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diff --git a/76584-0.txt b/76584-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..11f39c4 --- /dev/null +++ b/76584-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7255 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76584 *** + + + + + + LEFTY O’ THE BLUE STOCKINGS + + + + +[Illustration: THERE WAS A SHARP, CLEAN CRACK, AND THE HORSEHIDE WENT +HUMMING INTO THE OUTFIELD.] + + + + + LEFTY + O’ THE BLUE STOCKINGS + + BY + BURT L. STANDISH + Author of “Lefty o’ the Bush,” “Lefty o’ the Big + League,” “Lefty o’ the Training Camp.” + + + _ILLUSTRATED_ + + + GROSSET & DUNLAP + PUBLISHERS NEW YORK + + + + + Copyright, 1914, by + GROSSET & DUNLAP, Inc. + + _All Rights Reserved_ + + + _Printed in the United States of America_ + + + + + CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER PAGE + I THE UNLUCKY SEVENTH 11 + II STOPPING A RALLY 19 + III TIED IN THE EIGHTH 24 + IV REAL PITCHING 33 + V ONE FOR LEFTY 39 + VI A SUMMONS FROM THE MANAGER 45 + VII A GIRL AND THE GIRL 52 + VIII AT THE THEATER 59 + IX “IN BAD” 68 + X THE GROUCH 78 + XI ON THE RAW EDGE 85 + XII UNCERTAINTY 90 + XIII SUSPENSE 96 + XIV A WILD HEAVE 102 + XV THROWN AWAY 108 + XVI HOT WORDS 113 + XVII THE UNAPPROACHABLE LOCKE 120 + XVIII UNDER A CLOUD 127 + XIX THE STRANGER 136 + XX THE RETIRED MANAGER 144 + XXI BACK IN THE GAME 150 + XXII BUILDING UP THE TEAM 155 + XXIII THE MAN WHO DENIED HIMSELF 161 + XXIV PERPLEXED 167 + XXV STRANGER GETS A JOB 173 + XXVI MIGHTY QUEER 179 + XXVII DID HE REMEMBER? 184 + XXVIII A NEW PITCHER 192 + XXIX AT THE FIELD 199 + XXX BASEBALL LUCK 206 + XXXI PITCHERS’ WATERLOO 212 + XXXII FILLING THE BREACH 218 + XXXIII THE MAN ON THE MOUND 222 + XXXIV THE OTHER PITCHER 227 + XXXV THE STEAL HOME 233 + XXXVI STRANGER IS ANNOYED 238 + XXXVII THE DOCTOR’S DOUBTS 244 + XXXVIII FIRST POSITION 249 + XXXIX A TROUBLED MIND 256 + XL THE REPORTER 262 + XLI THE MAN WHO KNEW 266 + XLII FAILURE 271 + XLIII THE COME-BACK 274 + XLIV BACK TO HIS OWN 280 + XLV THE GIRLS IN THE BOX 287 + XLVI THE GAME OF HIS LIFE 292 + + + + + LEFTY + O’ THE BLUE STOCKINGS + + + + + CHAPTER I + + THE UNLUCKY SEVENTH + + +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. + +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. + +Grist, sure that he had fathomed the youngster’s 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +“They’re gone!” shouted the Specter captain joyously. “They’re up in +the air! Hit her on the nose, Rowdy; you can do it!” + +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. + +“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.” + +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 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. + +Instantly the entire Specter visiting team began openly to rejoice: + +“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.” + +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: + +“Get into him, Pete, old man!” + +“Kill him, old boy! You can do it!” + +“Warp ’em round his neck!” + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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: + +“Carson! One moment!” + +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. + +“Did you call me, Mr. Collier?” he asked, as he reached the box. + +The tall, broad-shouldered, keen-faced man bent swiftly over the +railing. + +“I did,” he replied, in a low tone. “Grist is going to pieces. Why +don’t you take him out?” + +“I was just going to. I’ve had Orth warming up for three or four +minutes.” + +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?” + +“He pitched a hard game yesterday and――” + +“And won it,” interrupted the owner swiftly. + +“Quite so; but my idea was not to work him too hard,” returned the +manager suavely. “Of course, if you wish it――” + +“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.” + +“Very well,” said Carson. “I’ll send him out there at once.” + +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!” + +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. + +“Want me?” + +“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.” + +Lefty had already yanked off his sweater. Even as the manager finished, +he caught the glove tossed out by the second catcher. + +“I’ll do my best,” he returned, jerking his cap forward over his eyes. + +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. + +“Oh, you Lefty!” shrieked the fans fondly. “Oh, you kiddo! Kill ’em! +Eat ’em alive! Nothin’ doin’ now, Specters. Good night for yours!” + + + + + CHAPTER II + + STOPPING A RALLY + + +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. + +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. + +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 humiliating to stir the mildest man to +wrath. + +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. + +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. + +“Tough luck,” he murmured, as he mounted the hill. “I don’t blame him +for being sore. I would myself.” + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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, the spectators chortled gleefully, while +a ripple of returning confidence swept over the Blue Stocking players. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“Str-r-rike!” called the umpire, flinging up his right hand. + +“Look out for those, Jim,” called Murray. “Make ’em be good!” + +Donovan let the next one pass. It was a ball. 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. + +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. + +Silence settled over the field. Ten thousand straining eyes were turned +anxiously on the quiet figure in the pitcher’s box. + +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. + +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―― + +“Batter’s out!” bawled the umpire. + + + + + CHAPTER III + + TIED IN THE EIGHTH + + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +Eckstein replaced his glasses, and yawned. “Nothing special, Dyer,” he +drawled. “I’ve been too long in the business, though, to lose my 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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +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 of one run, and the result +was an exhibition of clever pitching. + +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. + +“Well,” said Dyer defensively, “it was the tail end of the list. +Anyhow, Locke got a hit.” + +Eckstein chuckled. It amused the veteran newspaper man to note the +violent fancies and prejudices of callow cub reporters. + +“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.” + +“Still something to learn, Eck, strange as that may seem,” drawled a +voice, before Dyer had time to answer. “Squeeze up a bit, and give a +chap some room.” + +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. + +“Well, well, well!” he chuckled, thrusting out a plump hand. “Back to +the treadmill, eh? Have a good vacation?” + +“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?” + +“A few,” grunted the cub reporter. “He’d kick if he had the Angel +Gabriel writing up games.” + +“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 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?” + +“A trifle,” Eckstein returned. “Well, why did he let him go? There must +have been some mighty good reason.” + +“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 there, but is pitching back in the bush, which, if +true, is good enough for him. + +“By Jove! See that drop? Fooled him nicely, didn’t it?” + +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. + +“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?” + +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.” + +“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?” + +“Not much,” admitted Eckstein. + +“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. + +“Now, fellows, get busy, and hammer out a couple of runs. Only need one +to tie, and two to win.” + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 by a bunt, but he succeeded only in sending it spinning +erratically just inside the third-base line. + +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. + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + REAL PITCHING + + +“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.” + +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. + +“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!” + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +“That’s right, Bush,” cried Murray. “Make him put ’em over. He’s got +to.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +“Safe!” bawled the umpire, his flat hand extended. + +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. + +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. + +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 run; but, even had he wished to do +it, such a course was not open to Lefty now. + +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. + +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. + +“Two and two,” muttered Stillman on the reporters’ bench. “I wonder if +he’ll do it? By Jove! He’s got to!” + +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. + +Foul after foul resulted with a nerve-racking regularity which brought +the fans to the edges of their seats in tense, breathless suspense. + +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 voices of the coachers had been +momentarily stilled. + +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. + +Schwartz struck at it with a sharp, vicious snap――and missed! + + + + + CHAPTER V + + ONE FOR LEFTY + + +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. + +“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.” + +“Phil?” queried the cub reporter quickly. “Oh, you mean Locke. I keep +forgetting that isn’t his real name.” + +“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 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.” + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +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 to drop as it +neared the plate, and he swung at it. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“Are you sure?” persisted Grant anxiously. “Hadn’t you better lay off, +and let me run someone else in to bat for you?” + +Lefty laughed aloud, and took his stick from Dillingham. “Not on your +life!” he retorted emphatically. “Think I’m going to quit _now_?” + +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 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, there was a sharp, clean crack, +and the horsehide went humming into the outfield midway between Aldrich +and Schwartz. + +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. + +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. + +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 +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: + +“Safe!” + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + A SUMMONS FROM THE MANAGER + + +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. + +“Pretty punk to-day,” he chuckled. “Can’t hit, or put the ball over――or +anything.” + +“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.” + +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, and scrapped good-naturedly for the showers, they +whistled and sang light-heartedly, living over the excitement of those +last three innings. + +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. + +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. + +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, perhaps, but deep down underneath were made of the right +stuff. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +All this was, of course, of small importance compared with his +performance on the diamond. 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. + +“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!” + +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. + +At his friend’s remark, Lefty glanced sideways at the scowling pitcher, +who was dragging on his clothes in taciturn silence. + +“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.” + +“Especially if the man who’s put in happens to be a guy that’s made +good in the same way before,” Dalton grinned. + +“Rot!” snorted Lefty, buttoning his shirt. “When Grist’s right he can +pitch the pants off any man in the club.” + +“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?” + +“Colonel” George Washington Jones, the Blue Stockings’ negro rubber and +general handy man, showed his ivories in a glistening smile. + +“Mist’ Carson says he done laik to see Mist’ Locke in his office right +smart, suh,” he explained. + +“All right, Colonel,” Lefty returned briefly from where he was +struggling with a refractory collar button. “I’ll be there in about +three minutes.” + +“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’ signs on the door.” + +From which it may be gathered that the new manager and his methods had +not scored a great hit. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +Nodding, the southpaw picked up his hat and left the dressing room. As +he walked briskly toward the manager’s office he was wondering 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. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + A GIRL AND THE GIRL + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +Lefty smiled as he shook the magnate’s hand. “That little knock didn’t +amount to anything,” he protested, in his low, pleasant voice. “It +only staggered me for a second.” + +“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.” + +Lefty, turning swiftly to acknowledge the introduction, saw that the +girl had risen to her feet and was holding out her hand impulsively. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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.” + +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 _is_ 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.” + +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. + +“Is that all you wanted?” the southpaw asked briefly. + +“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.” + +There was a decidedly sneering undercurrent in his voice, rasping +Locke’s sensibilities, and making it difficult for him to keep from +flinging back a sarcastic retort. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +Hurriedly giving the operator the number, he entered the booth, and, a +few minutes later, heard the familiar tones of the “only girl in the +world” clearly over the wire. + +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. + +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. + +“I’ll be there with my hair in a braid!” Lefty returned promptly. Then +he stopped abruptly, stung by sudden recollection. + +“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?” + +“Beg pardon,” apologized Lefty contritely. “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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Moonlights?” Laughing Larry had chuckled, 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?” + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + AT THE THEATER + + +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. + +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. + +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 +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. + +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. + +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. + +For a second he stared around in a puzzled way, failing to locate the +owner of that voice in the crowd. Dalton’s elbow dug into his ribs, +and Dalton’s voice whispered in his ear: + +“The Big Chief! Get busy, kid.” + +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. + +“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?” + +Lefty’s eyes brightened. “Quite possible,” he smiled. “He’s been in +Summit for the last twelve years. Do you know him?” + +“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.” + +“Yes; Dad has a perfect horror of the game. He had a friend who was +killed while――” + +“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――” + +He paused abruptly, his eyes roving over the immaculate figure of the +young man, and then veering swiftly to his daughter’s face. + +“By Jove, Virginia!” he exclaimed. “I don’t see why Hazelton can’t help +us out.” + +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.” + +“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――” + +“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.” + +In reality he was very far from being overjoyed, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The girl was much too clever to let him see that. But there are +ways _and_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“Then why didn’t your father ask me to do just that?” Lefty asked. + +“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 to be the son of an old college chum I should have been taken +home without seeing the play.” + +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.” + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 at him, over +him, _through_ 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. + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + “IN BAD” + + +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. + +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. + +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 +for explanations, and, pulling himself together, moved slowly on toward +the entrance. + +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. + +“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.” + +“It’s been corking,” Lefty returned, trying to force a little +enthusiasm into his voice. “I’m the one who should be thanking you.” + +“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.” + +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, leaving Locke to return slowly to the limousine, give the +address of his hotel to the chauffeur, and step frowningly in. + +“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?” + +He glanced at his watch. It was decidedly too late. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +In the lobby he was met by his three deserted companions, who instantly +let fly a Gatling fire of comment. + +“Horning in with the management, are you?” grinned Nelson. “Just the +same, I like your taste, kid. Some class there, all right!” + +“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.” + +“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――” + +“Oh, go to blazes, the lot of you!” snapped Lefty, his face crimson. + +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. + +“Our genial southpaw seems somewhat peeved,” Larry murmured. “Have we +touched upon a raw spot unawares?” + +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.” + +Rather silently the others followed him toward 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. + +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. + +“Looks as if I was bound to make a fool of myself to-night,” he +thought. “I reckon I’m in bad all around.” + +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. + +“Is Miss Harting in?” he asked quickly. + +“Who is this, please?” + +“Mr. Hazelton. I won’t keep her for more――” + +“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.” + +“Will she be at home―― Hang it all! She’s cut off.” + +Lefty slammed up the receiver, and sat scowling for a moment at the +instrument. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +“Not at home,” said the maid, with cool brevity. + +As she started to close the door Lefty placed one foot over the sill, +with apparent carelessness. His earnestness of purpose was dimming the +brightness of his manners. + +“Are you sure?” he asked suspiciously. “I only want to see Miss Harting +for a minute.” + +“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.” + +“The Adirondacks!” gasped Lefty. “To-night!” He stood staring at the +maid for a moment in utter dismay. “But I _must_ see them before they +go. Haven’t you any idea where they are now?” + +“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.” + +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. + +For several hours he wandered about the shopping 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + + CHAPTER X + + THE GROUCH + + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“He’s sure got a grouch,” agreed Rufe Hyland, intent on the adjustment +of his sliding pads. “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.” + +“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.” + +Dalton, wearing little more than his usual smile, shrugged his muscular +shoulders and bustled among the contents of his locker. + +“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.” + +“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. 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?” + +“Where’ll _we_ 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.” + +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. + +“Can’t you find out if that’s it, Larry?” he asked. “If it is, we ought +to do something to――” + +“Cheese! Cheese!” warned Kid Lewis. “Here he comes.” + +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 of haste, got into his uniform in +much the same manner, and departed, wrapped in gloom, without having +volunteered a single remark. + +As he disappeared into the corridor, the other players eyed each other +significantly. + +“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.” + +“If it _is_ 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.” + +Spider Grant finished lacing his shoes, and stood up, stamping. + +“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.” + +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. + +The game that day was the last of a series 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 whom nobody but Lefty Locke looked good, +he made a sudden and pyrotechnic ascension which let in several more +tallies. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +The girl arose leisurely and turned her back on the field. + +“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 odd to you, Dad, that Mr. Locke pitches so few games?” + +“Few!” repeated the magnate in amazement. “Why, he’s been in the box +twice this week, and twice last!” + +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?” + +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?” + +“Certainly _not_,” the girl retorted emphatically. “He isn’t that sort +at all.” + +“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.” + + + + + CHAPTER XI + + ON THE RAW EDGE + + +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. + +“Been whining around a petticoat, have you?” he sneered. + +Lefty’s eyes veered suddenly from the window to the manager’s face. + +“What’s that?” he snapped. + +“I said you’d been whining around a skirt, 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――” + +“That’s a lie!” rasped Locke, his face crimson. “A lie, and you know +it!” + +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. + +Just in time, however, Carson, realizing the danger of the situation, +managed to get control of his temper. + +“_Is_ 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.” + +“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.” + +Carson caught his breath swiftly and turned white with rage. “What the +deuce――” he blustered. “Who――” + +“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, _Mister_ +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!” + +“What do you mean by such talk?” frothed Carson, his face purple. “I’ll +fine you――” + +“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.” + +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 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. + +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. + +“He’s sure enough sore,” whispered Kid Lewis. “Maybe it isn’t the girl, +after all.” + +“Mebbe,” agreed Rufe Hyland, glancing at his cards again. “Lucky +Grist’s in the smoker, or there’d be a rough-house for fair.” + +“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.” + +“Oh, sure! I know that. But Petie’s a peppery gink, and no fellow +likes to hear that kind of truth blabbed out in so many words.” + +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. + +Five minutes later Carson appeared and curtly informed the southpaw +that he was to start the game. + +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. + +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. + + + + + CHAPTER XII + + UNCERTAINTY + + +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. + +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. + +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 faults, and Dalton’s eyes widened with surprise as the +Specter infielder romped down to the initial sack, and stood there +grinning. + +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. + +“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?” + +“Make those dubs shut up!” snapped Locke, turning to the umpire. “They +can talk to their own men, but not to me.