with a manager<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_281"></a>[281]</span>
+like Al Carson. Half of them prophesied that the
+Specters would take the last three straight, and
+cop the pennant without difficulty. A few held
+desperately to the tattered border of hope, begging
+the Blue Stockings to brace up and save the day
+by winning the final game.</p>
+
+<p>But even as they did this, they confessed that the
+team’s staff of pitchers was all to the bad, with
+no one in condition save old Pete Grist, who had
+already won two games out of the double series
+of the final week, and was therefore unable to
+attempt to pitch another game.</p>
+
+<p>On the other hand, the Specters had Donovan in
+reserve, and during the season Donovan had made
+a record scarcely second to any Big League
+pitcher. The baseball “dope” in the papers was
+certainly interesting enough to a genuine
+fan, though it must have seemed maddening to
+a reader who cared nothing whatever for the
+game.</p>
+
+<p>Then came the sensation sprung by Stillman in
+the <cite>Blade</cite>. It made readers generally sit up and
+take notice. The other newspapers had been
+“scooped.” Stillman’s sense of the dramatic and
+his judgment regarding the psychological moment
+had stood him and his paper in good stead.</p>
+
+<p>And when, just as the game was beginning the
+following day, the <cite>Blade</cite> appeared with the statement
+that the pitcher called Stranger, whom Kennedy<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_282"></a>[282]</span>
+had brought with him, was none other than
+Lefty Locke himself, following with a most cleverly
+written explanation of the cause of Lefty’s
+vanishing, a complete account of his chance meeting
+with Kennedy, and how he had pitched in the
+bush league, winning the championship for the
+Deers, the scoop was complete.</p>
+
+<p>Never in the history of the game in that city had
+such a crowd swarmed to the ball park. At daylight
+a dozen or more tired, sleepy-looking men
+and boys were seen in line at the bleacher gates,
+waiting in order that they might be the first to gain
+admittance and so secure favorable positions. Before
+eleven o’clock in the forenoon two or three
+hundred people were waiting at those gates, and
+the steady influx began when the gates were finally
+opened ahead of time at twelve-thirty.</p>
+
+<p>Fortunately the police department was on the
+job, and the crowds were handled beautifully outside
+the grounds. On the field, at least forty
+policemen found themselves busy when at last the
+stands and bleachers overflowed, and the people
+began to swarm into the field back of the ropes,
+which had been stretched in anticipation of this
+very occurrence.</p>
+
+<p>It was, however, a remarkably tractable crowd.
+Even those who had bought seats in the stand and
+found those seats occupied, as well as the bleachers
+packed—being compelled, therefore, to stand<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_283"></a>[283]</span>
+in the jam back of the ropes—were good-natured,
+few complaining.</p>
+
+<p>This was the day—the great day! Jack Kennedy
+had come back, and brought with him Lefty
+Locke. They were waiting for Kennedy and Locke
+to appear, and as they waited they choked down
+and held back the cheer which welled from their
+rejoicing hearts. Presently from the clubhouse
+the Specters came pushing through the gathering
+mass of people, and burst upon the field. They
+were given an ovation by their admirers.</p>
+
+<p>Two minutes later there was a tremendous stir
+all through the stands, running over the bleachers
+and into the group of standees. Escorted by six
+policemen, Kennedy and Locke were coming, with
+the Blue Stocking players at their heels. Other
+policemen fought the crowd back, and made a lane
+for them to pass through.</p>
+
+<p>And when they debouched from that lane upon
+the open space of the field inside the ropes, it
+seemed that every human being upon the bleachers
+and in the stands had risen and was howling like a
+maniac. Such a solid roar, such a tremendous
+burst of sound coming from human throats, perhaps
+never was heard save at some gladiatorial
+contest in the Roman Colosseum. It beat and
+reverberated upon the eardrums with painful
+fierceness, causing more than one person to protect
+himself from the staggering effect of it by<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_284"></a>[284]</span>
+clapping his hands over his ears. And it continued
+while old Jack, bareheaded, with Lefty
+Locke at his side, marched from the ropes to the
+bench, his face pale, his eyes shining, his lips smiling.</p>
+
+<p>“They’re glad to get you back, Jack,” shouted
+Lefty in the old man’s ear.</p>
+
+<p>“You blame fool!” yelled Kennedy in return.
