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diff --git a/77754-0.txt b/77754-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6eeea92 --- /dev/null +++ b/77754-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7003 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77754 *** + + + + + LEFTY O’ THE TRAINING CAMP + + + + +[Illustration: A MOMENT LATER THE MANAGER WAS GRIPPING THE SOUTHPAW’S +HAND AND ASKING THE INEVITABLE QUESTIONS.] + + + + + LEFTY + O’ THE TRAINING CAMP + + BY + BURT L. STANDISH + + Author of “Lefty o’ the Bush,” “Lefty o’ the Big + League,” “Lefty o’ the Blue Stockings.” + + + _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 GROUCH 11 + II THE MAN WITH THE QUEER EYES 18 + III A MANAGER’S DILEMMA 25 + IV THE UNEXPECTED 32 + V THE FACE IN THE MIRROR 38 + VI SUSPICIOUS DENIALS 44 + VII THE BLUNDER 52 + VIII THE TRANSFORMATION 59 + IX THE TRAINING CAMP 65 + X A PERPLEXING QUESTION 73 + XI A VOICE OUT OF THE DARKNESS 78 + XII A BIT OF A STAGGERER 87 + XIII WHICH ONE? 92 + XIV ON THE TRAIL 98 + XV THE GUILE OF SAVAGE 106 + XVI THE REGULARS ARRIVE 114 + XVII THE TRY-OUT OF SAVAGE 122 + XVIII THE VANISHING BALL 129 + XIX A THING INCREDIBLE 137 + XX THE TRAP 143 + XXI THE LAST STRAW 151 + XXII SAVAGE’S DISAPPEARANCE 155 + XXIII THE CATASTROPHE 160 + XXIV DIRE PERIL 169 + XXV TWO IN ONE 175 + XXVI METAMORPHOSIS 184 + XXVII ENTER: A GIRL 192 + XXVIII THE BETTER MAN DOMINANT 201 + XXIX THE ETERNAL FEMININE 206 + XXX THE ATLANTA TIGERS 214 + XXXI TWO RUNS BEHIND 222 + XXXII THE BREAK 227 + XXXIII SUSPENSE 232 + XXXIV THE EVIL TRANSITION 238 + XXXV THE LAST STRAW 244 + XXXVI BREAKING A BATTING STREAK 251 + XXXVII THE VOODOO CHARM 256 + XXXVIII IN THE NIGHT 264 + XXXIX THE FACE IN THE CROWD 270 + XL BEWILDERING FACTS 280 + XLI REVELATIONS 286 + + + + + LEFTY O’ THE TRAINING CAMP + + + + + CHAPTER I + + THE GROUCH + + +“Crooked? You never said a truer word in your life, Tethridge. +Professional baseball’s so rotten it’s a wonder the board of health +don’t get after it.” + +The lean, slope-shouldered man sitting next to the window of the +smoking car bent a puzzled glance on his more robust companion. + +“Board o’ ’ealth?” he echoed, his sandy eyebrows arching in an odd note +of interrogation. “I don’t tyke you, old chap. What ’ave the board o’ +’ealth to do with biseball?” + +The young man at his elbow frowned, and pushed back a long lock of dark +hair straggling down from under the straight brim of an exaggeratedly +flat derby. + +“Nothing,” he answered, in a resigned tone. “That was only my little +joke, old man. In such a bad state the board of health is needed. Get +me?” + +For a second or two the Englishman preserved that expression of stolid +inquiry. Then, suddenly as cracks radiate over a sheet of heavy glass +fractured by a stone, that long, solemn face broke into curving lines, +and he laughed in a booming bass note quite out of keeping with the +lean, narrow-chested figure. “Jolly good, old chap! My word! I ’ad no +ideah you was such a bloomin’ joker, Nelson.” + +He nudged his companion in the ribs. The latter, striving unsuccessfully +to dismiss the expression of utter boredom from his tanned, rather +rough-hewn face, pulled a package of cheap cigarettes from his pocket +and offered them to the man by the window. Tethridge declined the +cigarettes in favor of a blackened, disreputable-looking brier. + +“The whole proposition’s as crooked as the fighting game,” declared +the man called Nelson; “an’ that’s saying a whole lot, believe me! The +crowd that runs it is out for the coin, an’, take my word, they squeeze +the public and rob their white slave players to get it.” + +He paused a second to send a swift sidelong glance at G. Munby +Tethridge, who nodded instant agreement. In the seat just ahead a +clean-cut, alert-looking man, with keen brown eyes and a firm chin, +moved his broad shoulders impatiently, and frowned at the magazine +lying open on one knee. + +“Gas bag!” he muttered under his breath. + +“Look at the post season last year,” pursued the maligner of organized +baseball viciously. “Two-thirds or more o’ the tickets handed over to +speculators, an’ anybody wantin’ to see a game had to pay double or +triple. Do you think them speculators didn’t have to whack up with the +management? Sure they did! It was a put-up job.” + +“What I always contended,” agreed the Englishman, pulling hard on +the odorous pipe. “A bally crooked gyme through an’ through. Tyke a +look at the w’y it’s pl’yed. Anything goes, by Jove, so long as a man +ain’t caught. He’ll swear himself black in the fice he wasn’t put out +when he was, or that he touched every bise when maybe he missed one; +and the lies all go if the umpire didn’t ’appen to see ’im. That’s no +gentleman’s gyme, old chap, like cricket, or any other decent sport. +There ain’t any honor about it.” + +The harsh, penetrating voice, with its irritatingly positive intonation, +was audible through the greater part of the half-empty smoker. The +brown-eyed young man in front, having ceased making even a pretense at +reading, was scowling out at the snow-covered landscape. His expression +was one of deep indignation. A muscular hand gripped the edge of the +magazine with unconscious force. One foot beat lightly and impatiently +on the rod beneath the seat in front of him. + +“Huh!” grunted Nelson. “That ain’t nothing. I could sit here by the +hour, an’ tell you a line o’ stories that ’u’d make your hair curl. +Here’s jest one of ’em I calls to mind: A coupla seasons ago there was +a fresh young piece o’ cheese pitching with us that called himself Fred +Moore. At that it wasn’t no more his real name than it was mine. He +was one o’ these college dudes, playing on his college nine; an’ then, +come vacation, he beats it to some far-off bushes, where he pitches +professional ball for the rest of the summer under a false monaker. +There’s honor for you, ain’t it? That’s the sort of thing as sickens me +of the whole business, an’ makes me swear to cut the game the minute I +can root out something that’ll bring me in enough coin to live on.” + +He hesitated, his scowling glance resting for a second on the broad +shoulders of the man in front. At that moment a dark flush, rising +from the immaculate collar, had just reached the edge of that heavy +brown mane; but apparently Nelson was too moved by his own eloquence to +observe this danger signal. + +“It’s them college muckers mostly who’ve put the profession where it +is to-day,” he went on hotly. “They cheat to go through college, and +afterward in baseball they’ll do any crooked thing that’ll help ’em +to get ahead of some square, decent man. Look at what happened in the +Panthers last year. They was both college dudes, you can bet!” + +Mr. Tethridge arched his sandy brows in an expression of curiosity. + +“W’at was that?” he inquired quickly. “I don’t seem to remember what +’appened. Dessey it was after I left.” + +“It was.” Nelson’s rather full lips curled at the remembrance. “It was +the last game of the season between the Panthers an’ Bucks――a double +header at that. Didn’t make any difference who won. Panthers bound to +stay tail-enders, you know. A guy named Benson, playin’ third, wanted +to boost his hittin’ average for the season, so he makes up to Grant, +pitchin’ for the Bucks. They was both from the same college, and as +sure I sit here, bo, every time that crook Benson comes to bat that +other crook Grant lets him make a hit. He was up ten times in the two +games, and you can guess what that did to his batting average. That’s +your college ball player all over. Do you wonder I hate the very sight +of one?” + +Tethridge shook his head slowly. + +“Not I,” he drawled. “Strynge what rotters education makes of men over +hyer. But, I s’y, old chap, ’ow is it nobody saw this an’ myde a ’owl +about it?” + +In the barely perceptible pause before Nelson answered, the brown-haired +man in the forward seat half turned his head with an impulsive movement, +his lips parted as if he meant to speak. His face was flushed, his eyes +sparkled with anger, but before he could get in a word the pessimistic +ball player was speaking again. + +“They did,” he answered crisply. “It was too much for even the machine +to pull off. The crowd got suspicious, and the reporters took it up. +Result was the management had to clear themselves by firing Grant; but, +o’ course, all he did was to change his name and get a job with another +league.” + +“Are you quite sure about that?” + +The new voice, breaking in upon the conversation, was superficially +quiet, almost drawling. There was a faint undercurrent of something +quite different in it, however, which made Nelson hastily raise his +head to stare in annoyed surprise at the man in the forward seat, who +had turned round upon them. + +“Huh?” he grunted, noting in a flash the keen brown eyes and +uncompromising chin of the stranger. “’Course I am. What do you know +about it, anyhow?” + +“I happen to know that both Benson and Grant were blacklisted, +and never got back into organized baseball,” was the ready retort. +“Benson’s pitching for a wildcat Texas team; Grant’s on the Pacific +coast. Moreover, you seem to have forgotten that the manager of +the Bucks was also dropped by the president of the league, who did +everything in his power to show that such scandals would not be +tolerated for an instant.” + +Nelson flushed angrily. “_Is_ that so?” he inquired sarcastically. +“Reg’lar walking baseball guide, ain’t you? I s’pose somebody was +kidding you with this song and dance about Benson, an’ you swallowed it +hook, line, an’ sinker. That’s about your style.” + +“Not quite,” returned the stranger coolly. “I happened to pitch against +him last spring at Ashland, the Hornets’ training camp, you know. He +calls himself Pete Nevens now.” + + + + + CHAPTER II + + THE MAN WITH THE QUEER EYES + + +At the stranger’s matter-of-fact reference to a Big League organization +which was almost at the top of the tree, Nelson’s jaw sagged, and +for a second he sat staring at the brown-haired young man in dazed +incredulity. + +“Is that so?” he sneered again, recovering himself. “On Jim Brennan’s +pitching staff, are you? What might be the name you sail under?” + +“The same one I took with me to the Blue Stockings,” was the sharp +retort. “Tom Locke.” + +For a moment there was silence as the two men stared intently at each +other. Though he betrayed nothing of what he felt, Lefty was almost +startled at this first real glimpse of the stranger’s eyes. A moment +before he would have called them black, but now they had lightened +strangely, as if behind the iris glowed a baleful, almost uncanny fire. +There was something so weirdly fascinating in the transformation that +the Big League pitcher was unconscious of everything else until Nelson +broke the silence. + +“Lefty Locke!” he exclaimed triumphantly at last. “So you’re that +bird, are you?” He turned promptly to the Englishman, who sat gaping +and bewildered. “Tethridge, old man,” he said, “let me make you +acquainted with a fine specimen of what we was just talking about――one +o’ them college dudes who makes his living――an’ a mighty good one, at +that――off’n professional baseball, but who’s too ashamed of it to play +under his own name.” + +Lefty’s eyes narrowed slightly. “My reasons for not playing under my +own name are certainly no affair of yours,” he said. “At least, I don’t +go around blackguarding my profession and every one connected with it.” + +“Did I say a single thing that wasn’t true?” demanded Nelson hotly. + +“Only about three-quarters of your remarks, that’s all,” returned +Lefty. “It’s the same old bunk you hear every now and then from the fan +with a grouch. Because organized baseball is conducted on a big scale +and with some outside betting upon it, it’s crooked. I couldn’t help +hearing all you said, and just about every statement you made was――” + +“Gospel, an’ nothing else,” broke in Nelson angrily. “That ticket +business in the post season a year ago was so raw it had every +newspaper in the country hollering――you can’t deny that.” + +“I don’t deny that the ticket sale was badly managed,” returned Locke. +“You noticed probably――since you’re so observing――that the speculators +didn’t have a show last October.” + +“Mebbe not,” snapped Nelson; “but what did happen? The whole thing was +cut and dried from the very start. The public was worked to the limit. +Whenever there was a chance of the Cubs cinching the pennant before the +full seven games had been played, and the limit of gate receipts raked +in, then one of their boys would throw a game just to――” + +“Ridiculous!” broke in Lefty. He was on his feet now, leaning lightly +against the back of the seat ahead of him, with both hands thrust deep +in his trousers pockets. Though seemingly quite cool and indifferent, +there was a dangerous glitter in his brown eyes, and he was apparently +oblivious to the half-dozen other passengers, who had left their seats +and moved closer, attracted by the argument. + +“Ridiculous!” he repeated emphatically. “You’re talking drivel. How +could such a thing be done? How could a world-series game possibly be +thrown? With two such organizations as the ones fighting it out last +fall, what you claim is an absolute impossibility. You, as a ball +player, ought to know it as well as I.” + +Nelson glared in a cold fury. “The Trojans hit Woodby all over the lot +in that fifth game――which never happened before or since,” he growled +angrily. “If that wasn’t done a-purpose to throw the game――” + +“Shucks!” derided Lefty. “Do you think he was deliberately throwing +away over a thousand dollars bonus? Do you think he wanted the +distinction of losing the world’s championship for his club? The whole +match was fair and square from beginning to end, and organized baseball +is as clean and decent a sport as there is.” + +“Ah, cut it!” broke in Nelson roughly. His big, muscular hands were +tightly clenched; his strange eyes glared balefully; his face expressed +eloquently the rage he felt for this cool, confident young man who +held such an enviable position in major baseball, and who was quietly +disproving every one of the busher’s contentions with an ease and +finality which was maddening. “You’re a great piece o’ cheese, ain’t +you, butting into a private conversation where you ain’t wanted! S’pose +you take the bench and try how it ’u’d feel to mind your own business +for a spell!” + +Lefty straightened up. His face was somewhat flushed, for there was +just enough truth in Nelson’s remark to strike home. “If you want to +keep a conversation private it’s a good idea to refrain from the brand +of stuff you’ve been reeling off by the yard in a voice that everybody +in the car could hear. You’re the sort of critic who hunts out the +worst possible example he can find and judges a whole big class by that +exception. I’ve heard a few soreheads in the grandstand who talked like +you, but I certainly never expected to run against a player――even from +the bushes――who blackguarded his profession as you do, and tried to +make the sort of stuff you’ve been handing out pass as the truth.” + +Nelson leaped to his feet with an imprecation. “You paper-collar dude!” +he snarled. “Mebbe you think you can call me a liar and get away with +it, but I’ll show you!” + +He lunged suddenly across the back of the seat, the whole weight of his +body behind his hard fist. If the blow had landed on Lefty’s chin, as +was intended, the altercation would have ended instantly. It happened, +however, that Locke moved just at the right moment. Whether it was +by accident or design the scattering spectators could not determine. +They only knew that Nelson’s fist shot harmlessly over the pitcher’s +shoulder, and the next moment they beheld Lefty standing quietly in the +aisle, facing his antagonist. + +“You quitter!” cried the latter, leaping out from between the seats. +“You needn’t think you’re going to get away. I’ll――” + +“Cut that out, young feller!” sounded unexpectedly in a voice of +authority. “No scrapping allowed on this train.” + +A hand gripped Nelson’s shoulder with no gentle touch. Still sputtering, +the busher twisted around, to behold the stalwart conductor, who was +accompanied by a square-shouldered brakeman. + +“Cut it, I tell you!” repeated the official sharply, observing the look +of indecision on Nelson’s face. “This kind of thing don’t go here. Get +me?” + +Evidently the aggressor did. For a second or two he stood glaring +darkly at the conductor from those uncanny, evil-looking eyes. Then, +with an angry growl, he shook himself free, and stepped back beside +Tethridge. + +“Wait!” he growled, his angry glance shifting to where Locke stood +quietly in the aisle. “I’ll get you yet, an’ get you good, when there +ain’t anybody to hide behind.” + +Lefty made no answer. The threat did not disturb him greatly. His lips +curved a little at the corners, and there was a whimsical flicker of +amusement in the eyes which rested inquiringly on the conductor’s face. + +“If you’ve finished your cigar, Mr. Locke,” suggested that official, in +a very different tone from the one he had been using, “would you mind +going back to the Pullman? This drunk seems to have it in for you bad, +and if――” + +“I ain’t drunk!” exclaimed the indignant Nelson. “I’m aiming to get +square with that gink for calling me a liar, an’ I will if――” + +The conductor waited to hear no more. Though quite able to preserve +peace in an emergency, he never lost a chance to use softer measures +when they availed. In the present instance, the removal of the famous +pitcher to another car would apparently accomplish his purpose, so he +lost no time in bringing that about. With a friendly hand on Locke’s +arm, and keeping up a flow of pleasant conversation, he made his way +down the aisle. + +Lefty accompanied him without protest. He disliked anything in the +nature of a public rumpus, and was glad to bring the distasteful +encounter to an end. At the same time he could not shut his ears to the +stream of loud-mouthed taunts which followed him down the car. They +brought a touch of color to his cheeks. It was not altogether easy to +preserve that attitude of unconsciousness, but he managed it. + + + + + CHAPTER III + + A MANAGER’S DILEMMA + + +Back in his Pullman chair, Lefty tried to forget the unpleasant +encounter in the smoker. He realized that there was no one but himself +to blame for what had happened, and he regretted the impulsiveness +which had made it possible for the disagreeable stranger to drag him +into an altercation. Of course, they were never likely to run into each +other again, Lefty reflected, yet he did not find that possibility one +of unqualified satisfaction. Strangely enough, for one who so disliked +brawls and public rows, he discovered himself wishing for a chance to +take a little of the bumptiousness out of the man who found so much +satisfaction in maligning his own profession. + +At length, however, he managed by a determined effort to thrust the +matter from his mind and turn his attention to more important things. +Kennedy, the lately reinstated manager of the famous Blue Stockings, +had wired him to take the first train to Deering, where old Jack spent +the few months of the “off season” on the farm. + +No reason had been given for this sudden summons to travel over a +thousand miles, but Locke had been expecting the message for some time, +and was not surprised. It is far from usual for a manager to talk over +details of the club personnel and formation with his star pitcher. +In the present case the two happened to have been thrown together on +more than ordinarily intimate terms in the bush the previous summer, +and Kennedy came to know the young Princeton man as few save his +closest friends knew him. He came also to have a decided appreciation +of Locke’s judgment and ability at sizing up a ball player, and after +their return to the Blue Stockings late in the season the informal +chats inaugurated in the Middle Western town continued at frequent +intervals. + +“He’s getting worried about the make-up of the team,” Lefty decided, +propping his chin on one hand and staring out over the flat, +snow-covered landscape, “and wants to talk it over. I’m not surprised. +There’ll have to be several holes plugged before we can think of +starting after that pennant in April.” + +The manager of a Big League team is never free from worry and +responsibility. The moment the last game of the season is over he +begins casting about for material to fill gaps and strengthen the team +for the grilling struggle of another season. The opening of that +season is six months away, to be sure, but frequently that time is all +too short for what has to be done. The mere fact of not hearing from +Kennedy had comforted Locke with the belief that everything was going +well. Now, however, it looked as if the manager’s schemes were not +working out quite as he had planned them. + +“Wonder where he’s fallen down?” mused Lefty. “There’s third and +center――and more twirlers. I wonder just which particular item is +troubling him the most?” + +He continued to ponder the question until the porter, with his +inevitable whiskbroom, approached to perform the parting rites and +pocket the parting quarter. Shortly afterward Lefty swung off the train +at the small station of Deering, made straight for the only waiting +“cutter,” and was presently gliding swiftly over the hard-packed, snowy +road, listening to all the latest neighborhood gossip the driver had to +retail. + +It was good to see again the square, old-fashioned white house, with +its wide veranda and the hospitable chimneys, hinting of cheery, +crackling open fires; and even better to meet in the hall that lean, +lanky, awkward figure with the homely, kindly face and the inimitable +smile. + +Kennedy was unfeignedly glad to see him, and when the first brief +greetings were over he lost no time in conducting Lefty into his +special sanctum and drawing up two chairs before the smoldering logs. + +“Spider’s sick,” he announced laconically, thrusting one hand through +his iron-gray mop of hair, which already stood up like the crest of a +cockatoo. + +“What!” gasped Lefty, in the utmost consternation. “Spider Grant?” + +It was an idle question. Among the Blue Stockings there was only one +“Spider,” that name being the sole property of the peerless first +baseman and captain of the team. But in his dismay at this thunderbolt +Lefty was not thinking of what he said. The query burst from his lips +quite without conscious volition. + +“Uh-huh,” affirmed the manager; “inflammatory rheumatism. Tough, ain’t +it?” + +“It surely is,” agreed Locke fervently. “By Jove, that’s the limit! How +long has he had it?” + +“Couple of weeks. Didn’t tell me at first, ’cause he didn’t want +to worry me. He’s mighty consid’rit, Spider is.” The kindly smile +flickered for an instant out of the network of worried lines, only to +vanish quickly again. “But I’d a lot rather have known it before, an’ +had that much more time.” + +Lefty nodded understandingly. Unconsciously his face reflected the +expression of the older man, but with the difference that a faint, +lightening gleam of hope brought to his eyes. + +“Look here, Jack,” he said impulsively, “it can’t be so bad. Surely +there’s a chance of his getting over it. He’s not old, and he’s never +had it before that I’ve heard. Perhaps by the time training season +starts――” + +“Nix!” put in Kennedy decisively. “I’m taking no chances. He did have +it before, two years ago, an’ never told no one. Got wet hunting, same +as he did this time. No, they never come back――leastwise, not once in a +thousand times――an’ I’m not gambling with them kind of odds. It’s up to +me to dig up a new first baseman, and do it in jig time, at that. You +know I keep two scouts, Carney and Sackett, working the year round; but +every other manager has a bunch of ’em on the rustle, and this digging +up of new material is getting more and more difficult ev’ry year. So +I’m up against it, and it’s close onto the first of February.” + +A wry, crooked smile flickered on his lips for an instant, then +vanished. + +“But that’s not what I wanted you specially for,” he went on rapidly, +“though of course I want your opinion of my list of eligibles. You’ve +sized up the situation, I reckon. You know why we were licked in the +post-season series.” + +Lefty did not answer at once. He had dropped both elbows on his knees, +and, with chin resting in cupped hands, was staring thoughtfully at the +fire. + +“Well,” he said slowly at last, “Jack Daly didn’t seem to be covering +third the way he used to; slow in arching ’em over the diamond, you +know. There’s no doubt, too, that old Brock is losing his batting eye, +or something. He hit under two-eighty last season.” + +“Exactly. Anything else?” + +“You could do with――another twirler on the list.” + +“I sure could!” Kennedy’s tone was emphatic. He bent forward suddenly, +his face serious, and emphasized his remarks with upraised finger. +“Lefty, this finding the right sort of men for the pitching staff has +got me guessing some. Carney found a sweet hitter for center field, an’ +I reckon we can fill Daly’s place somehow; but this other thing――whew! +When I came back last fall there wasn’t but two first-class twirlers +in the crowd――you an’ Pete Grist. The others was all right in lots of +ways, but you couldn’t depend on ’em. That’s the main reason we lost +the world’s series――I didn’t have enough men I was sure of to put on +the mound. Now, Pete’s an old-timer who can’t last forever; you see +where that puts us. We’ve simply got to find at least two new pitchers +I can rely on, or else drop into second division.” + +“That’s right,” Lefty agreed. “Two’s the least you could get along +with. How’ve you made out so far?” + +Kennedy shook his head slowly. “Nothing to boast of. Got rafts of +twirlers, you understand, but they’re mostly from the bush, which isn’t +what I wanted at all. I offered all kinds of money for Donovan, of the +Specters, and Hen Wolfer, but nothing doing; they won’t loosen up on +’em. My best bet so far is Sackett’s find, a lad named Savage who was +doing things all last season out West.” + +“Great spitball artist, isn’t he?” inquired Lefty. “I seem to remember +reading about him.” + +“He’s got something besides a spitball,” Kennedy returned grimly, “or +I’d never have looked at him. I never could see a spitter if a man +could sneak the ball over any other way. I’ve watched this boy work +several times, and I’m pretty sure we can make something out of him. If +I could only find another as promising, believe me, I’d feel easier in +my mind.” + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + THE UNEXPECTED + + +“That’s not as easy as it sounds, considering that your scouts have +raked the field with a fine-tooth comb,” Lefty said slowly as Kennedy +awaited his answer. “Have you thought of Liddell, of Minneapolis?” + +“Yes, but they’ve had a man drafted from ’em already. It’s the same +with McGargle, of St. Paul, and Jerry Knight, of the Internationals.” + +“How about―― By Jove! There is a lad who might make good, Jack! He +pitched all last season on the Sharks, of the Seaboard League. I saw +one of the early games, and he was certainly there with the goods. +He kept it up, too, for I got interested in the boy and followed his +record. Name’s Temple――Gene Temple――and――” + +“Oh, shucks!” interrupted Kennedy, in a disappointed tone. “I know +him. He’s nothing but a kid, Lefty. Only out of school a year or so. +Bushers need ripening, son. You’re one big exception, of course, but I +couldn’t expect that luck again in a hundred years. I’ve got all the +raw material I want――and more, too. What I’m after now is something +sure.” + +“I’ve an idea you’d find this boy worth trying,” was the composed +reply; “and you can’t exactly call a Class A League the bushes. Wait +till I tell you a few things.” + +Without waiting for the manager’s acquiescence, he proceeded to draw +from his exceptional memory facts and figures concerning the brief +career of this youth from a small Eastern college who had so aroused +his interest. Kennedy was bored at first, but soon became attentive. + +“Humph!” he grunted. “Mebbe, as you say, he’s worth trying. We can +draft a man from that club, too. Hanged if I won’t do it――or, better +yet, I’ll let you put through the deal. I’ll have my hands full +locating a first baseman, and there isn’t any time to be lost.” + +Now that his mind was made up, the manager wasted not a minute in +arranging the necessary details. Lefty happened to remember that Temple +came from one of the small Jersey towns not far from New York, and it +was natural to suppose that he would spend the winter at home. They +decided, therefore, that Locke should take the eastbound train which +passed through Deering in little more than an hour, and so save a good +twelve hours. + +Word was sent out to the stableman to hitch up and have the cutter +around in half an hour, and the brief interval of waiting was well +occupied by a discussion of every possible candidate for the vacant +position at first. Lefty made a number of suggestions, and old Jack had +become really cheerful when the sound of sleigh bells brought them out +of their chairs. + +“Mighty glad we’ve had this talk, Lefty,” said Kennedy, with a friendly +hand on Locke’s shoulder. “I feel better already. Nail this wonder of +yours. Best thing you can do is to bring him South with you. Training +for the cubs will start in about ten days, and I reckon you won’t mind +coming that early, will you?” + +“Not a bit, if I can help any,” said Lefty, sliding into his heavy +overcoat. “Don’t come outside. It’s cold after sitting in front of that +fire. Good-by.” + +He held out a hand, and Kennedy gripped it. + +“So long!” cried the manager. “Remember, this Temple wonder is your +find, and if he falls down you can expect to be just about scalped by +your Uncle Dudley.” + +“I’ll have to see that he makes good, then,” returned Lefty. + +A moment later the door had closed behind him. He paused a second to +pull up the collar of his ulster, for it had begun to snow. A man was +coming up the veranda steps, his figure bulking indistinctly through +the flying flakes. Lefty wondered idly whether he could be the one +who was to drive him to the station, and, if so, why he had left +the cutter. The fellow stopped before him, and, with a quick intake +of astonishment, the Big League pitcher recognized the unpleasant, +evil eyes and rough-hewn features of the disgruntled busher he had +encountered on the train. + +The recognition was mutual. Uttering an exclamation of triumph, Nelson +stepped swiftly forward, his fists clenched. + +“So it’s you, is it?” he cried. “This is luck! You slipped away from me +before, but there ain’t nobody here to hide behind. Put up your hands! +Ain’t you got any nerve at all?” + +So amazed was Lefty at the appearance of the fellow there, of all +places, that for a second or two he stood perfectly still, staring at +him. + +“Say, have I got to lam you into showin’ a little fight?” fumed Nelson, +shaking a fist in Locke’s face. “If you don’t――” + +He stopped abruptly as the door was jerked suddenly open to reveal the +spare figure of the Blue Stockings’ manager standing on the threshold, +his glance flashing from one to the other of the two men. + +“Well,” old Jack inquired curtly, “what’s all this about, Savage? What +do you mean holding up Locke on his way to make a train?” + +The busher’s blustering manner vanished with ludicrous swiftness before +the stern glare of Jack Kennedy. He dropped his lids, and, shuffling +his feet awkwardly, began a mumbled, halting explanation. + +Of this Lefty heard scarcely a word. He was staring dazedly at the +flushed, sullen face of the embarrassed minor leaguer. What under the +sun did Jack mean by calling him Savage? He couldn’t be the new pitcher +of whom Kennedy had just been boasting. Distinctly Locke had heard the +Englishman on the train call him Nelson――not once, but several times. + +“Well, beat it into the house, and I’ll talk to you directly,” came in +the manager’s sharp, incisive voice. “Now, Lefty,” he went on, when the +fellow had vanished, “what the deuce is up? You didn’t tell me you knew +him.” + +Locke shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t until a few hours ago. I ran +into him on the train, and got mixed up in a little altercation. Did I +hear you call him Savage, Jack, or was I mistaken?” + +“Sure, he’s Savage,” Kennedy answered. “Nelson Savage is the new +twirler I was telling you about. What you got against him, anyhow?” + +Lefty’s lips parted, and then closed swiftly. “Oh, nothing,” he +answered, turning abruptly away. “I was surprised, that’s all. Thought +his name was Nelson. Time to get