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The fifth inning passed with the score still one 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. + +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. + +Throughout this erratic performance Billy Orth sat on the bench, +watching the work of the grim, frowning portsider with alternate +dismay, delight, and wonderment. + +“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.” + +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 was playing on his feelings as +well as toying with the opposing batters. + +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. + +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. + +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 +on the team. In every way he was thoroughly unlike the open, jovial, +likable youngster he had seemed to be earlier in the season. + +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. + +Billy Orth saw this, and signaled for the perspiring, disturbed Dalton +to sit beside him in the pit. + +“What’s the matter with Lefty, Dalt?” asked Orth guardedly. “Do you +think――” + +“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.” + +“Of course you’ve noticed how queer he’s been acting the last few days?” + +“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.” + +“But he stands well with the skirt, and she seems to be the real power +behind the machine.” + +“The skirt? Oh, you mean Collier’s daughter?” + +“Sure! She seems to be running things.” + +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.” + +“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.” + +“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――” + +“Why don’t you talk to him, Larry? You’re the one to do it. He ought to +listen to you.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + + + + + CHAPTER XIII + + SUSPENSE + + +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. + +“Whiff him, Lefty!” begged a few fans. “You can do it! Oh, you Lefty! +You’re the boy!” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Oh, oh, oh!” shouted the coachers, while the startled crowd broke into +exclamations. “Look a’ that! Get a scaling ladder, Schwartzy.” + +The Dutchman grinned and tapped the pentagon with the end of his bat. + +A boy recovered the ball and threw it to Nelson, who made a pretense of +looking it over before he tossed it to Locke. + +On the bench the watchful Billy Orth, actually shivering, whispered +to himself: “Now, I wonder 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.” + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Schwartz had struck again――and missed. + +“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!” + +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. + +“Such speed!” muttered Billy Orth. “And his control was perfect――that +time.” + +“That’s two on him!” howled an excited man from the middle stand. “He’s +your meat, Lefty! You never did fail us!” + +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, 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. + +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. + +“Wait it out, Dutch,” urged a coacher. “He’ll hand you a pass yet.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Lefty nodded, swung backward, swung forward, slashed the air with his +arm――pitched. It 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. + + + + + CHAPTER XIV + + A WILD HEAVE + + +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. + +As Bugs Murray took Schwartz’s place, however, the great bulk of the +gathering howled for a safety. + +“Get a hit! Get a hit!” was the cry. “Put us in the game, Bugs!” + +“He’s just as easy, Lefty, old boy,” chuckled Dalton. “Sew it up right +here. This game counts. We need it.” + +By no visible sign did Locke show that the words of his friend reached +his ears. On the 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. + +“Don’t mind that, old man,” pleaded Grant. “You know what you can do. +Bugs is your next victim. Mow him down.” + +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. + +“Strike-ah!” called the umpire, flinging up his hand. + +“Why, of course, of course!” whooped Dalton. “You’ve got him +hypnotized, Lefty. No free passes this inning.” + +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. + +“Going up! going up!” he whooped, doing a dance on the sack. “Wait it +out, Dil. He’s all shot to pieces.” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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 pulled the ball down +only by a most amazing leap into the air. + +“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?” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 sliding by pretending that he was going to take +a throw. + +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. + +“If we only had Grist or Orth or _anybody_ 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!” + + + + + CHAPTER XV + + THROWN AWAY + + +In the Blue Stocking pit Carson sat gritting his teeth and muttering, +but he gave no orders that would tend to relieve the situation. + +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. + +“What’s the trouble, old man?” questioned Dirk. “Are you sick?” + +“Sick? No,” growled the southpaw. “Gimme the ball.” + +“Wait a minute. There’s something wrong. You’re not right.” + +“Nothing the matter with me. I’ll get Logie. They won’t score. Hear +that infernal bunch howl! They make me sick!” + +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. + +“You’re paying too much attention to the crowd, or something,” said +Nelson. “You’re not pitching in form.” + +“Bah! I’ve got speed, haven’t I?” + +“Yes, but――” + +“And curves, too?” + +“But your control is bad. If they score now they’ll take this game, +best we can do.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Come on, come on!” coaxed Bugs. “Heave it. You can’t get me. Heave it!” + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +“All right――it’s all right,” sang Dalton. “You’re fooling ’em some +to-day, Lefty, my bucko.” + +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.” + +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? + +“You’re there, all right, Lefty,” said Nelson, grinning through the +wires of his mask. “If they wait for you to hand ’em the game, they’re +fooled.” + +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. + +“Get Aldrich,” he said. “That’s all you have to do.” + +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. + +Nelson returned the sphere promptly. Lefty muffed the toss, brushed his +hand across his eyes, picked the ball up, and toed the plate. + +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. + +“Here, here!” shouted Nelson, leaping forward to take the ball. + +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. + +“The plate! Put it home!” shrieked Larry Dalton. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The game was over! Locke had thrown it away at last. + + + + + CHAPTER XVI + + HOT WORDS + + +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. + +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. + +“Well,” he said, his voice strangely harsh, “you sent for me.” + +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. + +“Yes, I sent for you,” he said. “I want to hear what you have to say +for yourself.” + +“I’m not going to say anything.” + +“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?” + +“I don’t see any tears in your eyes.” + +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!” + +“Any man who says I ever deliberately threw a game is a liar!” + +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. + +“I oughter beat your head off!” he finally ground forth. + +“Try it!” invited Locke. + +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. + +“I won’t maul you,” panted Carson. + +“I’m sorry,” regretted the southpaw. + +“But I’ll teach you something, just the same. You’re fined twenty-five +and suspended.” + +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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Shut up!” roared Carson. “Shut up, or I’ll double it!” + +“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.” + +“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 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――” + +“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.” + +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. + +“What――what’s the matter here?” spluttered the owner of the Blue +Stockings. “What’s the trouble, Carson?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“But he hasn’t a right to blackguard me. He can do that with other +men, perhaps, but he can’t put it over on me.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“I called him in to talk it over decently,” he said; “but he became +nasty right off the reel.” + +“Any man can talk to me decently,” muttered Lefty, though the resentful +light still lingered in his eyes. + +“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 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.” + +“Maybe he does,” growled Carson. “Anyhow, I’m going to give him one.” + +“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.” + +The young man who had entered with the owner moved his shoulders +uneasily, and bit his lip. Suddenly Collier seemed to remember him. + +“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.” + +“I’m very glad to meet you, Mr. Carson,” said Parlmee, as he gave the +manager his hand. + +“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.” + +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 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. + +Suddenly it seemed to Lefty that everything was against him, the whole +world――fate, even. + +“If there’s nothing more,” he said, his voice cold and harsh, “I think +I’ll be going.” + +“Sullen dog,” said Parlmee, when the door had closed behind the +departing man. + + + + + CHAPTER XVII + + THE UNAPPROACHABLE LOCKE + + +“Men go stale on college teams,” said Charles Collier apologetically. +“Perhaps that’s the trouble with Locke.” + +“He ain’t stale,” asserted Carson. “That ain’t the trouble with him. +Look how he pitched when he wanted to.” + +“He seemed very erratic to me,” put in Parlmee. “I’ve seen plenty of +pitchers like him. They’re never to be depended on.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“I suppose,” observed Collier, “he has an idea that you rate Grist at +the top of the list.” + +“Well, why shouldn’t I? Look at Grist’s record 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――” + +“Why didn’t you put him in when you saw the youngster wabbling?” + +“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.” + +“It was the silliest thing I ever saw a pitcher do,” asserted Franklin +Parlmee. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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.” + +“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.” + +“It has never been my intention to interfere in a way to hamper you,” +returned Collier a bit tartly. “Naturally, I presume I have the right +to talk things over with you.” + +Half apologetically Carson hastened to state that it was not his +intention to question that point. + +“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.” + +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. + +“S’pose he feels rotten,” said Rufe, “and so he sneaked.” + +“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.” + +“It’s a shame,” said Laughing Larry, looking strangely doleful, “a +beastly shame he had that spasm in the ninth.” + +“Spasm?” growled Herman Brock. “Looked to me more like a trance. What +ailed him, anyhow?” + +“What’s been ailing him for some days?” questioned Jack Daly. “He +don’t eat, and I happen to know he ain’t sleeping well.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“You’re right, Pete,” he said, “and mebbe you’re the very one to put +him back on his pins.” + +“Me?” grunted Grist. + +“Yes, you.” + +“How y’ mean?” + +“By talking to him. By encouraging him.” + +“Huh!” grunted the old twirler. “He wouldn’t listen to me.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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――” + +“All right,” snapped Grist shortly. “Leave it to me; I’ll talk to him +like a father to a wayward son.” + +“But be careful,” cautioned Dalton. “Handle him right.” + +“Leave it to me, I tell yer,” advised Grist once more. + +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. + +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. + +“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 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. +_Excuse me!_” + +“He wouldn’t listen?” asked Dalton in deep disappointment. “Did you +make him understand that your motives were friendly?” + +“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.” + + + + + CHAPTER XVIII + + UNDER A CLOUD + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +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. + +The newspaper reporters called it a “swat fest.” In his wire to the +_Blade_, 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. + +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. + +“I’ll get at him again,” thought the reporter. “He’s got to talk to +me. He can’t stand me off like an iceberg.” + +But after the game Locke disappeared with the crowd that disappointedly +melted away, and Stillman was compelled to postpone his interview. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“If the Specters play the way they did to-day,” said Stillman, “you +ought to cop one more, anyhow.” + +“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 P.M. Why, with old Peter on the firing line we was barely able to +rake in the plum by one measly run.” + +“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.” + +“I wish you’d tell me,” said Stillman, “what’s the matter with Locke, +anyhow.” + +“Tell _us_,” invited the trio in chorus. + +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.” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“What sort of a deal?” asked Daly. + +“A trade. They say he got busy on the wire this morning, and that he’s +trying to make arrangements to trade Locke off for another pitcher.” + +“Who says so?” snapped Lewis. + +“I don’t believe it!” shouted Daly. + +“Thunder!” breathed Nelson. + +“You know I can’t go round blowing the source of my information,” said +Stillman, “but it seemed to come straight enough.” + +“Perhaps it is straight,” said Nelson. “Carson ain’t never took to +Locke. But who’s the man he’s after?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Me, too,” agreed Daly. + +“There’s nothing to it,” announced Nelson. “You couldn’t pry O’Brien +away from the Wolves with a twenty-thousand dollar lever. Old Frazer +wouldn’t let him go for _two_ 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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Or brace him up,” put in Daly. “Mebbe it will do that.” + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 fighting +“ghosts” became menacing in both the eighth and ninth, they could not +quite succeed in pushing a runner round the course. + +Therefore, for all of the tattered condition of their pitching staff, +the Blue Stockings broke even in the series with their most dangerous +rivals. + +But they were now to invade the territory of the Terriers, always to be +feared, and the dark cloud swung lower. + + + + + CHAPTER XIX + + THE STRANGER + + +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. + +“Thundering shame, Larry,” he said in a low tone. “Do you know, I think +I’ve solved the trouble.” + +“Then you’re wiser than the rest of us.” + +“It’s the girl business, to begin with.” + +“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, +unreasoning grump. You’ve got to go farther, Billy.” + +“I have been,” asserted the other with assurance. + +“What way?” + +“He’s taken to hitting the booze.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“But Locke hasn’t been full. No one has seen him under the influence.” + +“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.” + +“Yes, but―― Oh, say, you’ve got to have something better than mere +supposition to base this on.” + +“I have.” + +“What?” + +“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 +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?” + +“What can you?” echoed Larry. + +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. + +“By Jove! Phil Hazelton!” he exclaimed. “Why, how are you, old man?” + +Lefty stared, unsmiling, at the speaker, apparently failing to notice +the extended hand. + +“Pardon me,” he said; “I don’t remember you.” + +“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.” + +“Hetner?” said Locke, frowning and shaking his head in a puzzled way. +“I don’t have the slightest recollection of you.” + +“Cæsar’s ghost! I knew you at Princeton. We were college mates.” + +“Princeton?” said Lefty. “Yes, I was at Princeton, I believe.” + +“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 _some pitcher_ for the Blue Stockings.” + +“I have been pitching for them,” admitted Locke slowly. “Sorry I don’t +remember you.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Do you think he didn’t recognize you, Doctor?” + +“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 ashamed of +the fact that he’s playing professional baseball under a fake name.” + +“Still,” said Wilson, “he might be decent, at least.” + +Lefty came to a seat in which a slender, pallid, sad-eyed young man sat +alone. + +“I beg your pardon, stranger,” he said; “is this seat taken?” + +The young man started a bit, glanced up, and smiled faintly. + +“No, it isn’t taken, pal,” he answered. “But how the dickens did you +happen to know my name?” + +“Your name?” said Lefty, sinking down, a puzzled frown plowing a deep +furrow between his eyes. + +“Yes. You called me Stranger. That’s my monacker――Robert Stranger; Bob +for short.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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, but I ducked to get +away from the rest of the bunch. They’re on this train.” + +“Oh, a ball player!” murmured Mr. Stranger. “Professional? Big League?” + +“The Blue Stockings.” + +“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.” + +“Really?” said Lefty, in an expressionless way. “That is rather odd.” + +“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.” + +“You’re a rare bird,” said Lefty. + +“I am, pal, and I’m rather proud of it.” + +“What’s your business, if it’s not too personal?” + +The young man hesitated and coughed behind his hand. + +“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.” + +“I noticed you were unusually pale.” + +“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.” + +“I don’t play poker――for blood,” said Lefty. “A bunch on the team are +at it every chance they get; though, of course, they only play a +little game.” + +“Oh, that would suit me. I don’t want to really gamble, you know. I’m a +minister’s son.” + +Lefty refrained from saying that he was another. + +“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.” + +“Then your father and mother are both dead?” + +“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――” + +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. + + + + + CHAPTER XX + + THE RETIRED MANAGER + + +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. + +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. + +“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 if you take my wigwam for the home plate and squat +on the bench at my fireside.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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 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: + +“What’s the matter with the boy, anyhow? Either he’s slumped or +Carson’s handing him a rotten deal.” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +Now it chanced that the town of Deering supported one of the teams +which composed a four-cornered 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. + +“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.” + +“If he did that,” said Lawyer Gange, secretary of the baseball +association, “who’d we get to fill his place? Nobody else wants the +job――unless you do, Peter.” + +“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.” + +“Well, that’s the way with the rest of us, so what are we going to do?” + +“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――” + +“_If_ 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?” + +“No tellin’. Perhaps he might.” + +“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.” + +“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 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.” + +“Well, you’re the man to try him,” said Gange. “It’s up to you, Peter.” + +“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.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXI + + BACK IN THE GAME + + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Oh, well, do as you’re a mind to,” said McLaughlin, with pretended +indifference. “I’ve done some personal favors for you. When we give +you that banquet at the hotel last year――” + +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.” + +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. + +“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 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.” + +“Don’t call them _my_ Deers, Hank,” remonstrated Kennedy. “I ain’t got +nothing to do with them. If I had――” + +“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――” + +“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.” + +“Oh, you was always a clever gink holding on to the dollars and salting +’em away,” returned Bristol. + +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. + +“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 signals, and any sort +of runners could steal on a pitcher with a movement like Corey’s. Don’t +get so chesty.” + +“Old hoss,” retorted the Buccaneer manager, “if you had the Deers it +would be just the same, believe me.” + +“Perhaps so,” said Kennedy. + +Twenty minutes later he was talking with Peter McLaughlin in a private +room at the hotel. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“If you’re giving it to me straight,” said Kennedy, “I’ll stand. You +may tell the association that.” + +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. + + + + + CHAPTER XXII + + BUILDING UP THE TEAM + + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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 he soon demonstrated that he had the making +of an outfielder. + +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. + +“Have you ever done any backstopping, Coffin?” asked the manager. + +“A little,” was the reply. “I started out to be a catcher.” + +“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.” + +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 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. + +But Brinkley was no third baseman, and Kennedy kept the wires hot with +distress signals in his efforts to fill that position. + +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. + +“Hello, Joe,” he said cordially, shaking Digg’s hand. “Glad to see you.” + +“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.” + +“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 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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Tell me something I don’t know,” returned Digg, flushing. + +“Booze has downed many a good man besides yourself. Are you going to +let it keep you down?” + +“I dunno. Seems like I’m such a thunderin’ fool that I can’t help it.” + +“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?” + +“I get you, Jack,” nodded Digg, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. “If +you can work me back into the game you’ll do me a turn I’ll never +forget.” + +“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.” + +“It’s a go!” exclaimed Digg. “If you ever catch me drinking anything +stronger than water, put the tag on me.” + +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. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIII + + THE MAN WHO DENIED HIMSELF + + +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. + +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. + +In one pinch, with Heines’ wing failing in the fifth and the Deers +having a lead of three runs, 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. + +When the Deering fans hailed him as a pitcher Kennedy laughed them to +scorn. + +“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.” + +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, 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. + +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. + +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. + +“Well, I’ll be――jiggered!” muttered Kennedy. “Wasn’t in the car! Hasn’t +been found! Well, what’s become of the boy? He was under suspension. +I’m afraid――” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Holy smoke!” he cried delightedly. “As I live, it’s Lefty Locke! How +are you, son?” + +To Kennedy’s astonishment, no light of recognition rose into the man’s +eyes, and he made no move to shake the extended hand. Instead, he +surveyed the old manager in a puzzled, doubting way, and slowly shook +his head. + +“I think you’ve made a mistake, pal,” he said. “My name is +Stranger――Robert Stranger.” + +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. + +“What’s the joke, Lefty?” he asked. “Put me wise.” + +“Really, there’s no joke,” was the grave assertion. “You’ve got me +wrong.” + +“What’s that?” rasped old Jack. “Do you mean to say you don’t recognize +John Kennedy, your old manager?” + +Something like an annoyed frown crept into the somber, handsome face of +the younger man. + +“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.” + +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.” + +Suddenly he began to feel a touch of anger. “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.” + +“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.” + +“Help!” cried Kennedy. “I’m loony, or he is!” + + + + + CHAPTER XXIV + + PERPLEXED + + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“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 doors to the dining room and turned to the clerk. “Can I have my +room now?” he asked. + +“Your luggage?” questioned the clerk significantly. + +“I haven’t any. I’ll pay a day in advance. How much?” + +“Three dollars.” + +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. + +They had not disappeared before Kennedy was surveying the register, on +which he found written: “Robert Stranger, N. Y.” + +“Well, wouldn’t that freeze you stiff!” he muttered. + +He was still muttering to himself when Landlord McLaughlin appeared. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“Good,” said McLaughlin. + +“Bad,” said Kennedy. “He wants sixty a week and board. We can’t afford +it, Peter, in this little crossroads town. It’ll take us over our +salary limit, too.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Did you hear the name of Bristol’s new pitcher?” + +“Yep, but it sorter slipped me. It was Eagan or Elywin, or something +like that. I’ll bet he’s a ripper.” + +“He’s probably a good man if Hank’s signed him at this late day.” + +“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.” + +“I don’t know ’bout that,” returned Kennedy 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.” + +“Hey? What?” spluttered the landlord. + +“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.” + +“Hey?” spluttered Peter once more. “That feller there? The one just +goin’ into the dining room?” + +“That’s the man.” + +“What you giving me, Jack?” + +“Straight facts.” + +“Why, what’s he doin’ round here?” + +“I dunno. That’s what gets me.” + +“Who is he?” + +“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.” + +Landlord McLaughlin was in a sudden sweat of excitement. + +“Played under you? Then you know all about him.” + +“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. 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.” + +“Well, if you have a talk with him he’ll clear things up, of course. +He’ll explain it all.” + +“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.” + +“Jerusalem!” breathed McLaughlin. “That’s mighty funny. How do you +figger it?” + +“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 such jinks as that, but you never can tell what a +man will do.” + +“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.” + +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.” + +“Then _I’ll_ try,” announced Landlord McLaughlin. “Wait till he comes +out from supper. Leave it to me.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXV + + STRANGER GETS A JOB + + +When the new guest reappeared from the dining room, having finished his +supper, Landlord McLaughlin met him with an engaging manner. + +“Welcome to our town,” said Peter. “We’re always glad to see strangers +drift in. Smoke?” + +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. + +“It’s rather dry,” said the landlord. + +“Is it?” said the one who called himself Stranger, taking the cigar +from his mouth and looking at it doubtfully. + +“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.” + +The young man made no reply, but took another uncertain whiff or two at +the cigar. Suddenly he said: + +“I don’t believe I smoke. I don’t care for it, anyhow. If you don’t +mind, I won’t smoke this one.” + +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. + +“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?” + +“I don’t mind. I’m a bit tired, but it’s rather early to turn in.” + +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. + +“What’s your business, if it ain’t too inquisitive of me?” McLaughlin +was saying as Kennedy reached the door. + +“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.” + +Old Peter gave his husky-looking companion a quizzical, sidelong +glance. + +“Mebbe so,” he half chuckled; “but I’d never noticed it if you hadn’t +spoke. What are you planning to do?” + +“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.” + +“On a farm, hey?” + +“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.” + +“You don’t say so!” + +The landlord knew that Kennedy had taken a seat in the room some +distance behind them, but he did not look round. + +“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?” + +“Ho! Sometimes winters we have a little sociable game of penny ante +round here just to pass away the time.” + +“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.” + +“I don’t cal’late you can kick up one this season o’ the year,” said +Peter. “’Sides that, we 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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +Locke seemed to meditate a moment as if seeking to recall something, +then in a queer way he answered: + +“One 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 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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“I am,” was the prompt assurance. “If I can’t help you, perhaps you +know where I can get a job on a farm.” + +“You say you’ve never done no farm work, but, still, green hands ain’t +to be sneezed at when help is short.” + +Kennedy rose and stepped forward. + +“I’m a farmer,” he said, “and I need a man.” + +The new arrival in Deering looked up with a slight frown. + +“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.” + +“You don’t look like a sick man to me.” + +“My business has been too confining. You can see it has affected me. I +don’t like confinement.” + +“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.” + +“That suits me. It’s a deal.” + +“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.” + +“And mine, as I told you before,” said the other, “is Stranger.” + +“‘Stranger’ goes,” returned Kennedy. “You can call yourself anything +you blame please. It’s none of my business.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXVI + + MIGHTY QUEER + + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Anything would be worth while if we could only get him to pitch a few +games for us.” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“Keep bottled up if you can,” thought old Jack resentfully; “I’ll trip +you yet.” + +The Boobs came in on the two o’clock train, and made straight for the +field. Kennedy lingered at 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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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.” + +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. + +Old Jack rejoined McLaughlin, growling, and together they hastened to +the field. + +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. + +“Well, Stranger,” said McLaughlin, as the man got into the carriage, “I +hope you take to your job out on Kennedy’s farm.” + +“Thanks, bo,” was the reply, as old Jack drove away. + +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. + +“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.” + +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: + +“Queer――mighty queer!” + + + + + CHAPTER XXVII + + DID HE REMEMBER? + + +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. + +“You don’t smoke?” said Kennedy. + +“I don’t think so,” was the reply. + +“Drink?” + +“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.” + +“Well, you won’t find them round here,” growled old Jack, puffing +savagely at his pipe. “Nothing doing, Left――er――Stranger.” + +The other betrayed no disappointment. + +“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?” + +“It wasn’t my notion; it was the pill slinger’s.” + +“You don’t look like there’s been anything the matter with your health.” + +“I’m pale. That comes from confinement.” + +“You’re brown as an Injun――or a baseball player.” + +Lefty rubbed his head. “I know what I’ve been told,” he said, with a +slight touch of resentment. + +“Well, don’t swaller everything the doctors hand out to you. How do you +like my ranch?” + +“It’s very comfortable. I like it here, only I seem to miss something. +It’s quiet.” + +“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.” + +“You never married?” + +“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.” + +Lefty said nothing, and the old manager continued: + +“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 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. + +“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. + +“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 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. + +“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.” + +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: + +“Seems to me I’ve heard of a similar case.” + +“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 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. + +“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. + +“I’d been after him before that, and he comes 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. + +“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. + +“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 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.” + +“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.” + +Kennedy made a queer sound in his throat. “Look a’ here,” he snapped, +“was you ever in a railroad smash-up?” + +“Never,” was the slow answer, coming after a moment or two of breathless +silence. + +Old Jack dropped his pipe, and groped for it. + +“Why do you ask?” questioned the other. + +“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.” + +“Think I’ll turn in now,” said the other, rising. + +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. + +“It gets me!” he finally exclaimed, beginning to 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.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXVIII + + A NEW PITCHER + + +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. + +“I wonder if he didn’t sleep well?” said Kennedy. + +“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.” + +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.” + +“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.” + +“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 +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.” + +“If you’d had a square deal you’d be at it now.” + +“Don’t let that worry you. I knew it was coming some time. Where’s this +man of mine?” + +“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.” + +“Now, Kitty, don’t be sentimental. I thought you was done with the men?” + +“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.” + +Laughing, Kennedy went out to search for Locke, whom he found on the +veranda. Lefty rose at once when Jack appeared. + +“Good morning,” he said. “You told me to look around, and I’ve been +doing so.” + +“Right-o! You’re an early bird, all right. It’s an appetite you should +have for breakfast.” + +“I haven’t any working clothes,” said the other. “I’ve been trying to +think what became of my outfit. Can’t seem to remember.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +Lefty frowned, but did not refuse. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Say,” cried Kennedy suddenly, “I thought you didn’t know anything +about this business?” + +“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. + +“Well, if you’re a greenhorn, certainly you’re a wonder,” said +Kennedy, still careful to follow the other’s lead. “Say, throw me a +drop.” + +Locke shook his head. “I don’t know how.” + +“Easiest thing you ever tried. Here, I’ll show you.” + +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. + +“Now try it that way,” he said, returning to his position. + +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. + +“That’s it!” he shouted. “Great smoke! That was a peach! It would have +had Logie, of the Specters, breakin’ his back.” + +For the first time since his arrival in Deering, something like a faint +smile flitted across the young man’s face. + +“Queer,” he said. “I didn’t know I could do that. Pitching can’t be so +difficult to learn.” + +“It isn’t for some men,” assured Kennedy. “Give me another.” + +He snapped the ball wide and high to Locke, who 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. + +“Give me one just like the last,” invited Kennedy, “and burn it. Let it +come smoking.” + +It was like the last, and with only his small fielder’s glove to aid +him Kennedy lost it. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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 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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXIX + + AT THE FIELD + + +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. + +“Howdy, Jack,” said Peter. “I see you’ve got your new farm hand with +ye.” + +“’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.” + +“You don’t mean to say――” gasped Peter. + +“I don’t mean to say anything now.” + +“But he ain’t owned up?” + +“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.” + +Locke accompanied them to the station, where Kilgore was waiting with +his teammates. Some eighteen or twenty Deering fans who could get 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. + +“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.” + +The locomotive was whistling in the distance when Captain Kilgore +pulled at Kennedy’s sleeve, and whispered, his back toward Locke: + +“Say, Jack, who is this guy?” + +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.” + +Toots Kilgore grinned. “Take it from me, it’s likely to be necessary,” +he said. “It’s going to be _the_ 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.” + +“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.” + +“Oh, I see!” said Kilgore. “You’re planning to spring a surprise. Maybe +he’s some real gun in the game. Maybe his name ain’t Stranger at all.” + +“That’s the name he goes by――now,” said the manager of the Deers, as +the train roared up to the station and stopped. + +The crowd cheered them as they got aboard, carrying grips, bat bags, +and other paraphernalia. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +Kennedy missed none of this, although he took pains not to give Locke +the impression that he was being watched. + +“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.” + +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. + +From the station, Kennedy led his men to Tower’s Hotel, which gave them +special rates, and furnished the most satisfactory table. + +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. + +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. + +“There’s an extra suit,” said Kennedy, placing 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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +The Deers followed their manager and captain to the field. The +Buccaneers had not yet appeared, so the visitors had everything to +themselves. + +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 +place like New York, leads the home crowd to applaud famous players of +opposing nines. + +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. + +With an assumption of cordiality, Hank Bristol shook hands with Jack +Kennedy. + +“Sorry for you, old hoss,” he grinned, “but you should have known +better than to let ’em coax you into the game again.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Where’s your new man?” asked Kennedy. + +“There he goes, walking by your bench now,” answered Bristol, pointing. + +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. + +The Buccaneers’ new pitcher stopped short, and stared in astonishment +at Lefty, who did not seem to observe him. + +“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. + +Lefty looked him over blankly. “Speaking to me?” he asked. + +“Who did you think I was speaking to?” retorted the other as he passed +on, still laughing. + +Frowning, Locke stared after him. + +“Who’s that man?” he asked, a few seconds later, as old Jack came to +the bench. + +“That man?” repeated Kennedy. “He’s the Buccaneers’ new pitcher. His +name is Bert Elgin.” + +“Queer,” said Lefty. “He seemed to have an idea he knew me, but I’ve +never seen him before.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXX + + BASEBALL LUCK + + +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.” + +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.” + +“Will he pitch to-day?” asked Lefty. + +“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. + +“Somethin’s gone wrong with the man,” he muttered, as he turned away. +“It’s no bluff. His noddle is twisted.” + +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, 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. + +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. + +And more than nine-tenths of the assemblage seemed to believe such a +result a foregone conclusion. + +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. + +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: + +“Battrees to-day: For Deering, Curley and Coffin. For Hatfield, Jewett +and Yapp.” + +At this there was a murmur from those who had wished to see the new +man pitch. Elgin, hearing this murmur and understanding, laughed to +himself. + +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. + +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. + +“That’s the stuff!” sounded the voice of Peter McLaughlin. “He won’t +last an inning at that rate. Go to him, Truly!” + +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. + +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. + +“Where’s your new pitcher?” cried Landlord McLaughlin. “You better put +him in right away.” + +Bristol remained apparently unmoved upon the bench; but Jewett, +glancing toward his manager, knew that he was on the verge of getting +the hook. + +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. + +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 third occupied, a long single in the right quarter would give the +visitors a start of two runs. + +Out of the corner of his mouth, Hank Bristol spoke to Bert Elgin. + +“Take Putnam,” he said, “and go down into a corner, and keep your arm +warm. I may want you any minute.” + +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. + +Leaving the bench, Kennedy took Tom Boyd’s place on the coaching line, +Boyd being the batter who followed Hallett. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXI + + PITCHERS’ WATERLOO + + +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. + +“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.” + +Already the wise old war horse had sent Heines out to keep his flipper +oiled, fearing that Sullivan 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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“You don’t mean――” muttered Locke. + +“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.” + +“You don’t mean――” repeated Lefty. + +“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?” + +“If I thought――” Locke still hesitated. + +“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.” + +“I’ll try it,” said Lefty, rising; “but don’t blame me――” + +“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.” + +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: + +“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.” + +Lefty made no retort. Having prepared himself for the field, he waited, +watching Heines. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +Elgin glanced in the direction from which the landlord’s voice came, +and shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. + +“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. + +“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.” + +Elgin found the plate with a couple of pitches, and nodded to the +batter, who stepped into his place. Behind the pan, Yapp, signaling, +spoke only for the hitter’s ear: + +“He’s got awful speed. He kills ’em sometimes. Look out for his bean +ball.” + +Following the signal, Elgin whipped a scorcher straight at the head of +the batter, who gasped, and ducked barely in time. + +“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.” + +That was enough for that hitter, whose three swings failed to touch +anything more solid than the ozone. + +“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.” + +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. + +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 Sullivan dealt out +a pass, which brought Kennedy to his feet, and caused Heines to come +trotting slowly and reluctantly toward the mound. + +Lefty Locke, joining the spare catcher, began to warm up. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXII + + FILLING THE BREACH + + +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. + +“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.” + +But, in spite of old Jack’s attempt to encourage his batters, Elgin +seemed to have the “Injun sign” on the Deers. + +“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.” + +He made them believe it, too. And when a batter thinks he cannot hit a +pitcher it is only by the 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. + +“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.” + +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. + +Peter McLaughlin kept up his efforts to get 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. + +“Shut up, you old toad,” commanded an angry spectator, “or somebody +will hand you a wallop on the ear!” + +“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.” + +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. + +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 fans +cheered him. Following that cheer, Elgin, on the coaching line, called +to Pop Doyle, the man at bat: + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“You can’t get his goat that way,” howled McLaughlin. “He’s your jinx, +and you know it. Give him a cheer, boys!” + +The bunch of Deering rooters responded lustily, but their cheer was +drowned by the crowd roaring for Doyle to lace it out. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIII + + THE MAN ON THE MOUND + + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +“Robbery!” shouted Bristol. + +“Robbery! Robbery!” came from the crowd. “That was a ball!” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +Without looking in the direction of the excited hotel proprietor, Lefty +nodded and smiled. + +“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.” + +Coffin called for another straight one across Doyle’s shoulder, but +Locke shook his head. + +“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?” + +“Lay one over anywhere,” invited Doyle, “and I’ll break the fence.” + +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. + +“Told you you had him foul!” whooped McLaughlin. “How can he hit ’em? +He can’t.” + +“Make him put ’em across, Pop,” urged Bristol. “Don’t let him fool you +again.” + +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. + +“Try another,” he entreated. “Give me another like that, and see it go +out of the lot.” + +“Well,” said Lefty, “I’ll do it, if you’ll agree to swing.” + +“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!” + +But, to the surprise of Elgin, although Lefty swung his arm as if about +to waft over a smoker, 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. + +“That’s two and two,” said Elgin. “It takes only one to hit it.” + +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.” + +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. + +“Now,” he said, “you’ve got to put it over or hand me a walk. You don’t +dare put it across!” + +“I’m going to put it across,” promised Lefty; “and of course I’ll have +to use a straight one.” + +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. + +“You’re out!” cried the umpire; and Peter McLaughlin had a fit then and +there. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIV + + THE OTHER PITCHER + + +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. + +“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.” + +“Did I get away with that all right?” asked Lefty, with surprising +simplicity. + +“Huh!” grunted Kennedy. “They didn’t score, did they? You ain’t heard +anybody kickin’, have you?” + +“He’s some pitcher――he really is,” murmured Coffin, slipping into place +between Sullivan and Curley. + +“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.” + +“The Bucks will size him up in about two innings,” prophesied Curley, +“and when they do――good night, Mr. Stranger!” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Yes, it would!” scoffed Curley. “It fooled Doyle once, but wait till +next time, Coff――just you wait!” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Get his goat! Get his goat!” howled Peter McLaughlin from the stand. +“You can get it!” + +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.” + +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. + +“I’ll give you another, you big dub!” said Elgin. “Another just like +that. Now, go ahead with your puncturing.” + +As good as his word, he threw another spitter, and again Brown fanned. + +“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.” + +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.” + +“Keep him chewin’ the rag,” bellowed McLaughlin. “You’ll git that goat +yet.” + +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. + +“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 been. +Keep on shooting your face off, peacock. We like it.” + +“You’d never get to first any other way,” said Elgin. “Congratulate +yourself.