+“They’re not cheering for me. It’s you, boy—you,
+the man who’s going to give the Blue Stockings
+another pennant. Pull off your cap—pull it
+off! Bow! Bow!”</p>
+
+<p>For a moment there was a blur over Lefty’s
+eyes. Through it he could dimly see the wildly
+tumultuous mass in the stands and on the
+bleachers. Mechanically he lifted his hand—his
+left hand—and touched his cap. And when he did
+so the great roar suddenly was intensified for an
+instant, although it had previously seemed that
+every person present was shouting as loudly as he
+could.</p>
+
+<p>When Locke had reached the shelter of the covered
+bench, into which he dived for a few moments
+as one seeking to escape a deadly hail of bullets,
+he laughed again—queerly, incredulously.</p>
+
+<p>“It can’t be for me,” he muttered. “Why, I’m—I’m
+only a cub yet—nothing but a busher.”</p>
+
+<p>Kennedy was at his side. “You’ll show whether
+you’re a busher or a Big League pitcher to-day,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_285"></a>[285]</span>
+Lefty,” he said. “If you let this reception get
+your goat, then your name is Mud. But if you
+can go out there and pitch a winning game, nobody
+in fast company has got it on you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Give me two minutes,” said Locke, gripping
+himself; “give me two minutes, and I’ll show
+you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Good boy!” said old Jack. “Come out and
+warm up when you get ready.”</p>
+
+<p>He left Locke there, and went forth among his
+men, all of whom had greeted him on his return
+as rejoicing children might greet a beloved parent;
+and every one of whom had shaken the hand
+of Lefty Locke until Lefty’s arm seemed ready to
+come off. Not even Pete Grist had held back.
+Far from it. Old Pete was among the first to
+strike palms with the southpaw.</p>
+
+<p>“The prodigal son!” he cried. “The prodigal
+son back home! Welcome to our midst, Lefty.
+We’re going to let you kill the fatted calf this
+afternoon—the Specters, you know.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s kind of you, Grist, old man,” said
+Locke. “I’ve brought my little butcher knife
+with me, and I’m going to sink it to the hilt if I
+can.”</p>
+
+<p>As old Jack came out again from beneath the
+bench roof, here and there friends in the crowd
+shouted at him, but now he seemed deaf to all this
+as he went at work amid his men, directing them<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_286"></a>[286]</span>
+as of old, keeping them on the jump, filling them
+with inspiration and confidence.</p>
+
+<p>“Hey, Jack! You’re the old man to do it!”</p>
+
+<p>“Kennedy, you can deliver the goods! You
+did it once, and you will again.”</p>
+
+<p>“Welcome to our city, Mr. Kennedy! We have
+missed you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, say, Jack, old boy, you look good to me!”</p>
+
+<p>But these cries were faint compared with the
+renewed chorus of shouts which arose when Lefty
+Locke, flushed, yet steady and self-possessed,
+again stepped forth into view.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, you Lefty! Oh, you southpaw!”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re the kiddo! You’re the Specter slayer!”</p>
+
+<p>“How’s your wing, Lefty?”</p>
+
+<p>“Got your batting eye with you?”</p>
+
+<p>“Lefty, don’t you dare ever leave us again.