going, Jack. Good-by.” + +He ran down the steps, and climbed quickly into the cutter waiting +there. Once out on the highroad, headed for the village, the driver +resumed his gossipy chat, but discovered his companion oddly reticent. + +The truth was that Lefty found it impossible to keep his mind off +Kennedy’s new pitcher, and the more he thought about the fellow the +greater became his disapproval. Personally he was not in the least +troubled by the discovery that this Savage was destined to become +a rival. He could hold his own both on the diamond and off. But +dissension and ill feeling always play havoc with a ball team, and here +were both with a vengeance. Besides, Lefty’s opinion of the newcomer +was distinctly unfavorable. A man such as Savage had shown himself to +be was not at all the caliber of which first-rate Big League players +are made. + +“I certainly hope Jack didn’t pick a lemon,” the twirler said to +himself, with a troubled frown; “but I’ll be hanged if it don’t look +that way.” + + + + + CHAPTER V + + THE FACE IN THE MIRROR + + +Anxiety continued to be present in Lefty’s mind at frequent intervals +during the trip East. It made him begin even to doubt his own judgment, +and wonder if, after all, he had been wise in recommending a pitcher +of whom he really knew nothing personally. It was quite possible that +Gene Temple might turn out to be as undesirable as Savage, in spite of +the record he had made on the diamond the previous season. All this was +not exactly pleasant to contemplate, especially when Lefty recalled +the manner in which he had really persuaded Jack Kennedy, against the +latter’s judgment and inclination, to consent to the trial. + +The fact that the Sharks’ manager was away and did not return until +the second day after Locke’s arrival in New York was not calculated +to relieve Lefty’s worry. When at length he did see Mr. Amos Jillson, +however, the latter’s demeanor was reassuring. After a momentary flash +of annoyance, he began to blackguard Temple strenuously. The fellow was +wild, undependable, even tricky, he said. He’d been thinking, in fact, +of sending him back to the bushes again. It was a sure thing that a man +of his caliber wouldn’t last a week in such an organization as the Blue +Stockings. + +Knowing the subterfuges of the trade, Lefty listened to it all with +bland composure, quite unmoved. When the manager realized what he +was up against, he became curt, almost pettish, and went through the +formalities of transference with the greatest possible dispatch. + +Temple resided with his parents in the neighboring village of Belle +View, so Lefty was briefly informed. He had never heard of this rising +suburb, and when he tried to reach it by means of a very circuitous +trolley line, he hoped fervently that he might never have occasion to +seek it again. + +It had been dark for over an hour when he finally alighted from the +car, stiff, cold, and decidedly hungry. Had he entertained the least +conception of the time required to make the journey, it would certainly +have been put off until the next day. But once he had found Temple, +the interview was not likely to take long. Then he could get a bite +to eat and find some way of returning more directly to New York and +civilization. + +The fairly well-lighted main street of Belle View was lined with +small shops in trim new buildings. Most of them were closed, but the +brilliant windows of one attracted Lefty’s eye. He had almost reached +the door, perceiving with approval that it was a clean, neat-looking +little restaurant, when the sight of a railroad track flanked by an +exceedingly up-to-date station of stucco made him give a deep sigh of +thankfulness. + +Within five minutes he had learned from the ticket seller everything +he wished to know. New York, by underground, was exactly twenty-eight +minutes away. There was a train at seven-forty-three, and another at +nine-forty-five. It was now a few minutes before seven. Eight minutes’ +brisk walking would bring him to the Temple house. + +It did not take Lefty long to make up his mind. If he stopped to get +something to eat first, he would miss the earlier train, and be in for +a tiresome wait of more than two hours. By hunting up Temple at once, +dinner would be delayed not more than half or three-quarters of an hour +longer, and he could have it in quiet comfort at his own hotel. With a +word of thanks to the communicative agent, the pitcher hastily left the +station, and walked briskly up the street. + +Three blocks straight ahead, the man had said, two blocks to the left, +then turn to the right, and take the house on the next right-hand +corner. Lefty found the blocks inordinately long, as country blocks are +likely to be, but there was no difficulty whatever in following the +agent’s directions to the letter. + +“Some class to this town!” the ball player reflected as he turned the +last corner, on which stood an attractive concrete bungalow. “Next +right-hand corner, he said. That would be it at the end of the block.” + +There were only three houses in the entire block, which was shorter +than the others he had traversed. The concrete bungalow occupied the +first corner; then came a low, rambling house set back from the street, +and gleaming hospitably with lights. A long stretch of vacant property +followed before the neat hedge and well-kept grounds of the Temple +place were reached. + +This house also stood well back from the street, and Lefty was halfway +up the walk before he noticed how dark and gloomy it seemed. A clump +of evergreens shielded it from the street light. Not a solitary gleam +showed in any one of the many windows. Either the place was equipped +with peculiarly opaque shutters or there were no lights inside the +house to show. + +“I hope the whole family isn’t out,” grumbled Lefty, as he ran up the +veranda steps. + +The doorway was a colonial one, with long, narrow, diamond-paned +windows on each side. Before ringing, Locke paused to peer through +one of these. It was not drawn shades or closed shutters which gave +that air of gloominess to the place. There were no lights in the hall +or anywhere else in the front of the house that he could see. There +was a momentary pause before Lefty’s hand reached toward the bell. He +would at least make absolutely certain that there was no one at home +before leaving the place. There might be a servant somewhere about, or +possibly―― + +He caught his breath sharply. The fingers feeling for the electric +button stiffened. From the farther end of the hall a glare of light +suddenly flashed up in a startling, wholly inexplicable manner which +was bewildering. For a minute or two Lefty stood there, staring +dazedly, before his lips curved in a grin of understanding. + +The light was not in the hall at all. It shone through a door in the +right-hand wall, full upon a high, massive mirror standing in the +opposite corner. All in a flash Lefty took in the heavy, gilded frame +and the low, old-fashioned marble-topped stand on which it rested. Then +his eyes widened at what he saw reflected in the glass. + +Only a very limited portion of the room was visible. A bit of green +wall, with part of a wide black picture frame, showed distinctly, while +in the foreground, bending over a table, the figure of a man in a +check suit interested Lefty amazingly. There was something puzzlingly +familiar about those square, muscular shoulders, the set of the head, +the very sleekness of the crisp black hair. The fellow could not be +Temple, who was a pronounced blond; yet the Blue Stocking pitcher was +possessed with the certainty of having seen the man before. + +A moment later the stranger, straightening up, turned toward the door, +and Locke gasped as he recognized the face of Nelson Savage. + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + SUSPICIOUS DENIALS + + +Lefty’s first thought was that he had been deceived by a superficial +resemblance, coupled with the tricks played by a faulty mirror. But +swiftly that explanation vanished. For a full minute the man stood +quite still against the table, staring thoughtfully out into the +darkened hall. The lights from above shone full on his face, bringing +out even in the reflection every little detail of form and coloring. +Hair, eyes, features――all were identical. It was Jack Kennedy’s newest +recruit without the possibility of a doubt. As he realized this Locke’s +eyes narrowed, and the muscles of his jaw hardened. + +It was puzzling enough, after having left Savage on Jack’s farm, a +thousand miles away, to come upon him three days later in this New +Jersey suburb; but to find him on apparently friendly terms with Gene +Temple was even more surprising, and a great deal more unpleasant. He +had not supposed the two to be even casually acquainted. They came from +opposite extremes of the continent, and had never, so far as Locke was +aware, even played in the same game. + +Recovering quickly from his surprise, Lefty followed the actions of the +bush pitcher with the closest attention. There was no questioning the +air of being at home which was betrayed in his every action. After that +momentary pause under the light, he squared his shoulders decisively, +and walked out into the hall, returning in a moment with something in +his hand. Just what it was Lefty could not see, for the fellow stepped +out of range at once. During the next five minutes or so the glass +reflected only tantalizing glimpses of him moving about the room. + +What he was doing the watcher could not determine, nor was he +inordinately curious. His mind was taken up to a much greater extent in +wondering whether Gene Temple was also in the house. So far, nothing +had been seen of the Seaboard pitcher, yet it was hard to believe that +Savage was here alone. + +Suddenly Locke’s hand reached for the bell, but he paused, his finger +tips just touching the button. His impulse had been to ring and +see what would happen, but he repressed it. If Temple was there he +would doubtless come to the door, and Lefty was not so sure he cared +about talking with the fellow just now. He wanted time to digest his +discovery, to readjust his mind to the realization that Temple was +apparently on intimate terms with an individual for whom Lefty hadn’t +the slightest use. It might make a radical difference in his actions. +One recruit of Savage’s caliber was quite enough in the training camp, +Locke reflected. Under the circumstances, he might decide that he had +no use for Gene Temple, after all. + +So, instead of ringing, Lefty went quietly down the steps and along +the flagged walk to the street. Instinctively he retraced his steps to +Main Street, moved, perhaps, by a subconscious picture of the clean +little restaurant on the corner. But all the while his mind was going +over and over the problem which had so suddenly confronted him, and he +was trying his best to decide what he ought to do. It seemed unjust to +condemn a man unheard, yet if Temple was not a friend of Savage how +else was it possible to account for what Locke had just seen? + +Brief as had been their acquaintance, Lefty’s dislike and disapproval +of the Western busher was acute, and by the time he reached the +main street he had decided to have nothing to do with any of the +fellow’s friends. He had also decided that the sooner everything was +straightened out and settled the better. He wished now he had obeyed +that first impulse to rouse Temple at the house. + +“There’ll be no trotting back to New York until I’ve located the +fellow and straightened things out,” the pitcher said as he opened the +restaurant door and stepped into the warm, brightly lighted interior. + +As he closed the door and turned to one of the bare-topped, shiny +tables that ran along one side of the room, he heard an exclamation of +surprise from a tall young man in a heavy ulster who was just turning +away from the cigar stand: + +“Jumping Jemimah! Why, it’s Lefty Locke!” + +Since the triumphant finish of the past season, Lefty had received +about as much adulation as any professional in the Big League. Wherever +he went enthusiastic fans treated him with that mixture of deference +and friendliness which is so characteristic of fans the country over. +Lefty made no pretense of being bored. He looked upon it all as part +of the game, and felt that some slight occasional inconvenience was +little enough to pay for the fame which had come to him. It amused him +to have people recognize him in street cars and public places. Even +the inevitable string of small boys, with awe-struck faces, camping +on his trail, did not annoy him. In the field he rather liked to hear +the bleacherites roar out that “Oh, you Lefty!” in tones of fond +proprietorship. He felt that the greater part of it was genuine; that +people really did like him, and were proud of him. And to treat such +honest admiration with indifference or disdain would be churlish, ill +bred, impossible. + +As he turned now, with a faint, friendly smile for the man who had +spoken so impulsively, he saw a tall, well-built fellow, with laughing +gray eyes set in a face which was almost too good looking. It was a +face which, once seen, was not likely to be forgotten, and, after that +first brief flash of surprise, Lefty’s smile deepened to one of pleased +satisfaction. + +“How are you, Temple?” he said quietly, putting out his hand. + +“Fine as silk!” was the reply before an expression of dazed bewilderment +leaped into the gray eyes. “But how the deuce―― Say, you’re Lefty Locke, +of the Blue Stockings, aren’t you?” + +“Sure thing!” + +“But I don’t understand how you know my name. I’m sure I never met you +before, though I’ve seen you in the box, of course.” + +His voice was low and pleasant; his gaze frank, direct, and steady. As +the Big League pitcher slipped out of his coat and hung it up, he found +himself warming already to the stranger. + +“It doesn’t seem to occur to you that I might also have seen _you_ +pitch,” he suggested. + +Temple laughed. “You might, but that’s different; I’m next door to the +bushes.” + +Locke shrugged his shoulders, and moved toward one of the tables. The +room was almost empty, a man and woman at the rear being the only other +patrons. A single waitress hovered at a little distance, waiting for +the latest patron to settle himself. + +“I happened to see you pitch a game early last spring,” Lefty explained, +“and I don’t often forget a face.” + +He paused, one hand on the back of a chair, his eyes fixed intently on +Temple’s. He had suddenly made up his mind to settle the whole affair +without delay. + +“I’m going to ask you a question which may strike you as rather +peculiar,” he resumed abruptly. “How long have you known Nelson Savage?” + +The younger pitcher suddenly stubbed his toe against a rubber mat, and +dropped the lighted cigar he was carrying. He bent instinctively to +pick it up; then, changing his mind, set his heel on the glowing end, +and took a fresh one from his pocket. + +“Nelson Savage?” he repeated blankly. “I’m afraid I don’t get you, +quite. Who is he?” + +Locke’s face hardened perceptibly. He had not expected such a barefaced +denial. He hesitated an instant, still holding Temple’s gaze in thrall. +It seemed remarkable that the gray eyes never wavered or shifted. + +“It’s rather odd that you should ask that,” he remarked coldly, “when +he’s making himself at home at this very moment in your house.” + +Temple’s jaw sagged; the match he had just struck slipped unheeded +through his fingers. + +“You’re――kidding me――aren’t you?” he stammered. + +Lefty made a negative motion of his head, and, pulling out the chair, +sat down. “I have just come from there,” he returned. “I saw him.” + +Still with that dazed expression on his face, Temple came close to +the table, and, bending over, gripped the edge of it with both hands. +The action crumpled his cigar into fragments, but apparently he was +unconscious of it. He was staring at the older man with a look of +bewilderment which could scarcely have been counterfeited. When finally +he broke the silence his words came in jerks. + +“You say――there’s a man――named Savage in my house――now――this minute?” +he gasped. “You saw him――there?” + +A gleam of fresh interest flashed into Lefty’s eyes; the hard line of +his compressed lips softened. Either this man was genuinely surprised +and disturbed or else he was an amazing actor. + +“I certainly did,” the Blue Stocking pitcher returned, in a less chilly +tone; “not more than fifteen or twenty minutes ago.” + +Temple straightened abruptly, with a decisive squaring of his shoulders. +He began to button his ulster. + +“Then he’s there for no good purpose,” he said. “I know of no one who +has any business there. My people are away――visiting in Boston. The +house is closed――unoccupied, except when I go there to sleep. Whoever +this man Savage is, it looks to me as if he’d broken in to steal, and +if he has――good night!” + +He swung abruptly away from the table, and strode toward the door. +Lefty stared after him for a second; then, springing up, he grabbed +coat and hat, and followed. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + THE BLUNDER + + +What little conversation passed between the two men as they hurried +toward the Temple house was spasmodic and choppy. Briefly Lefty +explained how he had come to see Savage. The younger man asked no +questions, and was apparently not even curious to know what Locke could +want with him. He seemed, in fact, to be answering mechanically, as +if his brain was all the time occupied with some other phase of the +situation; and, naturally, the Blue Stockings’ pitcher quickly relapsed +into silence. + +He himself was in a condition of puzzled doubt and uncertainty which +gave him plenty to think about. Much as he disliked Nelson Savage, he +did not wish to believe that the man would deliberately break into +a house for the purpose of stealing. Not only would it be an act of +incredible folly, but the coincidence of his traveling a thousand miles +to rob the home of Gene Temple was too startling to credit. + +Yet, if that were not the true explanation, Temple himself must be an +unmitigated liar, his every action deliberately intended to deceive. +Lefty found this quite as hard to believe, and he decided to reserve +judgment until he had a little more to work on. + +“In five minutes I’ll know,” he said to himself as they hastened around +the corner by the concrete bungalow. “It’s one of the queerest things―― +Say, Temple, where are you going?” + +The last sentence was uttered aloud in a surprised tone, for the blond +young man had turned abruptly in at the bungalow gate, and was striding +up the walk. At the sound of Locke’s voice he slowed down a bit and +glanced over his shoulder. + +“Going!” he echoed guardedly. “I’m hustling to pinch this housebreaker +before he makes a getaway”. + +Locke caught his breath sharply. “You don’t mean to say you live +_here_?” + +“I sure do!” Temple’s tone was puzzled. “Where’d you think I lived?” + +A wave of crimson surged over Lefty’s face at the realization of the +blunder he had made. + +“But the man said the next corner!” he exclaimed indignantly. “Doesn’t +the idiot know――” + +He broke off with a sudden deep chuckle as his keen sense of humor came +belatedly to his rescue. “I was talking about the wrong house all the +time,” he exclaimed. “Wouldn’t that get you!” + +His face still puzzled, the younger ball player turned hurriedly and +came back to Locke’s side. + +“You mean the house on the next corner?” he asked quickly. “Was that +where you saw this――Savage?” + +“Sure thing!” answered Lefty. “Peach of a bull, wasn’t it? But the fool +agent said the next corner, and how was I to know he meant this one?” + +Temple’s lips began to twitch and his eyes to crinkle. A second later +he threw back his head and burst into a shout of laughter, genuine, +infectious, yet with a note in it of such relief that Lefty stared at +him curiously. It wasn’t possible that such a chap could have been +nervous at the prospect of tackling a sneak thief. + +“I can’t help it,” Temple said half apologetically when the violence of +his mirth had begun to subside. “It seemed to strike me as funny――our +hustling up the way we did. You certainly did get my goat for a bit, +though,” he went on frankly. “I’ve been careless, leaving things +around, and wasn’t keen about having ’em swiped. Besides, I couldn’t +for the life of me make out why anybody’d break into a house so early +in the evening. Of course, since it was at Markham’s you saw him, he +probably didn’t break in at all. Likely he’s a friend of Harry’s.” + +“Hum! Possibly, though the whole business still seems rather odd. Who +is this Markham, by the way?” + +They were standing together beside the gate. Temple’s manner had +altered amazingly, becoming in a flash light-hearted and jocular. + +“Manager of Crawford’s sporting-goods shop,” he answered. “Who’s this +Savage, anyway――pugilist, ball player, or what?” + +“A twirler from the sagebrush,” answered Lefty absently. + +He was thinking over the affair, and there were certain details which +still seemed peculiar――such, for example, as the assurance which the +fellow showed in moving about the apparently empty house. Lefty had +half a mind to go on to Markham’s and see if he could solve the mystery. + +“That accounts for it,” Temple went on. “Harry knows more scrappers +and ball players than you could count in a week. Well, what do you say +to going back? I’d ask you into the house, only it’s like a barn, and +there’s not a thing to eat around. Since the folks left, I’ve only been +showing up to sleep, and sometimes not even for that. You were going to +order supper at Mike’s, weren’t you?” + +The Blue Stockings’ pitcher nodded, and swung through the gate beside +Temple, both starting to retrace their steps toward the restaurant. +Remembering Savage’s belligerent attitude at parting, Lefty was not +especially keen about stirring up something very likely to terminate +in a fight. At least, Temple was cleared of all foreknowledge of the +Western twirler, which was the principal thing just now. + +It was not until they were seated on opposite sides of the neat table, +and the waitress had taken Locke’s order, that his companion broached +the subject which must have been in his mind for some little time. + +“Did you――er――come to Belle View on purpose to――see me?” he asked, with +a touch of embarrassed hesitation. + +Lefty smiled. “Yes,” he answered quietly. “I secured you for Jack +Kennedy this afternoon.” + +Temple’s eyes widened, and a tide of deep crimson surged to the very +roots of his blond hair. + +“You can’t mean――” he stammered, his hands gripping the table edge +with unconscious force. “It isn’t possible that the Blue Stockings +want―― Oh, say!” His face took on an expression of whimsical disbelief. +“You’re kidding me!” + +“Not this time. I came East on purpose to get you for Kennedy’s squad. +Saw Jillson to-day, and now you’re a Blue Stocking cub. Hope you’re not +sorry?” + +“Sorry!” cried Temple, bringing down one clenched fist with a crash +that made the dishes rattle. “Sorry! Why, I’d rather be that than +anything else on earth! It’s the Big League club that I’ve always put +ahead of all the others, but I never thought―― Do you s’pose there’s a +chance of my making good?” + +“If there wasn’t,” returned Lefty briefly, “you’d hardly have been +picked by Jack Kennedy.” + +The man’s modesty was refreshing, and his boyish impulsiveness held in +it an inexplicable attraction for the more famous player. Before supper +was over they were chatting together like old friends. When train time +approached Temple helped the Big League pitcher into his heavy coat, +and walked across to the station with him. + +It lacked ten minutes or more of train time, so the two paced briskly +up and down the length of the concrete platform, smoking, and making +arrangements for their meeting a few days later to go South together. + +“I’d sure like to make the trip with you,” Temple said enthusiastically +as they passed one of the waiting-room windows. “That’ll give me time +to see the folks, and―― Mighty!” + +He broke off with sudden vehemence, and, ripping open his coat, glanced +at his watch. Scarcely seeming to look at it, he jammed it back, his +face frowning and troubled. + +“Had a date at nine,” he explained rapidly to his companion. “Went +clean out of my head. Say, would you mind if I cut out now? Perhaps I +can square myself yet.” + +“Go ahead, by all means,” replied Lefty, thrusting out a gloved hand. +“Good-by. Don’t forget where we’re to meet.” + +Temple gripped the pitcher’s outstretched hand and wrung it. + +“Not on your life!” he cried. “I’ve got it all straight. Hotel St. +Albans next Tuesday for lunch. Awfully sorry to go this way, but you +understand?” + +Without even waiting for a reply, he turned and hurried along the +platform, almost at a run. Lefty was still watching him, a faint smile +on his lips, when the slamming of the station door made him glance +carelessly around. + +A square-shouldered, youngish man was standing by the door, pulling +on a glove. His face was in the shadow, but a moment later he picked +up his suit case and strolled directly toward Lefty. The latter +watched him curiously, as one observes a lone fellow passenger at a +country station. Then, as the unknown stepped into the circle of the +nearest arc light, Locke caught his breath, every muscle stiffening +instinctively as if he were bracing himself to withstand an inevitable +shock. An instant later he had regained his composure. + +“I hardly expected to see you quite so soon again, Savage,” he drawled +coolly. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + THE TRANSFORMATION + + +In the brief, tense pause which followed, Lefty’s dominating emotion +was one of thankfulness that the station platform was deserted. The +much delayed fight seemed bound to come off there and then, and Locke +was not sorry. It was high time the fellow was shown a thing or two, +and the Blue Stockings’ twirler was not in the least averse to playing +the part of instructor. He did object, however, to playing that part +before a crowd of witnesses. + +Determined to let Savage make the first hostile move, the Big League +player deliberately held himself in check, standing quietly, watching +his antagonist, and wondering why he did not begin. There was not +enough light for him to catch the play of expression on the busher’s +face; consequently the shock of surprise which followed the fellow’s +first words was doubly great. + +“So soon?” Savage repeated at length, in a quiet, almost drawling +voice. “Surely there’s been plenty of time for me to get here.” + +Lefty stared at him dazedly for a second before he could find his +voice. It was so totally different from what he had expected that for a +moment he could not believe he had heard aright. Then the realization +came suddenly that Savage was playing some game. + +“Oh, plenty,” he answered calmly; “only the time was so short I +scarcely thought you’d be coming East.” + +Savage shrugged his shoulders, and put down the suitcase. “I don’t +remember saying that I wasn’t,” he returned quietly. “Have a cigarette?” + +He extended an open box, and Lefty, retaining his composure with no +little difficulty, accepted one. He refused to let this blustering +braggart outdo him in self-control. What the man’s game was he had not +the remotest idea, but he was certain two could play at it, and he +promptly proceeded to “stall along” until he could get the run of the +cards. + +“Thanks,” he murmured nonchalantly, and produced a match box from his +ulster pocket. “Light?” + +As the flame flickered up Savage bent slightly toward it, his face +clearly outlined to the smallest detail. Lefty, staring intently at +him, could not detect a sign of that ungovernable fury which had +characterized the busher at their first meeting less than a week +before. He seemed as calm and unruffled as if he had never worked +himself into a violent temper at the man who had accepted his cigarette +and who was now holding a lighted match for him. + +The whole thing was such an anti-climax that Lefty could have laughed +aloud had he not been so bewildered. As it was, he decided to let +Savage do the talking, at least until he could determine how things +really stood. With that idea in mind, he took his time, aware from +the sound of the rapidly approaching train that a fresh diversion was +coming to his assistance. + +“Mind the smoker?” inquired Savage as the engine thundered past them. +“We may as well sit together, then. It’ll make the time pass quicker.” + +Locke acquiesced briefly, and they climbed aboard, picking out a +seat. They were no sooner settled than Savage made some whimsical +comments on two queer-looking characters sitting in front of them, +and the Big League twirler, to his amazement, found himself chuckling +appreciatively at his companion’s dry humor. + +It seemed incredible, yet he was actually finding the fellow likable. +Tossing away the end of his cigarette, he pulled out a couple of +cigars, and passed one over. Had any one predicted the action half an +hour before, Lefty would have pronounced that person insane. + +“From the way we parted,” he said with sudden impulsiveness, “I’d +hardly have said we’d be chumming it this way to-night.” + +Savage, busily cutting the end of his cigar, did not look up. + +“Yes?” he murmured. “How so?” + +Lefty stared. He had smelled liquor on the busher the afternoon they +first met, but the man could scarcely have been so under the influence +as to have no recollection of their altercation. + +“You surely haven’t forgotten that you wanted to lick the pants off +me?” he asked. + +The smile vanished from the Westerner’s lips, and a flush swept into +his face. “I’m sorry you remember it so vividly, Locke,” he said, in +a low, rather constrained tone. Lefty wondered whither had vanished +all his slang and coarseness. “I must have been more of a beast than I +thought.” He hesitated, his slim fingers nervously rolling the cigar +between them. “I was feeling pretty rotten that day. I had more booze +in me than was healthy. And―― Well, you understand, old man, how a +fellow sometimes does things he’s ashamed of.” + +He raised his head suddenly, and looked straight at Lefty with steady, +level eyes which seemed to hold a hint of appeal in them. For a second +Locke could have sworn that they were not the eyes of Savage at all, +they were so totally different from the lowering, evil-looking orbs +he remembered. Then he realized that it was simply the absence of that +baleful, uncanny glare which had impressed him so disagreeably. They +were human now――human and winning, and decidedly attractive. + +Suddenly Locke found himself answering the unspoken appeal eagerly. + +“Forget it!” he said forcibly. “You don’t suppose I took it as +seriously as that, do you? I was giving you a little josh, that’s all. +Let’s get on to something else. How’d you make out with Jack?” + +“He’s going to give me a show,” Savage answered briefly. “Great chap, +Kennedy.” + +“You bet your life he is!” + +It was a subject on which Lefty could hold forth indefinitely, and when +the train pulled into Jersey City he found that he had been doing most +of the talking for twenty minutes or so. The announcement from Savage +that he was going over to Brooklyn resulted in an unexpectedly hurried +parting, and Locke had settled down in the uptown tunnel train before +he realized that there were a number of things he had neglected to find +out from the busher――among them the explanation of his curious actions +in the Markham house. + +“Doesn’t make any difference, I reckon,” he decided at length. “I’ll +see him again in less than a week. By George, what a transformation!” +He shook his head slowly. “It’s amazing. He’s human now, and not a bad +sort at all. I s’pose it must be drink that does it. Jove! If I had a +devil like that inside me, which liquor unchained, it would be me for +the sprinkler, and no dropping off either.” + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + THE TRAINING CAMP + + +Delayed by a blizzard, Lefty and Gene Temple did not reach the sleepy +little Southern town of Tulane until the second day of the spring +training. Kennedy and his crowd of recruits had left for the ball park +some time before, so the two belated ones stopped at the hotel only +long enough to change into their baseball clothes before following them. + +After the bitter cold, the snow and general disagreeableness, which +they had left behind so short a time ago, there was an infinite +relaxation in the soft, caressing warmth and brilliant sunshine of this +Southern clime. The sky was deep blue, and cloudless. The trees were +just bursting into bud, their branches covered with a delicate