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Don’t exert yourself,” said Elgin, looking around at Buster; “’twon’t +be necessary.” + +Lefty Locke was the hitter now, and Elgin seemed to have little doubt +in his mind as to what he could do with him. + +“You thought you was something when you made the Blue Stockings, didn’t +you?” said Elgin, as Lefty took his place in the box. + +“I beg your pardon,” returned Locke. “I think you’ve got me mixed with +some other man.” + +“Oh, you do, eh?” sneered Bert. “Call yourself Stranger now, eh? I sure +don’t blame you at all.” + +“Why don’t you pitch instead of talking so much?” demanded Lefty +impatiently. + +“Oh, I’ll pitch in a minute,” returned the other, nodding to Yapp to +signal. “You seem in a big hurry to strike out.” + +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. + +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. + +“Oh, dear, dear!” sighed Peter McLaughlin, sinking back into his seat. +“What a crack! What luck! Why, that fellow can hit ’em――he just can.” + +Brown, swinging toward home after crossing third, and being told that +it was useless to run, twisted his mug at Bert Elgin. + +“Luck saved you that time, Mr. Pouter Pigeon,” he said. “You’re due to +get yours good and plenty before the day is over.” + +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. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXV + + THE STEAL HOME + + +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. + +“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.” + +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 that the missing pitcher had turned up in Deering? + +“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.” + +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. + +The eighth opened with Brown leading off, and he talked to Elgin a blue +streak until the pitcher finally fanned him. + +“Go sit down, and close up that hot-air vent,” said Bert. + +Coffin picked a slant, and smashed it like a bullet straight into the +hands of the shortstop for the second out. + +Then, again, Lefty Locke stepped forth, and Peter McLaughlin shrieked: + +“Here’s the man to hit him! Here’s the boy! It’s all off now! He’ll tie +it up.” + +Once more, away down in Elgin’s heart, he felt that throb of +apprehension. This was the man 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. + +“I’ll pass him,” declared Elgin suddenly. “I’ll pretend I’m trying to +put the ball over, but I’ll pass him.” + +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. + +“He’s scat!” yelled the old hotel man. “Yaller――yaller! He don’t dare +put one over! He’s quittin’!” + +The coachers took up the cry of “Yellow,” and Elgin viciously bit his +under lip. + +“I’ll just put one bender over,” he decided. “I’ll show them that I’m +not afraid to slant one across.” + +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 +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“If he――if he does,” muttered Elgin hoarsely, “you’ll carry him home in +a box.” + +“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.” + +“All right,” grinned Collins. “Let her come.” + +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 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. + +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. + +Lefty Locke hit the dirt feet first, shot under the Buccaneers’ +catcher, and scraped one foot across the rubber. + +“Safe!” shouted the umpire, his hands outspread. + +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. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVI + + STRANGER IS ANNOYED + + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“Got his goat! I knew we would!” rejoiced Landlord McLaughlin. “It’s +all over but the shouting. Nobody is afeared of the Buccaneers now.” + +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 last of the ninth, vainly +seeking up to the finish to fathom the delivery of Kennedy’s southpaw. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +Old Jack Kennedy came in. “Let me massage that portside flinger of +yours, Stranger,” he urged. “We’ve no regular rubber to look after it, +so I’ll have to give it what it needs.” + +Lefty submitted to the massaging of his strong, free-swinging left arm +and shoulder. + +“How did you happen to try that steal to the plate?” asked Kennedy, as +he worked over the man’s arm. + +“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.” + +“You have played baseball――take it from me,” said Kennedy. “Perhaps +you’ve forgotten about it, but you’ve played the game aplenty.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“That’s philosophy,” said Kennedy. “Now you’re talking like yourself, +son.” + +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. + +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. + +“Nobody by that name here,” he was told. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Lefty turned and stepped to the door to face the speaker. + +“You must mean me,” he said. “I’m the Stranger who pitched for the +Deers.” + +“And you’re Phil Hazelton,” said Doctor Hetner. “I wondered what had +become of you, Hazelton. 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?” + +Locke shook his head. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“I never was in a train wreck in my life,” said Lefty. + +Baffled, the doctor turned away, mumbling an excuse, although not at +all satisfied. + +“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.” + +“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.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVII + + THE DOCTOR’S DOUBTS + + +“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.” + +“What brings them about?” inquired Kennedy eagerly. + +“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.” + +“Have you made a study of it, doc?” + +“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 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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Old Jack shook his head. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“And have him get red-headed and tell me to go straight to――well, you +know where.” + +“Never mind that.” + +“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!” + +“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――” + +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.” + +“Still,” said the physician, “if the man isn’t right in his head, +it would be wrong for him to go on pitching baseball without any +treatment whatever.” + +“Treatment?” said Kennedy. “Does treatment always cure ’em?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Where’s your new pitcher, Jack――where is he?” they shouted. “He ought +to be all right.” + +“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 me, he’s the man +I’ve been looking for to win the pennant with. If I can keep him, we’ll +nail it.” + +“Keep him!” yelled one of the crowd. “If you let him get away, your +life won’t be safe around these parts!” + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVIII + + FIRST POSITION + + +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. + +“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?” + +Locke swung round and faced the speaker. + +“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.” + +“Mebbe so,” said old Jack; “but I don’t believe it. Look here, if you +ain’t Lefty Locke, the boy 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?” + +“That’s one thing I can’t answer,” was the confession. “Of course, you +gave me some practice here in the morning, but――” + +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――” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“I was just trying to think,” said Locke. “Something has made me +forget, but I’ll remember to-morrow, perhaps.” + +“Hope you do,” said Kennedy. “If you remember, you’ll get it +straightened out that I was 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――” + +“Stop!” interrupted Locke, in mingled excitement and confusion. “I +can’t follow you as fast as that. No use for me to try.” + +“But you remember――you remember now?” persisted Kennedy. + +“Not a thing,” was the reply. “I still think you’re mistaken.” + +The following morning Kennedy sent a telegram to Al Carson, of the Blue +Stockings: + + Can tell you where to find your missing pitcher, Locke. + + JOHN KENNEDY. + +By noon he received an answer: + + Don’t want to find him. He’s blacklisted for quitting. + + CARSON. + +“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.” + +For a time the old manager felt nothing but keenest satisfaction over +the situation. Gradually, however, having a conscience, he began to +fret 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. + +“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.” + +In this manner he pacified his troublesome conscience for the time +being. + +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. + +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 +errorless manner, and hit well. Not only that, but both Sullivan and +Heines, before the game started, had asked to pitch. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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, and able to stop the fierce +Buccaneers in their tracks, was a real pitcher. + +“I wonder who he really is?” the bushers asked one another. +“Stranger――that ain’t his name, never!” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Say, Jack,” chuckled the old man behind the 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.” + +From a near-by booth came a sharp call of the telephone bell. + +“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.” + +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.” + +The minute he could push open the door and stick his head out, he cried: + +“The Bucks have gone up! The Boobs beat ’em four to two. We’re at the +head of the league. Hooray!” + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIX + + A TROUBLED MIND + + +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. + +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. + +Of course Lefty Locke was the hero of the day. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“The poor boy’s worried, Jack,” said Mrs. Kitty Malone. “It upsets me +complete to see him this way.” + +“Kit, I never thought the sight of any man would upset you again,” +returned her brother. “I thought you’d had enough of them.” + +“So I have. But this is different――this case. He’s only a boy. I feel +like a mother toward him.” + +“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.” + +“But ten year,” she said sadly. “If ’twere t’other way ’twould be +different. Do you know what’s on his mind, Jack?” + +“I’m not sure,” he replied; “but mebbe I could make a guess. He had a +girl once, if I remember right.” + +“Once!” she exclaimed. “I’m jealous this minute. But, then, I don’t see +how he could help having twenty of them. What’s become of her?” + +Kennedy shook his head. “Ask me!” he said. “There’s a whole lot about +Lefty Locke that I’m guessin’ at.” + +“Lefty Locke? He calls himself Stranger.” + +“A man can call himself anything he pleases; there’s no law against it.” + +“It’s a real pitcher he is, Jack?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“What are these pessimists ye speak of?” she asked quickly. “I don’t +think I ever met one of them.” + +“You were a bit inclined to be one yourself,” he replied, “until Robert +Stranger came to the farm.” + + + + + CHAPTER XL + + THE REPORTER + + +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. + +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. + +“Hello, Hank!” said old Jack, in a friendly way. “Glad to see you.” + +“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! We’ve got to git +back at you to-day, and we’re goin’ to come blame near doing it, too!” + +“That sounds interesting,” returned Kennedy. “I suppose you’ll pitch +Elgin again?” + +“Elgin be――hanged!” rasped Bristol. + +“Why, what’s the matter?” + +“He’s quit.” + +“Quit?” + +“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.” + +“Well, he _was_ 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.” + +“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.” + +“I had him with a string on him, all right,” confessed Kennedy. + +“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.” + +“You’d better buy some ointment for that itching, Hank. I judge +they’ll still need it after the game’s over.” + +“Mebbe so,” said Bristol, walking on, “but I doubt it.” + +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. + +“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?” + +Kennedy, whirling sharply, found himself gazing into the eyes of Jack +Stillman, the _Blade_ reporter. + +“Hello, boy!” he exclaimed, grasping the newspaper man’s outstretched +hand. “What are you doing here?” + +“Hush!” chuckled Stillman, making an extravagant gesture of caution. +“I’m doing a little Sherlock Holmesing for the _Blade_. I’ve followed a +trail that has led me right here to this town of Deering.” + +“You don’t say!” + +“Oh, yes, I do. I repeat.” + +“Who are you after?” Although Kennedy asked the question, he knew the +answer in advance. + +“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.” + +“I read about it.