+You’re home with your own family now.”</p>
+
+<p>Kennedy, glancing sidewise at Locke, to notice
+the effect of this revived demonstration, was well
+satisfied. Not by a flicker did the southpaw betray
+the emotion of satisfaction with which his
+heart must have been filled. He was steady as
+Gibraltar, and cool as polar ice.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_287"></a>[287]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLV">CHAPTER XLV<br>
+<small>THE GIRLS IN THE BOX</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">Still with a view to the dramatic, Stillman
+had planned something else. It
+was with the greatest difficulty that he had
+succeeded in keeping Lefty Locke and Janet Harting
+apart, for Janet was in the city, the guest of
+Virginia Collier. And when Lefty reappeared
+on that field and received that marvelous ovation,
+Janet sat in the owner’s box with Virginia, her
+gloved hands clasped with a fierceness that nearly
+burst the kid, her face by turns pale and flushed.</p>
+
+<p>All the way across the diamond her eyes followed
+that splendid figure—the figure of the man
+she loved. The Niagaralike roaring of the crowd
+she was conscious of in a vague way, and it
+thrilled her; and it seemed that she must draw his
+gaze by her intense effort to do so. When he
+suddenly dove to the shelter of the bench, she relaxed,
+with a little sigh of disappointment.</p>
+
+<p>Then for the first time she felt the arm of Virginia
+Collier about her. She heard Virginia’s
+voice in her ear:</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_288"></a>[288]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Wasn’t it splendid? Did you ever know anyone
+to get such an ovation?”</p>
+
+<p>“Never,” answered Janet, “but he didn’t
+look—”</p>
+
+<p>“He will look,” assured Miss Collier. “Leave
+that to Jack Stillman.”</p>
+
+<p>“I owe a great deal to Mr. Stillman.”</p>
+
+<p>“So do I,” said Virginia, glancing over her
+shoulder at Franklin Parlmee. “Only for Mr.
+Stillman, we might all be playing at cross-purposes
+now. There he is. He’s speaking to
+Lefty.”</p>
+
+<p>Stillman had been pretty busy at his telegraph
+key, for he was one reporter who could do his own
+sending, and the events of the last few moments
+had caused him to sweat as he pounded out the
+Morse. He was athrill with the joy of it, like a
+stage manager who has planned a tremendous
+performance and seen it carried through successfully
+at the opening, and the crowd going wild
+over it.</p>
+
+<p>“Lefty!” he called; and Locke, passing, turned
+at the sound of the familiar voice.</p>
+
+<p>“Hello, Jack!” he returned.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s someone looking for you over in the
+manager’s box,” said Stillman.</p>
+
+<p>As if he suddenly realized who it was, Locke
+whirled like a flash and started in that direction
+with long, swinging strides. His bronzed face<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_289"></a>[289]</span>
+was flushed. Never had he looked handsomer
+than he did while Janet watched him drawing
+near.</p>
+
+<p>“You—you, Janet!” he cried, heedless of everyone.
+“I tried to find you, but you were gone.
+I couldn’t explain. Let me explain now.”</p>
+
+<p>“Hush, Phil!” she cautioned, pressing the
+gloved fingers of one hand to her lips, while,
+watched by thousands of eyes, she permitted him
+to hold the other hand. “You don’t have to explain.
+Miss Collier has explained everything,
+and I wish to ask your pardon for—”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t!” he entreated. “How could you
+know? It must have seemed beastly of me. I
+told you I was going to the theater with some fellows
+from the team, and you saw me there
+with—”</p>
+
+<p>“Hasn’t Janet told you that everything has
+been explained, Mr. Hazelton?” cut in Virginia
+Collier. “Of course, I didn’t know about her,
+and just then I was somewhat peeved with Franklin.
+Oh, I think you’ve met Mr. Parlmee, haven’t
+you?”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure, we’ve met,” said Parlmee, putting forth
+a hand, which finally led Lefty reluctantly to release
+the gloved fingers of Janet. “How are you,
+Locke, old chap? If I was a bit rude when we
+were introduced, perhaps you’ll pardon me now,
+understanding the reason.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_290"></a>[290]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Everybody seems eager to beg everybody’s
+pardon,” laughed Virginia Collier. “I wonder where
+father is? I know he was on hand to see
+you and Jack Kennedy when—”</p>
+
+<p>“He was in the clubhouse,” said Lefty. “I’ve
+seen him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you think you can win the game to-day?”