tracery +of tender green. From the fresh-plowed fields came the indescribable +odor of new-turned earth. Somewhere a bird was caroling joyously. + +There was something about it all which sent a thrill through the Blue +Stockings’ pitcher, bringing back in a vivid flash the remembrance of +this time a year ago, when he had appeared, unknown and unwelcome, at +the Texas training camp of the famous Hornets. + +His experience there had been fraught with much hard feeling. It was +exceptional, to be sure; but it had, nevertheless, been the cause of +his looking forward to the trip this year with the reverse of pleasure. +He had never actually clothed the dislike with conscious thought. He +was not even fully aware of it until this very moment, when, with his +blood beginning to tingle in his veins, he drew in the soft, fragrant +air in deep gulps, and realized that the prejudice had vanished, that +he was glad to be alive and here. + +“Pretty slick, isn’t it?” he said aloud, glancing at Temple. + +The latter nodded, and answered with a brief affirmative. His face +was slightly flushed; his eyes were bright. Lefty smiled a little +as he realized that the youngster was just where he had been a year +ago――eager, dubious, thrilled with anticipation, devoured with +curiosity, and more than a little nervous. It made Locke appear older +and amazingly experienced. That single year which separated him from +Temple seemed infinitely longer in retrospection than it had been in +passing. + +Presently the long line of unpainted high board fence showed ahead of +them, and instinctively the two players broke into a trot. Neither of +them spoke. Their spikes sank into the warm earth. Their eyes were +fixed upon the arching spheres of white that curved into view above the +fence, to fall swiftly away in swallow flight below that line of dingy +boardings. + +Through the gate they trotted; then Lefty halted for a moment, eying +with interest the busy scene. Scattered over the field were eighteen +or twenty men, in uniforms of various sorts, engaged in almost equally +varied exercises. Some merely tossed a baseball back and forth slowly, +stiffly, and with occasional facial contortions which made Lefty +grin sympathetically. He knew from experience the discomfort, almost +the torture, of that “second” morning. Half a dozen were passing the +medicine ball about a circle. In front of the stand others were batting +the slow, straight balls pitched to them by Jack Kennedy himself. + +As Locke took it all in, he felt again that tingling thrill of +enthusiasm. In spite of the toil and drudgery, the aches and pains +and stiffness ahead of him, he saw the distant goal lying beyond +everything, and was glad to be here. + +“Take it easy, Mac!” sounded in old Jack’s crisp tones. “You may want +some of that smoke later on.” + +Chuckling, Locke moved forward, closely followed by Temple. A moment +later the manager was gripping the southpaw’s hand and asking the +inevitable questions in that earnest tone of his which robbed it of +its perfunctoriness. + +“Fine!” responded Lefty promptly. “Held up by a blizzard north of +Washington, but I reckon it won’t take long to catch up with the bunch. +This is Gene Temple, Jack.” + +Kennedy shook hands with the recruit, his keen dark eyes sweeping over +the youngster from head to foot. + +“You look pretty fit,” he commented. “A mite soft, maybe, but we’ll +soon fix that. Just take my place for a bit. Straight, easy balls, you +know. We don’t want any fireworks yet a while.” + +Handing over the ball, he stepped aside and watched Temple for a few +minutes, correcting him when he seemed to be putting on a little too +much speed. + +“Hardest thing in the world to keep ’em down at first,” he said, +turning to Lefty, with a grim smile. “He won’t hardly be able to move +that wing to-morrow morning if he ain’t careful.” + +“Don’t I know it!” laughed Locke as they moved a little farther back, +where the manager could overlook the entire squad. “Well, how’s tricks? +I suppose Nels Savage showed up all right?” + +Kennedy flashed a swift, oddly inquiring glance at his premier pitcher. + +“What makes you ask that?” he asked briefly. + +“Because I’m interested,” was the equally brief answer. + +“Hum!” Kennedy’s eyes shifted out across the field. “Easy, there, +Coombs! Don’t put too much on the old soup bone!” he yelled. Then he +glanced back at Lefty. “I didn’t know he was such a friend o’ yours,” +he went on quietly. “It sure didn’t seem so, the way you met up on my +porch a couple of weeks ago.” + +The southpaw laughed. “We weren’t then,” he explained. “Can’t say that +we’re so awful chummy now, either. I just happened to run into him +again around New York, and changed the opinion I’d formed of him when +we first met.” + +“That so?” drawled the manager. “Funny――but I did the same identical +thing, only it wasn’t a change for the better. I’m afraid Sackett +picked a lemon that time. He’s a booze fighter. I landed here Monday +night, and he showed up next morning, full as a tick and devilish! +There ain’t any other word to express it. When he’s got a load aboard +he’s the limit. I reckon he must have been in that condition when you +first ran into him.” + +“Guess he was,” returned Lefty. “Jove, that’s mighty hard lines, Jack! +Sober, he’s as decent a chap as you’d want around. What are you going +to do――ship him back to the sticks?” + +Kennedy’s eyes snapped. “Not unless I have to. I’m going to boost him +aboard the water wagon, and keep him there. He hasn’t had a drop since +he landed here, and I’ll see that he don’t get it. There’s a chance to +make something good out of him if he’ll only do a little trying on his +own hook, for he’s pretty clever with the horsehide.” + +“Don’t you worry about that, Jack,” the pitcher forcibly assured him, +a remembrance of Savage’s brief, halting half confession on the train +flashing into his mind. “He’ll work with you, all right, or I’ve got +him sized up far wrong. I reckon he must be one of those poor devils +who let alcohol get a strangle hold, and then can’t shake it off. I’ll +do anything I can to help――if you care to have me.” + +“Good idea,” agreed Kennedy, pulling out his watch. “I can’t have him +in sight every minute. Well, it’s time we were breaking up the morning +session. I’ll see you at the hotel, Lefty. I got to chase down and send +a wire to Larry. He’s on the road with some theater company, and I +haven’t located him yet.” + +Turning away, he raised his voice in a stentorian shout: “Everybody run +in!” Then he made straight for a horse and buggy hitched in the shadow +of the stand. + +For a minute or two Lefty stood watching the players as they stopped +instantly whatever they were doing and jogged toward the gate. Then, +recognizing Savage as one of those who had been in the medicine-ball +circle, his eyes brightened, and he moved hastily forward. + +He hadn’t the least idea of trying anything so crude as an open +attempt at reformation. He simply wanted to say a word of greeting to +the man he had taken such a decided interest in; he wished to renew +the pleasant intercourse which had been cut off so abruptly that +night on the platform of the Hudson River tube. So he ran after the +square-shouldered, muscular figure bringing up the rear of the jogging +line, and clapped him on the back in a friendly fashion. + +“Well, old scout, how goes it?” he cried. “Glad to see you escaped from +the wilds of Brooklyn all right.” + +The busher stopped abruptly, whirling round with a savage yank that +jerked his shoulder from Locke’s light touch. + +“Keep your hands off me!” he snarled, glaring balefully from under +lowering brows. “What in blazes do you mean, pawing me like that? If we +was only away by our two selves I’d knock the dome off you so quick you +wouldn’t know what hit you!” + +For a moment Lefty stared in utter astonishment at the dark, sneering +face, with its snarling lips and evil, glowering eyes. There was no +smell of liquor about the fellow; he was absolutely sober. + +Suddenly the sting of those unprovoked insults penetrated that mental +armor of bewildered amazement. It send the crimson tide of indignation +surging into Locke’s face; brought a hard, cold glint into his eyes. A +swift side glance told him that the last straggler had almost reached +the gate. He took a step forward, and regarded Savage for a moment from +under drooping lids. + +“You’ve been shooting off considerable hot air since I first saw you,” +he remarked coldly. “I’m rather curious to know if there’s anything +back of it. We’re never likely to be more alone than we are this +minute. Suppose you start in with that licking you’ve been blowing so +much about? Come ahead! I’m ready.” + + + + + CHAPTER X + + A PERPLEXING QUESTION + + +Savage made no effort to accept Lefty’s militant invitation. He +did not stir or utter a word, but remained glaring at Locke with a +concentration which gave the southpaw a queer and decidedly unpleasant +sensation. He was vividly reminded of an occasion when he had stood +before one of the glass dens in the Bronx Park reptile house, staring +into the bright, evil eyes of a very active cobra which had reared +itself belligerently. + +The stillness became oddly prolonged. The busher’s eyes seemed to widen +and grow larger. Locke was conscious of a peculiar sense of lethargy +which changed swiftly to irritation at the fellow who seemed to be +trying to stare him down. Suddenly he gave a determined shake of his +head. + +“Well,” he demanded curtly, “aren’t you going to start something?” + +Savage drew back abruptly, an expression akin to disappointment +flickering across his face. + +“Say,” he rasped harshly, “what kind of a sucker do you think I am? I’d +start to beat you up in this ball park, and how soon do you s’pose it +would be before Kennedy landed on my neck?” + +“Who’s going to put him wise?” + +“If I once got going right you’d sure be a walking advertisement of +what had happened. The whole crowd would be wise soon as they lamped +you. Nix! You don’t get me in bad with the old man that way!” + +Lefty’s lips curled. “Sure that’s the real reason?” he inquired +sarcastically. “Looks to me as if you were crawling.” + +The busher’s fists clenched and his face flushed darkly. For a second +it seemed that he meant to fly at the throat of the man who had taunted +him. Locke’s muscles stiffened; he braced himself instinctively to +withstand the shock. But it never came. + +“It won’t work,” growled Savage through his clenched teeth. “I’ll get +you before I’m through, but not until I have a place with this crowd +cinched. Another thing――there ain’t a bit of use in your coming around +with that soft stuff, ’cause it don’t go. I don’t like a hair of your +head, and trying that brand o’ bunk will only start ructions――see?” + +The last word had scarcely left his lips when he turned and strode +rapidly across the field toward the gate. Lefty, scarlet with rage +at the insulting tone, took half a dozen swift steps after him +before cooling second thought put on the brake. It was one thing to +defend himself against assault, quite another deliberately to start +a rough-house, in spite of even as great a provocation as this. It +would be a poor way in which to repay Kennedy’s exceptional faith +in him by fostering what the manager feared above almost any other +calamity――dissension and hard feeling among members of his team. + +“Just about one more crack like that, though, and you’ll get yours,” +muttered the southpaw angrily, coming to a halt. “Jove, what a mucker! +He ought to have the rudiments of decency beaten into his thick skull +with a club. Soft stuff――bah!” + +To a man whose friendship and acquaintance was sought with a frequency +which is almost tiresome, the insinuation that he would deliberately +try to win over such a creature as this by flattery was irritating +to the limit. Nor was Lefty’s irritation at all assuaged by the +realization that in a far-fetched sort of way he had placed himself +open to the annoyance. + +“But how could I know he’d be like this?” he growled as he moved slowly +toward the gate, his face still crimson with indignation. “Jack said he +was sober――and so he was. How could a fellow guess that any human being +would change like that? Why, on the train he was as decent a sort――” + +He broke off abruptly, with a start of surprise, the anger in his face +giving place swiftly to puzzled thoughtfulness. How did he know that +the fellow had ever really changed? Might not that pose of friendliness +have been altogether a pretense? + +Such a supposition would indicate amazing ability at acting on the part +of this crude individual from the Western bushes, but it was far from +impossible. Even more difficult to understand was the man’s motive in +perpetuating such a deception. Why should his manner toward Lefty be +so different in Belle View from that shown at Deering, or later here +in Georgia? What had he gained, or hoped to gain, by a pose which must +have been not only difficult but extremely onerous? + +The question puzzled Locke all the way back to the hotel. He could +think of no plausible answer save that Savage had desired to divert +attention from some one or something in the quiet Jersey suburb. It was +a bit far-fetched, perhaps, yet by assuming that guise of friendliness +he had certainly so surprised and engrossed Lefty as to make him +totally forgetful of the odd circumstance of the busher’s presence in +the little country town. + +If this supposition were correct, a lot of puzzling queries leaped into +life like Hydra heads. None was more difficult that the last of all +which popped suddenly into the southpaw’s mind, just as he came within +sight of the hotel: Why had Savage refused to fight? + +The obvious explanation would have been: Because he was afraid――because, +like most loud-mouthed, blustering braggarts, he was a coward at heart. +But Lefty had a strong impression that this was not the case. Much as he +disliked the man, he had never had the least doubt of his courage. The +ruffian had been ready enough twice before to resort to violence. What +motive held him back now? + + + + + CHAPTER XI + + A VOICE OUT OF DARKNESS + + +Thanks to the irritating nature of the encounter on the field, and the +swarm of unanswerable questions it had aroused, Lefty entered the hotel +in a decidedly ill humor. The delight and keen enthusiasm he had felt +that morning were quite gone; in their place had come a sense of ill +treatment. + +After the sacrifice he had made in coming down ahead of the other +regulars, and practically giving a week of his time to coaching these +raw recruits from all over the country, it seemed as if fortune had +played him a scurvy trick by bringing into his sphere such an irritant +as Nelson Savage was likely to become. + +“Wonder if I didn’t make a mistake, after all, in keeping my hands off +him?” muttered Lefty, glancing around the lobby. “There won’t be any +living with the dog until he’s been taken down by a thorough thrashing, +and―― Well, for Pete’s sake, look who’s here!” + +In a flash the frown was swept from his face by a grin of surprised +delight as he leaped toward the tall, wiry young man who stood at one +end of the desk, talking and laughing with Jack Kennedy. + +“Al, you old villain,” he cried, gripping the newcomer’s hands in both +of his, “where the deuce do you hail from? I’m certainly glad to see +that homely mug of yours again.” + +Al Ogan’s response to the greeting was equally hearty. The two had +been fellow-cubs a year before in peppery Jim Brennan’s famous Hornet +organization, and Lefty had got along better with the clever young +infielder than with any other member of the team except his particular +chum, Buck Fargo. + +“Haven’t been doing a thing in the twirling line since I saw you last, +have you?” Ogan inquired, one arm resting on Locke’s shoulder. “It’s a +wonder you wouldn’t get a wiggle on and make some kind of a reputation +for yourself.” + +The southpaw laughed. “Time enough for that, old scout. We’re likely +to show you a trick or two this season. But, say, what in the name of +sense brought you down here? What license have you got to come snooping +around our promising growth from the timber regions?” + +Ogan showed a fine set of teeth in a wide grin. “Doesn’t seem to occur +to you that I might be here for the purpose of giving you rubes a few +lessons in the art of playing the national game,” he remarked, with +twinkling eyes. + +Lefty stared. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?” he asked, darting a swift, +inquiring glance at Kennedy. + +Evidently there was something in the latter’s face which gave away the +situation, for Locke suddenly brought his open palm down across the +manager’s shoulders with a force which shook old Jack. + +“Why, you deceiving old reprobate!” exclaimed the pitcher. “So this +is how you filled Spider’s place? I’ll be hanged! Never even gave me +a chance to ask what luck you had with first. It was on the tip of my +tongue three or four times this morning, but you always choked me off.” + +“Thought I’d give you a surprise,” chuckled Kennedy. “From the way you +looked a while back, I should say you needed one. What’s eating you, +anyhow?” + +Lefty had not the slightest intention of letting either man know of his +clash with Savage; it would savor entirely too much of talebearing to +suit him. He smiled blandly, convincingly, and shrugged his shoulders. + +“Nothing,” he drawled. “No, Jack, if I seemed at all serious, it must +have been caused by the thought of wasting a perfectly good week of +freedom watching you do the Solomon act with this crowd from the +sagebrush. Now that Al’s here, life will be more bearable.” + +Kennedy laughed and moved away toward the proprietor’s office, leaving +Locke and Ogan to talk things over. + +Lefty was more than pleased at the encounter. The young Ohioan was +a college graduate and a good fellow in every sense of the word. +Personally Locke had always liked him, and just at present he would +have welcomed a much less agreeable member of the old squad. It gave +him some one of his own status to talk to; some one who knew men and +conditions of the baseball world, and who did not spend any time either +eying the famous southpaw with surreptitious awe, or jealously tearing +to pieces his hard-earned reputation. + +Within ten minutes the two had decided to room together. They sat side +by side in the dining-room, and when the hour for afternoon practice +approached went out to the field together. + +Without appearing to do so, Lefty kept an observant eye that afternoon +on Nelson Savage, and discovered, as he rather expected to, that the +fellow was not a general favorite. So far as could be seen, he was on +speaking terms with just two members of the squad. The remainder of the +recruits he treated with contemptuous disdain; if one could judge by +the biting comments cast in his direction, the dislike was mutual. + +Of course it was impossible at this early day to obtain any idea of his +professional skill. Beyond handling a baseball with a certain amount +of deftness, he showed no particular ability; nor was he likely to for +some time to come. As for his physical condition, Lefty was surprised +at the discovery that the fellow was much too heavy, and extremely +short-winded. He puffed and panted when he joined the file that Kennedy +led at a trot around the inside of the fence; and he didn’t last five +minutes when lured into the diabolical “high-low” game. + +Many of the other recruits were out of condition, but none of them +quite as badly as this, and Locke naturally laid it to the busher’s +intemperate habits. That evening after dinner, sitting in the lobby +with Kennedy and Ogan, a quick suspicion came to him at the sight of +Savage slipping out of the hotel alone. + +“I thought you were keeping an eye on that fellow, Jack?” he remarked, +in a low tone. “What’s to prevent him digging up some redeye in the +village?” + +Kennedy laughed, leaning back comfortably. “Evidently you don’t know +Tulane, son. The place is so dry that a quart of bourbon would look +like the flood. Only way he could smuggle it in is on the railroad, +and the boys are all good friends of mine that I’ve tipped off to look +out for that sort of thing. Unsociable grouch, ain’t he? Goes off +alone ’most every night just like that. You’d think he’d get tired of +himself, wouldn’t you?” + +“Where does he go?” Lefty asked. + +“Oh, moving pictures, I reckon. I followed him the first couple of +times, and found him down there.” He yawned. “There ain’t no danger of +his getting firewater now. The trouble’ll come when the push lands on +us. They’re supposed to be on the water wagon, an’ most of ’em are; but +you know how some of ’em carry flasks for colds, which they’re likely +to leave around permiscuous-like.” + +Lefty could not take the manager’s easy-going point of view. He knew +that in country towns like Tulane the films are sometimes changed only +once a week――never oftener than twice weekly. Unless a man was an +absolute crank on the subject, he could scarcely care to see the same +series of pictures three or four times in succession. It looked rather +as if the busher had been clever enough to prepare a sort of alibi +for himself which made it possible for him to slip away every evening +without arousing the manager’s suspicions. + +Presently Kennedy went off to write letters. A few moments later Locke +and Ogan strolled into the billiard room to see if there was anything +doing. They found a flourishing game of draw in progress, and, being +urged to “sit in,” Ogan succumbed without a struggle. Lefty shook his +head, however, watched the play absently for a few minutes, and finally +walked out through the lobby into the street. He had given in to the +pull of mingled curiosity and conscience, and found not a particle of +pleasure in doing so. + +Tulane was certainly small, and, at night, at least, most undoubtedly +“dead.” It supported two moving-picture establishments, nevertheless, +which rather weakened the southpaw’s theory regarding Savage’s +inability to find continued amusement at picture-plays, but did not +make him abandon his determination to learn if such was the man’s +practice. + +Entering the Palace Theater, he was fortunate in finding the lights +up for the accommodation of a vaudeville turn. The seating capacity +was not large, and in five minutes he was certain that Savage was not +in the place. At the Tulane Opera House the wait was longer, but the +result the same. By the time he had reached the street again Lefty’s +interest in the search had quite swallowed up the reluctance with which +he had started it. + +The question now was, not to pick and choose from a multitude of places +where Savage might have gone, but to hunt out one solitary spot or +building which would attract the fellow or serve the purpose which +Lefty felt sure was moving him. + +A baker’s shop was open, Locke discovered as he moved slowly down the +street; but its feeble light was the only one flickering amid the rows +of low-fronted, quaint old shops. It was like hunting a needle in a +haystack. + +Presently, without any hope of success, the pitcher wandered through +some of the rambling, curving residence streets near the river. Here +the lights, save those from the houses themselves, were few and far +between, and there seemed so little chance of anything doing that he +was about to turn back when he became suddenly aware that two people +were approaching from the direction of the river road. + +Stopping abruptly, he heard the murmur of men’s voices; but the +darkness was so intense that it was impossible to see more than +the shadowy outlines of objects a dozen feet away. For a moment he +hesitated; then, stepping back against the hedge which bordered the +place on his right, he found he could easily push through. A second +later he was standing on the other side of the flowering magnolia +shrubs. + +The action had been governed by impulse――and just the faintest +suggestion of familiarity in one of the unknown voices. Almost +immediately the raucous, angry accents of Nelson Savage reached Lefty’s +ears. + +“Why, you fresh young squirt!” said the pitcher to his companion. “I’ve +got a good mind to put old Kennedy wise to what I know.” + +There was a momentary pause, during which the steps sounded loud and +clear, as if the men were passing on the other side of the hedge. In +his desire to find out who the other person was, Locke bent eagerly +forward, his ears strained. + +“I hardly think you’ll do that,” came at length in a low, composed +voice. “You see, I happen to know a thing or two myself, and I might be +forced in self-defense――” + +That was all. The man did not cease speaking, but a movement of his +head, or a little eddy of wind, perhaps, turned the words into an +unrecognizable murmur. + +Lefty did not need anything further. Already he had heard enough to +amaze him. The voice of the second man was that of Gene Temple. + + + + + CHAPTER XII + + A BIT OF A STAGGERER + + +Locke could scarcely believe his senses. Temple with Nels Savage, and +showing by his words every evidence of a previous acquaintance! It +seemed almost impossible. During the past week the southpaw had seen a +good deal of the latest recruit to the Blue Stockings’ pitching staff, +and the close proximity of a three days’ railroad journey, instead +of opening Lefty’s eyes to unexpected defects in his companion’s +character, had served, rather, to make him like the blond youngster +even more than he had at first. Temple could not be said to possess any +extraordinary mental strength or depth, but he was certainly likable, +and it was difficult to believe that he had deliberately lied. + +Yet how else was the affair to be explained? The voice of that second +passer-by was Temple’s, Lefty was certain. Back in Belle View the +fellow had denied any previous acquaintance with the Western twirler. +There was only one inference to draw, much as Locke might dislike the +idea or consider it incredible. + +All this passed through the latter’s mind in the few seconds while he +stood crouching behind the magnolia hedge, waiting for the men to get +far enough away for him to emerge without fear of detection. + +Determined to prove his suspicions and become absolutely certain, +Lefty’s first impulse was to follow the two until a street light +enabled him to see with his own eyes. But as he pushed through the +hedge and paused for an instant on the sidewalk, a better way occurred +to him. Knowing little about the streets and byways of Tulane, he had, +nevertheless, a shrewd notion that the way he had come was shorter by +far than the route the others seemed to be following back to the hotel. +By swiftly retracing his steps, he could reach the lobby ahead of them. + +Silently he slipped back to the entrance of the narrow lane through +which he had reached the river road, and darted into it. Five minutes +later he emerged on a wider street and made all speed toward the +lighted corner beyond, which he remembered turning not a great while +after leaving Main Street. + +As he made this hurried, silent progress through the fragrant darkness +and quiet of the village streets, his mind was keenly active. With this +latest discovery several suspicious happenings in Belle View, unnoticed +at the time, came back with swift, vivid significance. Temple’s manner +when he had first heard of Savage’s presence in the town had been just +a little odd. Considering the circumstances, it was hardly natural +for a chap of his sort to be so greatly upset by the incident of a +strange person seen in his house; his intense relief at the discovery +of the truth had been proportionately queer. At the station, too, that +sudden recollection of a forgotten engagement had been oddly timed with +Savage’s appearance. + +“Might easily have caught a glimpse of Savage through the window, and +used that excuse to beat it before the man came out and saw him,” +reflected Lefty as he turned into Main Street and hastily approached +the hotel. “I’d certainly never have thought he was that sort, hanged +if I would!” His face clouded disappointedly, and he frowned slightly. +“Even now it doesn’t seem like him. Well, I’ll know in a jiffy just +what’s what.” + +A swift glance down the street showed nothing of the ill-assorted pair, +and Locke wasted no time entering the hotel. The lobby was deserted +save for the desk clerk, invisible behind an open newspaper; from +the billiard room came sounds of talk and laughter which brought the +southpaw over to the doorway. + +The poker game was still in progress, and gathered about the table +was a ring of spectators which accounted easily for the empty lobby. +Neither Temple nor Savage was there; this Locke assured himself with a +slight nod of satisfaction. He was about to turn back to the lobby when +he discovered that Al Ogan was likewise missing. + +For a second he paused, brows arching in surprise. The first baseman +was a poker fiend, if ever one lived; to imagine him voluntarily +dropping out of a game was difficult. + +“What happened to Al, Mac?” the pitcher asked abruptly. “Thought he’d +stay with you all the evening.” + +“Huh?” absently grunted Jack Mackentire, raising his eyes from the +cards. “Oh! Why, a kid came in with a note for him, and he beat it +without saying where he was going. Didn’t seem keen about leaving, +either. Want him special?” + +“Oh, no,” said Lefty. “He’ll be back soon, I guess.” + +It seemed a rather curious performance, for Ogan had only just arrived, +and could scarcely have any friends in the place outside the squad. +Still, it was none of Lefty’s business, and the southpaw turned back +toward the lobby. + +As he passed through the doorway he stopped short with a gasp +of amazement. Just emerging from the little cubby-hole of a +writing-room――a spot patronized mainly by drummers and their ilk――was +Gene Temple. He was in the act of stretching luxuriously, head thrown +back, mouth gaping, arms extended. Clasped in one hand were three +sealed letters, written on the hotel stationery. + +“Why, I thought――” began Locke. His teeth came together with a click as +he realized that he had been speaking aloud. + +Temple came forward, smiling. “Nothing gives a fellow a more virtuous +feeling than answering a bunch of letters,” he drawled. “Look at those.” + +Lefty had already observed them. “Must have taken you most of the time +since dinner,” he said, with swiftly returning composure. + +“Not quite; but I’ve been at it――” + +Whether the sentence was ever finished or not the southpaw was quite +unaware. He was standing where, by shifting his glance a trifle to +the left, he commanded an uninterrupted view of the main entrance. +The sound of voices made him glance thither now. The sight of Al +Ogan entering with Nelson Savage, and talking to the fellow with all +the seeming good humor in the world, was enough to drive every other +thought from the pitcher’s bewildered brain. + + + + + CHAPTER XIII + + WHICH ONE? + + +“Letters generally are a nuisance,” Lefty found himself saying, in an +instinctive effort at self-control. “I’d certainly like to have mine +all written up.” + +He wondered if his voice sounded as queerly to Temple as it did to +himself. The youngster’s face showed no particular surprise; perhaps +he was too immersed in his own thoughts to notice the oddness of his +companion’s tone. + +Locke’s eyes were fixed on the two men crossing the lobby; his mind +was striving to find some reason or explanation for their being +together. Ogan could not have been the one he had heard while crouching +behind the magnolia hedge. He had never even seen Savage before this +afternoon, much less known him in the intimate fashion indicated by +the few words Lefty had overheard. He must have met the fellow by +accident――perhaps just outside the door. It was absurd to suppose there +was any prearrangement about it. + +Temple moved away with a casual remark about posting his letters. The +other two came on, headed for the billiard room door. Savage passed +the southpaw without a word, and with a sneering uptwist of the lips +which at any other time would have made Locke long to hit him. Just +now, however, Lefty was too intent on something else even to notice it. + +The busher’s face was flushed, his eyes were a bit glassy, his +breath fairly reeked with the smell of liquor. In spite of Kennedy’s +confidence to the contrary, the man had found a way to get whisky in +the sleepy little town of Tulane. + +With wrinkled forehead and puzzled eyes, the southpaw turned and +watched the man enter the billiard room. How had the thing been +managed? Had some one broken faith, or was there an element of mystery +in the affair which―― + +“A bit more, and he’d have as nice a little load aboard as you’d