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“He’ll pitch for me this afternoon,” answered old Jack. + + + + + CHAPTER XLI + + THE MAN WHO KNEW + + +“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.” + +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. + +“He doesn’t look like a sick man,” decided the 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?” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Thanks,” said the doctor. + +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. + +Hetner, Stillman, Kennedy, and McLaughlin held a consultation in a +private room of the Central House after the game was over. + +“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.” + +“You told Collier so!” exclaimed Kennedy. “Didn’t he know where Locke +was?” + +“No. How would he know?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“No bouquets,” protested Kennedy. + +“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?” + +“That’s what he does,” replied Kennedy. + +The reporter struck the fist of his right hand into his open left palm. + +“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 +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.” + +“Then you’ll be mighty valuable in straightening this mess out,” said +Kennedy. “What was at the bottom of it?” + +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. + +“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――” + +“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 a flea-bitten pup, and he didn’t lose an opportunity to +soak Locke to old man Collier.” + +“Something of a romance, I declare!” said Doctor Hetner. “You say you +have Miss Harting’s photograph? Have you brought it with you?” + +“Sure!” + +“Will you let me have it?” + +“You bet, if you’ll return it. I wouldn’t lose it for anything. If I +write the story――” + +“It’s an interesting story,” said the doctor, “and I suppose you’ll +write it, anyhow, being a reporter.” + + + + + CHAPTER XLII + + FAILURE + + +Kennedy found Locke, and brought him to that room, where the young +southpaw was met by Stillman, while the doctor and landlord looked on. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“There are reasons,” said the doctor, “why you should strive to recall +the past.” + +“The principal reason,” said the reporter, “is Miss Janet Harting. +Don’t you remember her, Lefty?” + +Locke brushed his hand almost fiercely across his forehead. “No,” he +answered, “I don’t remember her.” + +“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, if you made any. That broke you up. Now can’t you +remember?” + +“No, not a single thing!” answered Lefty, in deep distress. “It’s all +as if it never happened to me.” + +“If you saw the girl!” cried Stillman. “Doctor, where’s that photograph +you took from me?” + +“Here it is,” said Hetner, handing it over. + +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. + +“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――” + +“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.” + + + + + CHAPTER XLIII + + THE COME-BACK + + +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. + +Meanwhile, the Blue Stockings were being battered, and their lead cut +down, until even old Pete Grist lost heart, and bewailed the missing +southpaw. + +“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.” + +To make matters worse, Carson and Collier quarreled violently. + +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 _Blade_ 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. + +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. + +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 _Blade_. + +He announced that Carson had been permanently shelved by the owner of +the Blue Stockings, 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. + +Stillman wrote, in conclusion: + + 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. + +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. + +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. + +“He ought to have a doctor,” said someone. “Perhaps his skull is +fractured.” + +“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.” + +“Donovan!” exclaimed Kennedy. “Why, that’s Colfax pitching.” + +Locke looked at the old manager queerly. “Colfax?” he muttered. “Who’s +Colfax! Never heard of him. The Specters are ahead, aren’t they?” + +“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.” + +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.” + +“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?” + +“Why, my name is Hazelton, though I’m playing the game as Tom Locke. +What a blame fool question, Kennedy!” + +The old manager showed his satisfaction, and did a dance which caused +the crowd to stare at him in wonderment. + +“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.” + +“Wrong? What do you mean? How wrong?” asked Locke, gazing around in +surprise at his strange and unfamiliar surroundings. “What am I doing +here?” + +“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.” + +“Jack, you’re stringing me. I don’t remember how I got here, but――” + +“Play ball!” cried the umpire. “Shall we give you a runner, Stranger, +or will you stick in the game?” + +“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.” + +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. + +That night Kennedy did his best to explain everything to the +satisfaction of Locke. + +“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.” + +Kennedy pulled a yellow envelope from his pocket, and produced the +message it contained. “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?” + +“Will I!” cried Locke. “All I want is the chance!” + +“It’s yours,” declared Kennedy. “You’ll pitch, son.” + + + + + CHAPTER XLIV + + BACK TO HIS OWN + + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +Then came the sensation sprung by Stillman in the _Blade_. 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. + +And when, just as the game was beginning the following day, the +_Blade_ appeared with the statement that the pitcher called Stranger, +whom Kennedy 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 in the jam +back of the ropes――were good-natured, few complaining. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +“They’re glad to get you back, Jack,” shouted Lefty in the old man’s +ear. + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +“It can’t be for me,” he muttered. “Why, I’m――I’m only a cub +yet――nothing but a busher.” + +Kennedy was at his side. “You’ll show whether you’re a busher or a Big +League pitcher to-day, 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.” + +“Give me two minutes,” said Locke, gripping himself; “give me two +minutes, and I’ll show you.” + +“Good boy!” said old Jack. “Come out and warm up when you get ready.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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 as of old, keeping +them on the jump, filling them with inspiration and confidence. + +“Hey, Jack! You’re the old man to do it!” + +“Kennedy, you can deliver the goods! You did it once, and you will +again.” + +“Welcome to our city, Mr. Kennedy! We have missed you.” + +“Oh, say, Jack, old boy, you look good to me!” + +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. + +“Oh, you Lefty! Oh, you southpaw!” + +“You’re the kiddo! You’re the Specter slayer!” + +“How’s your wing, Lefty?” + +“Got your batting eye with you?” + +“Lefty, don’t you dare ever leave us again. You’re home with your own +family now.” + +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. + + + + + CHAPTER XLV + + THE GIRLS IN THE BOX + + +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. + +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. + +Then for the first time she felt the arm of Virginia Collier about her. +She heard Virginia’s voice in her ear: + +“Wasn’t it splendid? Did you ever know anyone to get such an ovation?” + +“Never,” answered Janet, “but he didn’t look――” + +“He will look,” assured Miss Collier. “Leave that to Jack Stillman.” + +“I owe a great deal to Mr. Stillman.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Lefty!” he called; and Locke, passing, turned at the sound of the +familiar voice. + +“Hello, Jack!” he returned. + +“There’s someone looking for you over in the manager’s box,” said +Stillman. + +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 was flushed. Never had he looked handsomer than he did while +Janet watched him drawing near. + +“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.” + +“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――” + +“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――” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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――” + +“He was in the clubhouse,” said Lefty. “I’ve seen him.” + +“Do you think you can win the game to-day?” asked Janet, apparently +with a touch of anxiety. + +“What do _you_ think?” he questioned. + +“I’m sure you can.” + +“Then I’ll win it, Janet, if there’s any pitching left in my old south +wing.” + +“You’ll have to pitch,” said Parlmee. “They’ve been saving Donovan up +for this game. They want it as bad as we do.” + +“Perhaps so,” said Locke; “but we’ve got to have it.” + +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. + +“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?” + +Only for a fraction of a minute did Lefty hesitate. “The others――the +boys,” he faltered. “If we win, they will――” + +“They’ll forgive you for deserting them this time, I’m sure,” she said +quickly. “It only happens once in a lifetime, you know――and Janet will +be there.” + +“So will I,” he promised instantly. + + + + + CHAPTER XLVI + + THE GAME OF HIS LIFE + + +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. + +He knew _she_ 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. + +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, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +So the game continued, inning after inning, 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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +And Lefty’s chums, Billy Orth, Laughing Larry, and Dirk Nelson, +rejoiced unspeakably. All through the game Dalton laughed as of old, +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. + +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. + +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! + +“Shut ’em out!” pleaded the crowd. “Don’t let ’em touch you to-day, +Lefty! You’ve got ’em killed!” + +Then in turn, when the Blue Stockings were at bat, that immense throng +begged them to fall on Donovan and get a run. + +“One run will do it!” yelled an urchin with a voice like a calliope. +“Dat’s all you want, fellers. It wins dis game.” + +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! + +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. + +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. + +Donovan laughed. “He’s easier,” he thought. “Why don’t he send out +Burchard?” + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +“Give me another just like that, Jim,” he invited. “I’ll hit the next +one.” + +“All right,” returned the pitcher; “all right, Jack, old back number. +Here you have it.” + +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. + +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. + +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 that +thirty thousand maniacs filled the stands, the bleachers, and the +outfield. + +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. + +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: + +“I don’t have to hit it, Jim; the damage is done.” + +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. + +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 person enshrouded in mystery, and seemingly the possessor of a dual +nature that made him a veritable _Jekyll and Hyde_. 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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Go on, old man,” returned the veteran manager. “I don’t blame you a +bit. She’s a dream.” + + + THE END + + + + + Transcriber’s Notes: + + ――Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_). + + ――Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected. + + ――Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved. + + ――Inconsistent hyphenation and compound words were made + consistent only when a predominant form was found. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76584 *** |