+asked Janet, apparently with a touch of anxiety.</p>
+
+<p>“What do <em>you</em> think?” he questioned.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m sure you can.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then I’ll win it, Janet, if there’s any pitching
+left in my old south wing.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’ll have to pitch,” said Parlmee.
+“They’ve been saving Donovan up for this
+game. They want it as bad as we do.”</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps so,” said Locke; “but we’ve got to
+have it.”</p>
+
+<p>Somehow, there was no touch of boasting in his
+manner, nor did there seem to be anything of the
+sort in his words. He was confident of himself,
+and his confidence had been redoubled by Janet’s
+assurance that she knew he would win.</p>
+
+<p>“When the game is over,” said Miss Collier,
+“you’ll find us waiting outside the clubhouse with
+the automobile. You’ll join us, won’t you?”</p>
+
+<p>Only for a fraction of a minute did Lefty hesitate.
+“The others—the boys,” he faltered. “If
+we win, they will—”</p>
+
+<p>“They’ll forgive you for deserting them this<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_291"></a>[291]</span>
+time, I’m sure,” she said quickly. “It only happens
+once in a lifetime, you know—and Janet
+will be there.”</p>
+
+<p>“So will I,” he promised instantly.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_292"></a>[292]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLVI">CHAPTER XLVI<br>
+<small>THE GAME OF HIS LIFE</small></h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="cap">Never in his life had Lefty Locke pitched
+such a game of baseball. Never had that
+great crowd seen such splendid work upon
+the mound. Again master of himself in every
+respect, thrilled with life and vigor from toes to
+finger tips, the amazing southpaw of the Blue
+Stockings fought every inch of the way as if life
+and honor depended upon it.</p>
+
+<p>He knew <em>she</em> was watching him. He could feel
+her eyes upon him; yet they did not distract him
+from the task to which he had set his hand, his
+brain, his very soul. Instead, they were his inspiration,
+making him as unfathomable to those
+desperately waiting Specter batters as would have
+been Mathewson at his best.</p>
+
+<p>In the whirl and thrill of the conflict, once or
+twice he thought of how a ball pitched by Donovan,
+his present opponent, glancing from his bat,
+had seemingly done him little damage, although
+it struck him squarely in the head; how that blow
+had presently brought about the entire loss of his
+own identity and the assumption of the name and,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_293"></a>[293]</span>
+in some respects, the identity of another man
+killed at his side in the railroad smash. Vaguely
+he could now remember fighting to recall the truth
+concerning himself, while his mind remained an
+absolute blank as to the past. And the agony of
+his struggles caused him to shudder.</p>
+
+<p>But it was glorious to know that he was again
+restored to reason and to his normal condition.
+The shadow was gone from his mind—gone, he
+believed, never to return.</p>
+
+<p>And all the other shadows had been dispelled
+in the meanwhile. Janet was yonder in the box,
+trusting him, believing in him, sorry she had ever
+doubted.</p>
+
+<p>And so, while Jack Kennedy hugged himself on
+the bench, while Charles Collier gazed and marveled,
+while the great crowd cheered itself mad
+again and again, he cut the Specters down one
+after another as they faced him. Behind him
+his teammates waited, ready to give him their
+best support. Three times this great support prevented
+a Specter from getting a hit.</p>
+
+<p>And Donovan, also pitching the game of his career,
+twice pulled himself out of bad holes, and
+kept the Blue Stockings from scoring. Once he
+wabbled and it seemed that he was gone, but his
+manager made no move, and in time he rose to the
+emergency and saved himself.</p>
+
+<p>So the game continued, inning after inning,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_294"></a>[294]</span>
+with neither side getting a tally, with not a single
+Specter reaching first; for thus far Lefty was
+pitching a no-hit, no-run game. To-morrow the
+newspapers would be full of it, and the name of
+Tom Locke would be chiseled forever on the baseball
+tablet of fame.</p>
+
+<p>No man present was happier than old Jack
+Kennedy, for he was the manager whose judgment
+had brought this young busher to the front
+and given him the opportunity through which in
+a single season he had risen higher than any bush-league
+pitcher ever rose before.</p>
+
+<p>“He’s my boy—my boy!” Kennedy whispered
+again and again as Lefty cut the Specters down
+with his burning speed, his bewildering change
+of pace, and his unhittable hook drop, delivered
+always when least expected. “I found him. I
+put him into the game after Brennan kicked him
+out. I thought I was done with baseball, but I’m
+back to die in harness, unless I’m fired again.”</p>
+
+<p>Without a single exception, Lefty’s teammates
+were elated. Yes, it is true that even the veteran,
+old Pete Grist, was supremely happy as
+he watched Locke work. If for an instant a pang
+of jealousy entered his heart, he thrust it out as
+one would thrust forth the devil himself.</p>
+
+<p>And Lefty’s chums, Billy Orth, Laughing
+Larry, and Dirk Nelson, rejoiced unspeakably.