want +to see.” + +The voice at his elbow was low and drawling, with an undercurrent +of laughter in it. For a fraction of a second, Lefty found himself +wondering how in creation Temple could have returned so soon from +posting his letters. Then suddenly he realized that it wasn’t Temple +at all――could not possibly be, and, whirling, he looked into Al Ogan’s +smiling countenance. + +As he stood staring, Locke felt that his face was flushing visibly. +Had the tangled affair begun so to wear upon his mind that even for a +second he could mistake one man’s voice for another’s? + +“I wonder――where――he got it?” he managed to stammer at last. + +“Give it up,” said Ogan, occupied with lighting a cigarette. “He had it +when I――er――ran into him a while ago――down the street.” + +Lefty drew a long breath; the blood began to flow normally through +his veins again. The likeness was still there; his mind had not been +playing tricks. Certain tones and inflections of Ogan’s voice were +almost identical with Temple’s. He had never noticed it before, but +that was probably because he had never compared the two. In a second +the southpaw was smiling his old careless, good-humored smile, and +declining a cigarette from Ogan’s proffered box. + +“Guess I won’t, thanks,” he said. “I’m cutting ’em out except one after +meals. Rather a good one on Jack, isn’t it? He was so sure there was no +bugjuice to be found in Tulane. You must have beat it out of here sort +of unexpected, old man.” + +The infielder stepped past his friend and glanced into the billiard +room. “Oh, I don’t know,” he returned over his shoulder. “I got tired +of the game.” + +Locke raised his eyebrows. It was difficult to imagine this possible. + +“Going to sit in again now?” he asked indifferently. + +“Nix! It’s me for the hay when I finish this smoke.” + +He turned from the open door, and dropped down on one of the leather +chairs facing the main entrance. Lefty followed, outwardly indifferent, +but in reality keenly observant. Whether Ogan was lying or telling +the truth, there was certainly something on his mind, and while the +southpaw was still curious as to what it might be, he no longer felt +that phase of the mystery to be vital. + +Whether it was Ogan or Temple he had heard covertly threatening Savage +was really of no great consequence, after all. It was unpleasant, to +be sure, and vastly disappointing, to realize that one of the men he +had come to like so well was deceiving him; but that was all. Of much +greater importance was the learning of where and how Savage obtained +his liquor. To this end Lefty meant to devote some of his spare time. + +Temple returned presently from posting his letters. After a few casual +remarks, he departed for his room, leaving the southpaw puzzled anew at +the odd likeness of those two voices, and wondering why he had failed +to notice it before. He was still pondering when the poker session +broke up and the crowd sauntered back into the lobby with much talk and +laughter. + +Only Savage seemed in a state of persistent ill temper. He stood close +by, growling at Pete Zacher, one of the few members of the squad +who tolerated him at all; and Lefty could readily believe old Jack’s +statement that the fellow was “fairly devilish” when he was drinking. + +“That’s some classy ring you’ve got, bo,” he heard Zacher remark +suddenly. “Let’s take a slant at it for a minute.” + +He indicated a heavy gold ring, oddly carved, which Locke had noticed +before on the little finger of the busher’s left hand. Savage scowled. + +“It ain’t never been off my finger, an’ I’m not going to take it off +now,” he grunted disagreeably. “I guess you’ll manage to live without +lamping it any closer.” + +It was not so much what he actually said as the nasty manner in which +the words were spoken that caused Locke to turn away disgustedly and +start Ogan on his way to bed. + +“The ill-mannered mule!” he muttered under his breath as he crossed the +lobby beside his friend. “I’m hanged if I bother my head any more about +him! He can lap up all the jingle juice between here and New York for +all I care. Let him accumulate a roaring jag and start an all-round +rough-house so that he’ll get the sack. I’m not going to stir a finger +to prevent it.” + +All this “listened well,” as Ogan would have said had it reached his +ears; but deep down within him Lefty knew that he didn’t mean it. He +was aware that the following evening would probably see him playing +the thankless rôle of sleuth in an effort to discover Savage’s secret +and keep the promise he had rashly made to Jack Kennedy. + + + + + CHAPTER XIV + + ON THE TRAIL + + +The pitcher’s intuition proved accurate save in one particular. From +necessity, not choice, he fully expected to do his detective work +alone. Neither Temple nor Ogan was to be trusted. He did not mean to +trouble Kennedy until something definite had been discovered. And there +was no one else. + +Returning from morning practice, however, Lefty had scarcely set foot +in the hotel lobby when he was staggered by the full weight of one +hundred and fifty pounds of solid bone and muscle landing violently +against him. His first impulse was to return the assault with interest. +Then, recognizing in time the freckled face and snapping brown eyes of +his classmate, Jack Stillman, he contented himself with a blow on the +latter’s shoulders which brought an involuntary grunt from the reporter. + +“Still the same impulsive young thing,” said Locke. “Does a chap +good to pipe that freckled phiz of yours after watching a field of +uninteresting bushers all the morning.” + +“They can’t all be like you, kid,” chuckled Stillman as they gripped +each other’s hands firmly. “Well, how’s tricks? What sort of a bunch +has Jack pulled in from the tall timbers this year? Any ginger in ’em?” + +“Oh, fair. It’s a wonder, though, you wouldn’t get on the job with the +rest of the ink slingers. What’s the _Star_ doing without those yarns +of yours that tell so little with such a flow of language?” + +Stillman grinned. “It doesn’t have to do without them,” he said, with +an airy wave of his hand. “They’re showing up in their proper column +every day. You see, I had to chase out and cover the Dawson City fight, +and that delayed me three days. The boss was for sending down an +understudy, but I wouldn’t listen to that. Told him to leave it to me, +and he’d have his stuff right on the dot. I had to dope out the copy +before I left.” + +“Before you left?” repeated Lefty amusedly. + +“Sure! Nothing ever happens in a training camp the first few days, +except getting stiff and sore, and limbering up. Kennedy gave me a +few tips just before he left home, and so the faking was dead easy. I +headed one column with a nice little poem written especially for the +occasion, trimmed the whiskers off a lot of prehistoric dope, and there +you are.” + +Lefty laughed. Stillman could usually be counted on for doing the +unexpected, and there were few dull moments in training camp after his +arrival. + +“I hope the poetry was guaranteed strictly original and――fresh,” the +southpaw remarked as they moved toward the stairs. + +“You bet!” returned the reporter. “Some of it was so fresh that old +Deering said it was raw.” + +He paused before the desk, and, striking an attitude, solemnly +declaimed: + + “It seems most humiliating, + When you’ve made a perfect slide, + To be blamed for stealing, just because + The base was occupied.” + +“How’s that?” he inquired, without the shadow of a smile. “Got Rudyard +Kip and Damon Runyon fanning, hey? Don’t like it? Hump! No accounting +for tastes. Maybe this’ll suit you better. I tossed it off with a +couple of dozen other little quatrains and rondeaus and sonnets on the +train right after breakfast: + + “His fielding average may be low; + It really doesn’t matter, + If he hits ’em on the nose + Whene’er they nick the platter.” + +“Help!” gasped Lefty, laying violent hands on the poetic one. “That’s +enough. They’re worse than the soup ads in the street cars.” + +He swept the newspaper man irresistibly out of the lobby and up the +uncarpeted stairs. + +“You certainly are one faker!” he chuckled as they reached the second +floor. “Cut out that stuff for a bit, though, and listen to me.” His +face grew suddenly serious. “There’s something doing here that’s about +got my goat, Jack. Suppose you focus the light of your keen old brain +on the mystery, and see if you can’t do the Sherlock Holmes act.” + +Stillman shed his light and airy manner, and was instantly all +attention and interest. There was no keener mind on the staff of the +big metropolitan daily, and more than once he had earned the praise of +the city editor by a neat bit of detective work. Locke did not find it +possible now to go into the matter in any great detail, for Ogan was +already back from his shower when they reached the room. Before lunch +time, however, he managed to give his friend the essential particulars, +and on the way to the field they discussed every phase of the situation. + +“You’re right in not bothering with Temple or Ogan,” decided Stillman. +“One of ’em knew this Savage before, of course; but that’s not +important. The main thing is to find where he gets his ardent. If he +cuts away again to-night we’ll be ready for him.” + +Stillman devoted the better part of the afternoon to an exhaustive +study of the sagebrush twirler. The opinion he formed of the man was +far from flattering. + +“Gee, that dill pickle must hate himself!” he remarked to Lefty as they +were returning to the hotel. “Of course, the stiff may turn out to be +a little baby wonder on wheels, but as it looks now I’d call him a +dead loss. He’s the kind that would have a whole club fighting in two +shakes, and――honest, old man――the best thing we can do is to give him +all the rope he wants, and let him hang himself.” + +This had been Lefty’s real opinion for some time, but his promise to +Kennedy, and a sort of ethical determination to do the best he could +for a rival, made him reluctant to act upon it. The two friends were +still discussing the matter when old Jack caught up with them. + +“Look here, son,” he began briefly, taking Locke’s arm, “McLean tells +me Savage had half a jag on last night. Is that straight?” + +The southpaw hesitated an instant. “I’d hardly call it that,” he +answered. “He’d been hitting the bottle a bit, but he wasn’t exactly +loaded.” + +“By mighty!” exploded the manager. “You knew, an’ never put me wise! I +thought you was going to help me out! I can’t see everything that goes +on. Why in――” + +“Take it easy,” said Lefty. “I wasn’t holding back on you. I just +didn’t want to get you all riled up before I had something to tell. It +was this way.” + +Briefly he narrated the scanty details he had gleaned the night before, +ending with the suggestion that the best way of straightening out the +affair would be to send Savage back to the bushes. + +“Not yet,” returned the manager, his jaw squaring obstinately. “I told +you once before that I was going to make something out of him. I’ve +handled others as bad――or worse. I want to find out where he gets the +stuff, and it’s up to you to help out. You ain’t got nothing to do, and +if he cuts away to-night you and Jack can follow him as well as not.” + +Of course Locke gave in. He felt that he owed Jack Kennedy a great +deal, and he was ready to go to much more trouble for him than the loss +of a single evening would involve. As soon as dinner was over Stillman +and Lefty strolled out into the lobby, where, while apparently occupied +in light conversation, they kept a close watch on the movements of +Nelson Savage. + +They had only a short time to wait. The object of their attention did +not even sit down. After inquiring fruitlessly for mail, he lounged +against the desk for a minute or two; then, moving toward the door +with exaggerated carelessness, he disappeared into the street. + +Within thirty seconds Locke and the reporter were standing by the +steps, watching the square-shouldered figure swing along Main Street in +the direction of the moving-picture houses――also the river road. + +“Same way he came back last night,” Lefty commented, in a whisper. + +Stillman nodded, leading the way across the street. They moved swiftly +forward, keeping well in the shadows. When Savage had passed the bright +lights of the Tulane Opera House and vanished into the dusky stretches +beyond, the pursuers hurriedly decreased the intervening distance until +they could distinguish the sound of the man’s feet as he strode briskly +along the graveled walk. + +Now and then the sound ceased, as if the busher were listening for +possible indications of pursuit. Each time the pair behind him stopped +also, though they had been walking with the utmost care in the soft +dust of the country road. + +At length Savage seemed satisfied that he had aroused no suspicion, +and thereafter there were no more halts or backward glances. Briskly +he strode on past fences and trim hedges, past twinkling lights, past +black, deserted stretches, or tall white columns gleaming vague and +ghostlike in the starlight. + +More than once the two friends wondered silently where he could be +leading them. Each one was game and meant to stick it out as long as +his companion; so they tramped on, out along the lonely river road, +until suddenly the sound of Savage’s footfalls ceased abruptly. + +They did not grow gradually less and less, finally to die away. There +was no noticeable pause or lagging in the step before the last. At one +instant they heard the brisk, regular sound of the man’s feet in the +dusty road; at the next――nothing. + + + + + CHAPTER XV + + THE GUILE OF SAVAGE + + +In a flash the men behind stopped, too, and stood listening with +straining ears. In the sudden stillness which seemed to have fallen +over everything the lazy lapping of the sluggish river sounded as +distinct and clear as if they stood on its very bank. Lefty found +himself wondering whether Savage might not have stepped off into +the water. Then, realizing the absurdity of such a thing, he felt +Stillman’s hand drawing him to one side of the road. + +There was a chance that Savage might have heard them and was stealing +back to make sure. Instinctively they both drew still farther back +against some alder bushes, hoping thus to escape discovery and the +consequent ruin of their plans. + +At length, however, as the silence continued, it became evident that +the Westerner was making no such move. He had either remained where he +had first stopped, or, exercising extreme caution, he had drawn away +without their having the least suspicion in which direction he had gone. + +“The gink has taken to the grass,” Stillman whispered, in a chagrined +tone, his lips close to the southpaw’s ear. “Come ahead, slow and +careful, now.” + +Cautiously they crept forward, making not the least sound in the thick +grass that bordered the road. Savage could not have been more than +thirty feet ahead of them, but when they had made that distance there +was no more sight or sound of him than there had been at the beginning. +A few minutes later something square and shadowy loomed indistinctly on +the left――something which their exploring fingers told them presently +was the rough wall of a small frame building, weatherworn, and not too +solidly made. + +“Boathouse, I reckon,” Stillman muttered, after a momentary pause. +“Thunder! If the man’s gone off in a boat it certainly puts us in +Dutch, my son.” + +“Perhaps he hasn’t gone,” Lefty suggested, in the same cautious +whisper. “Maybe he’s inside.” + +The words had scarcely passed his lips before a slight thud sounded +from the other side of the building. It was followed by a scraping +noise, then a splash which started both listeners, as if moved by the +same thought, toward the nearest corner of the shack. Owing to the need +for silence, no less than their ignorance of the lay of the land, it +took a minute or so for them to reach a point overlooking the river. +There they stopped abruptly, peering through the thin mist that floated +above the water and seemed strangely to give a vaguely luminous touch +to the shadowy scene. + +A small boat, vigorously propelled by a single oarsman, was slipping +out of sight through the mist. After it had disappeared the rhythmical +splash of the oars came clearly back to the listeners’ ears. + +“Thunder!” muttered the reporter. “He’s going