+All through the game Dalton laughed as of old,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_295"></a>[295]</span>
+while behind the pan Nelson crouched and signaled,
+sure that never once would Lefty fail to
+throw the curve called for and put it where he desired
+without the variation of an inch. Such control,
+such smoke, such headwork, Nelson had never
+before seen a pitcher display; and he afterward
+made the statement, regardless of the feelings of
+other twirlers who had worked with him.</p>
+
+<p>From the opening of the game till the last man
+was down, the Specters strove like fiends to get
+Lefty’s goat; but all their sneers, their tricks, and
+their baiting proved ineffectual. Apparently he
+was deaf, dumb, and blind to everything save the
+task in hand. The wild cheering of the tremendous
+crowd as he swept down batter after batter
+seemed to affect him no more than profound silence—perhaps
+not as much.</p>
+
+<p>One, two, three, four, five innings—not a hit off
+Locke! Six, seven, eight innings—not a hit; not
+a man had reached first base!</p>
+
+<p>“Shut ’em out!” pleaded the crowd. “Don’t
+let ’em touch you to-day, Lefty! You’ve got ’em
+killed!”</p>
+
+<p>Then in turn, when the Blue Stockings were at
+bat, that immense throng begged them to fall on
+Donovan and get a run.</p>
+
+<p>“One run will do it!” yelled an urchin with a
+voice like a calliope. “Dat’s all you want, fellers.
+It wins dis game.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_296"></a>[296]</span></p>
+
+<p>One run! Donovan himself felt that it would
+be enough. Perspiration standing forth from every
+pore, his teeth set like the jaws of a vise, his
+eyes blazing, he whipped the ball across the corners.
+One run! Was he going to let this left-handed
+cub outpitch him in the struggle which
+would give the winning team the championship?
+Not if he ruined his arm then and there!</p>
+
+<p>Then came the eighth inning, and again the
+strain of the terrible pace told on Donovan. The
+first man up got a safety, and the next hitter, directed
+by Kennedy, sacrificed him to second.
+With one down, it was Jack Daly’s turn to bat,
+and Donovan laughed; for he had Jack’s alley,
+and knew he could keep him from hitting.</p>
+
+<p>But at this moment Kennedy suddenly came
+forth from the bench, bearing a bat. Kennedy,
+the old stager, the veteran, was going in as a pinch
+hitter.</p>
+
+<p>Donovan laughed. “He’s easier,” he thought.
+“Why don’t he send out Burchard?”</p>
+
+<p>Burchard was the Blue Stockings’ greatest batter,
+kept on the bench for just such emergencies
+as this; and a thousand others wondered that Kennedy
+should throw himself into the breach with
+big Burchard waiting and ready.</p>
+
+<p>But Kennedy was inspired. He had been
+watching Donovan’s work from the beginning of
+the game, and he believed he could find the man<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_297"></a>[297]</span>
+for a safety. As he walked to the plate, he gave
+the runner a signal which told him to be on his
+toes and ready to go when the ball was hit.</p>
+
+<p>Two balls Donovan pitched to Kennedy without
+finding the plate, and then he put one over.
+Old Jack let it pass, and heard a strike called.
+Donovan laughed at him, and Kennedy smiled
+back serenely.</p>
+
+<p>“Give me another just like that, Jim,” he invited.
+“I’ll hit the next one.”</p>
+
+<p>“All right,” returned the pitcher; “all right,
+Jack, old back number. Here you have it.”</p>
+
+<p>Kennedy knew Donovan was lying. He knew
+the man would pitch something entirely different,
+and perhaps wholly unexpected, but some inspiration
+told him just what it would be; and when
+Donovan put it across the inside corner, Kennedy
+fell back and met it on the trade-mark.</p>
+
+<p>It was a line drive into left. The runner on
+second tore across third and stretched himself
+for the plate, while the fielder made a great throw
+to the pan to stop the score.</p>
+
+<p>At the plate, Dillingham, the catcher, took that
+throw and jabbed the ball at the sliding runner,
+but nine men out of ten in the crowd saw that the
+prostrate man’s foot was on the rubber when Dillingham
+tagged him, and the outspread hands of
+the umpire declaring him safe was the only manner
+in which the decision reached them; for it seemed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_298"></a>[298]</span>
+that thirty thousand maniacs filled the stands,
+the bleachers, and the outfield.</p>
+
+<p>Donovan, shaking visibly, and pale as a sheet,
+braced himself hard while that uproar pounded
+upon his ears. The game was lost, and he knew
+it. Between them, Lefty Locke and old Jack Kennedy
+had won it.</p>
+
+<p>It made little difference that, having apparently
+regained his control, Donovan grinned hard at
+Lefty when the latter came to bat, and told him
+he could not hit the ball. Calmly the young southpaw
+replied:</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t have to hit it, Jim; the damage is
+done.”</p>
+
+<p>It made no difference that Donovan struck
+Locke out. The Blue Stockings had scored, and
+when Lefty returned to the mound and the Specters
+faced him in the ninth, he mowed the last
+three down one after another, as if they were
+schoolboys.</p>
+
+<p>At this moment it seemed that Lefty had triumphed
+over all obstacles and conquered every
+foe, but, with the approach of the coming season,
+he encountered a rival pitcher far more persistent
+and dangerous than Bert Elgin; a strange
+and unfathomable character who changed, almost
+in the flash of an eye, from open-hearted friendship
+to deadly and vindictive enmity, and as
+quickly and unexpectedly changed back again; a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_299"></a>[299]</span>
+person enshrouded in mystery, and seemingly the
+possessor of a dual nature that made him a veritable
+<em>Jekyll and Hyde</em>. The book in which this
+character, Nelson Savage, appears, is the fourth
+volume of the Big League Series, and it bears the
+title of “Lefty o’ the Training Camp.”</p>
+
+<p>Had he attempted to reach the clubhouse by
+crossing the field, Lefty could not have escaped
+the clutches of the madly exultant crowd. They
+waited for him, but discreetly, with old Jack Kennedy
+at his side, he ducked into a runway and disappeared
+beneath the stand even while the great
+throng was still cheering, and shrieking his name.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, some game to-day, kid, eh?” laughed
+old Jack, giving him a clap on the shoulder.
+“Some game, hey? I guess we’re back in it.”</p>
+
+<p>“I guess we are,” said Lefty. “If you don’t
+mind, I’m going to dust away as soon as I can get
+a shower and change my clothes. There’ll be
+someone waiting for me outside the gate.”</p>
+
+<p>“Go on, old man,” returned the veteran manager.
+“I don’t blame you a bit. She’s a dream.”</p>
+
+
+<p class="p4 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 76584 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
+
+
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author	pgww <pgww@lists.pglaf.org>	2025-07-28 23:22:03 -0700
committer	pgww <pgww@lists.pglaf.org>	2025-07-28 23:22:03 -0700
commit	5b922a70116cafb70535440911983a9d55ccabd2 (patch)
tree	b72ec0326f103c6c29aeb944a9f6458f004b8cc1 /76584-h