across. I wish that――” + +“If there’s another boat inside, we could follow him,” Locke broke in +suddenly. “He can’t be going very far――look at the time he was back +last night.” + +“Come on,” hissed Stillman, moving swiftly along the front of the +house. “Here’s the door. Now, let’s see if there’s anything doing.” + +He entered hurriedly, followed by Lefty. A moment later the flash of a +small pocket torch circled about the interior of the boathouse and then +winked out again. The place was dingy and forlorn looking. The rotting +floor was covered with dust save where a single boat had evidently +rested. There was no other craft of any sort to be seen. + +“Stung!” remarked Stillman briefly. + +There was silence for a moment before he flashed the light on again. +Lefty blinked a little as the glare struck his eyes. His forehead was +puckered thoughtfully. + +“I suppose we could come down here in the daytime,” he said, “and find +out what sort of a place he goes to over there. There can’t be so many +joints within a short distance where he could get booze that it would +be much of a job to pick the right one.” + +“It’s either that or get hold of a boat and be ready to follow him +some other night,” the reporter returned. “Your plan would be easier. +Anyhow, there’s nothing doing now but to go back and tell old Jack what +we’ve run up against. He’s liable to be gone two or three hours, and +I’m not going to hang around this hole all the evening for the good of +a big stiff the club would be a whole lot better without. Kennedy makes +me sick about this man, anyhow. Savage wouldn’t last two days with any +other manager.” + +Lefty promptly agreeing with him, they made a more thorough inspection +of the shack without discovering anything helpful, then departed. + +Back in the hotel, Kennedy listened to their story in noncommittal +silence, but with an ominous tightening of the jaws which boded little +good for the delinquent recruit. Later the manager was observed by +several to take up a position in the lobby from which he could view +both the main entrance and the stairs. He carried several newspapers, +and nothing could induce him to move from the place. + +At nine o’clock some of the fellows, stiff and weary from the day’s +work, drifted to bed. Kennedy sat on. An hour later only the devotees +of draw poker and one or two sleepy onlookers remained, but still the +manager had not stirred. Eleven found him the sole occupant of the +lobby. + +The big clock over the desk indicated scarcely five minutes past the +hour when a quick step sounded outside, and Savage entered. Without +glancing to right or left, he walked briskly toward the stairs. + +Kennedy was there ahead of him. + +“Here, you!” he said sharply as he faced the busher. “What in thunder +do you mean staying out to this hour? Where’ve you been?” + +Savage flushed, and looked as if he longed to snap back, but didn’t +quite dare. + +“I went for a walk,” he retorted sullenly. “Got farther off than I +thought――that’s all.” + +“Humph!” grunted Kennedy skeptically. “A walk! It listens well!” + +He stepped suddenly forward, and, catching a lapel of the busher’s coat +in one hand, deliberately sniffed the fellow’s breath. To his surprise, +he caught not the faintest odor of alcohol. He sniffed again; then, +stepping back, surveyed Savage meditatively. + +“Well, if you haven’t been pouring it down, you’ve brought it back in a +bottle,” he said, in a tone which was almost disappointed. + +Regardless of the man’s angry glare, he went through his clothes with +as much cool deliberation as if Savage had been a wooden dummy in a +tailor shop. The search was productive of nothing whatever in the +shape of flask or bottle. The busher’s face wore an expression of +satisfaction. + +“Awful smart, ain’t you?” he sneered. “Maybe you’d like me to strip +so’s you can be sure it ain’t under my clothes.” + +Kennedy surveyed him coldly. “You beat it upstairs,” he ordered +suddenly, “and don’t waste any time turning in.” + +Left alone, the manager followed slowly, his face perplexed. He was +perfectly sure that Savage had lied to him, yet he could not prove +it. The feeling that he had been tricked by this busher from the tall +timbers was extremely unpalatable to old Jack, and kept him awake long +after he had tumbled into bed. + +It thus happened that when a thin trickle of smoke curled in at his +transom he had only begun to doze off. The pungent tang of it in his +nostrils brought him out of bed in a single leap. In another second, +yanking open the door into the hall, he saw by the light of a flaring +gas jet that the smoke came through the transom of the room next his +own――the room occupied by Nelson Savage. + +Fortunately most of the locks in the old Holcombe House were not noted +for any great strength. A single surging blow of the manager’s wiry +body sufficed to tear the screws of this one out of the tindery wood. +The door burst open, letting Kennedy in with a rush. + +The lights were going full blast. Still fully dressed, Savage lay +across the bed, the blankets of which were smoldering briskly, giving +out an ever-increasing volume of choking smoke. Scattered over the +floor were several cigarette butts. Tucked under the unconscious man’s +arm was a quart bottle, while the fumes of alcohol arose even above the +smell of burning wool. + +Kennedy seemed to take in these details even as he was leaping for +the washstand. A deluge from the water pitcher instantly quenched the +smoldering blanket, but Savage was too far gone to do more than grunt +and hug his bottle tighter. An examination of the latter revealed less +than two inches of cheap liquor remaining. The busher had apparently +consumed the rest, for bits of tinfoil lying about showed the bottle to +have been freshly opened. + +With set jaw and angry eyes, Kennedy jerked the bottle from Savage’s +unconscious grip, and hurled it through the open window. As he did +so, he discovered, fastened to the bureau, a length of heavy cord +sufficient to reach within a few feet of the ground. + +“So that was how he worked it!” muttered the older man, his eyes fixed +scornfully on the figure sprawling before him. “Left the string hanging +down, an’ tied the bottle to it before coming in. Suffering snakes! If +I didn’t have to have somebody besides Lefty and that kid Temple to +pitch for the boys, you’d hike back to the sticks so fast you’d hit +only the high places. Anyhow, your goose is done brown. It’s the can +for yours the minute the old bunch shows up and get their soup bones +into working order.” + + + + + CHAPTER XVI + + THE REGULARS ARRIVE + + +Kennedy was determined to find out where the busher got his liquor. +Savage’s attitude next day greatly strengthened that determination. Not +only did he refuse to tell anything about it, but he brazenly denied +having had anything intoxicating at all. He reeled off a lot of ancient +stuff about taking colic medicine, which struck the manager temporarily +dumb. + +Recovering, old Jack spat out some verbal vitriol which made even +Savage wince. Kennedy then held confab with Jack Stillman, after which +the reporter proceeded to corner the hotel proprietor, and, with his +usual dexterity, painlessly extract the facts he sought. They were +brief and singularly discouraging. The land across the river for +almost a mile in either direction was owned by one Caspar Livermore, +a well-to-do planter and horse breeder. Mr. Livermore was not only +extremely penurious, but had the reputation of being a prohibitionist +of the deepest dye, to whom the mere mention of intoxicants was like a +red rag to a bull. There were no other habitations of any sort save the +hut of a decrepit old negro woman, reputed among the superstitiously +inclined of her race to have dealings with the devil. Even that hut, +which was on Livermore land, stood a good half-mile above the rotten +old boathouse. + +“Looks as if the old lady might bear investigating,” Stillman said +afterward to Locke, “though it’s usually safe to be suspicious of these +guys that throw a fit at the sight of a whisky advertisement. They’re +often the kind who lap up sixty per cent. alcohol patent medicines by +the gallon. I reckon I’d better hunt up a boat, and be ready in case +there’s anything doing to-night.” + +With considerable difficulty, he managed to locate a flat-bottomed +scow, which he conveyed by the sweat of his brow to a point about a +quarter of a mile above the boathouse. Unfortunately, after all this +labor, there was no occasion to use it that night. After dinner Savage +lounged around the lobby in solitary silence for half an hour or so. At +half past seven he sallied forth to one of the moving-picture shows. +Lefty and Stillman were both prepared to swear that this time he not +only entered the Palace Theater, but remained there until the last +foot of film had been shown. That over, he returned to the hotel, and +treated himself to the luxury of several wordy altercations before +bedtime. + +Kennedy was annoyed by their report. The desire to learn the source of +the perplexing pitcher’s drink supply was becoming an obsession with +the manager, and he urged them to continue their sleuthing. To this +both ball player and newspaper man agreed. They, too, were becoming +more than vexed at the success which seemed to attend Savage’s every +maneuver. + +Hustling back from the field that afternoon, however, every thought of +the delinquent busher was driven from Lefty’s brain by the sight of +four men lounging in the hotel lobby. They were cleanly built, well +set-up specimens, remarkable mainly for the almost miraculous fit +of their very up-to-date garments, and for rather blasé manners. At +the sight of Locke the latter mood vanished as if it had never been. +They fell upon the southpaw as one man, slapping his back with a fond +enthusiasm which fairly took his breath away. + +It was the vanguard of the “regulars”――the men whose names were +familiar household words the country over. It was small wonder that +they carried themselves with a little air. The surprising thing was +that they could fling that air aside, as they were doing now, to greet +with hearty, genuine boyish delight the comrade they had not seen in +months. + +When the rougher preliminaries were over tongues began to wag in +chorus as Lefty was informed how the various men had passed the winter. +Dirk Nelson, the steady, dependable, rather quiet backstop, had been, +as usual, on his farm in Maryland. + +“And don’t you believe it wasn’t hard to come away just when things +were getting ready to sprouts,” he concluded, with his slow, attractive +smile. “Golly, if I’d saved up as much mazuma as old Herman Brosk, I’d +sure quit the game!” + +“Yes, you would!” exclaimed Rufe Hyland skeptically. Rufe looked +after the Blue Stocking right field in summer, and spent his few +leisure winter months in presiding as capably over a well-equipped +gymnasium on Sixth Avenue. The gym was merely a diversion, however. +With him baseball was the only thing worth while. “Yes, you would,” he +repeated――“for about one month! Then you’d be back hustling to sign on +again.” + +“That’s right,” chimed in Kid Lewis, the peppery little shortstop. +“It’s a mighty fine thing after the post season to know you don’t have +to play ball for three solid months, but if you thought it was for +good――suffering cats! Why, come February, when a fellow’s blood begins +to stir, I leave my little old two-by-four cigar store on Pennsylvania +Avenue without even tellin’ it good-by.” + +“Say, Kid,” inquired Torrey, the change catcher, curiously, “how’s +that business pay, anyhow? You must pull in quite a bunch of mazuma +just because you’re a Blue Stocking.” + +“Oh, I do pretty well,” returned Lewis. “It ain’t as if I was the +real thing, like Lefty here”――he grinned, and ducked under the sweep +of Locke’s arm――“but there’s plenty of decent fellows who are willing +to buy their smokes even from an outfielder. Say, look what’s coming! +Whew! Some class to the old hoss, ain’t there?” + +The others turned to behold Laughing Larry Dalton, with his brown eyes +and gay, careless smile. He was arrayed in a suit of amazing checks, +sported a three-carat diamond in a startling scarf, and was preceded +by a small darky staggering under the load of very new and very +English-looking luggage. + +“Solomon’s glory!” gasped Hyland. “I thought I was some dressed, but―― +Say, old man, who wished it on you, anyhow?” + +“Ain’t he immense!” cried Lewis. “Pipe that chunk of alum weighing down +his manly bosom! Can you beat it?” + +“Jack’s got a cub who’s jest set his heart on your job, old horse,” put +in Nelson seriously, “and won’t take no for an answer. How about it?” + +“Hush!” said Lefty, with upraised hand. “You boys are pretty raw, +talking like that to a real actor. Didn’t you know little Larry’s been +on the stage all winter? Talk about side――why, it sticks out all over +him.” + +Dalton was quite unaffected by the comments on his personal appearance. +His smile widened as he shook hands with one after another of his +teammates. + +“Glad you like my get-up,” he drawled. “I thought these were some togs +myself. Came pretty near starting a riot when I did my turn in it out +at Salt Lake.” + +“You were the handsome, curly-haired hero, I s’pose?” said Hyland. + +“Nothing like that for me!” retorted Dalton. “I was the villain. Great +dope, fellows! Before I quit the show I used to get sore as a crab if I +wasn’t hissed enough.” + +Lefty was highly amused by the mental picture of the laughing-eyed, +happy-go-lucky chap doing the heavy villain. By this time the lobby +was filled with curious recruits pausing on their way to showers, and +newspaper men who quickly joined the circle. Kennedy appeared, and +shook hands in his friendly fashion, exhorting them to have “plenty +of pep this year.” The reporters stood about, laughing and joshing +familiarly, and making mental notes for the daily wire home. + +After dinner, while they were all gathered in the lobby, joking and +discussing old times, two more arrivals blew in. Handsome Billy +Orth, from his orange plantation in California, had picked up Joe +Welsh, who owned a small cattle ranch in Arizona, and who affected +rattlesnake-skin four-in-hands and hatbands. + +“Back to the land of ’simmons and sore arms!” greeted Dalton. “By heck, +Joe, you look kinky as the deuce! I’ll bet you’ll be down with a case +of Charley horse inside a week. William, what do you think of this foxy +shark――Locke here――sneaking down with the cubs and getting all limbered +up ahead of us?” + +Orth and Lewis joshed back. And so it went. There was a pleasant sense +of friendliness about the whole affair which made Lefty regret the +promise he and Stillman had given to keep an eye on Nels Savage. + +He was not incommoded in the least by it. Savage did not leave the +hotel, but spent the evening lolling about the lobby and playing pool +with Pete Zacher. Locke and Stillman were puzzled enough to know what +to make of such behavior, but when the third evening passed, and the +fourth, and the fifth, without a single dereliction from duty on +the part of the bush twirler, they began to believe that his last +experience had taught him something. Then, to upset this theory, the +reporter learned of several attempts that Savage had made to wheedle a +drink out of one of the older men. He was just as disagreeable as he +had ever been, while his pitching, though it showed occasional brief +spells of cleverness, continued to make old Jack shake his head and +mutter. + +“He ain’t used the spitter once since he landed,” the manager commented +to Stillman one afternoon. Like more than one other baseball man, he +did not hesitate to open his mind to this reporter, who had never once +offended by sending the wrong thing to his paper. “Says he don’t want +to do it till he’s warmed up. That may be so, or it may not, but I +never yet see a spitball flinger that wasn’t trying it every little +while.” + +Two days later Kennedy announced the first five-inning practice game to +take place next morning at eight-thirty between the Regulars and the +Yannigans, as the recruits were called. Since their arrival the former +had been warming up with even greater leisure than the youngsters. From +experience they knew well how an apparently trifling strain or twisted +muscle at this crucial stage was likely to develop into something +serious later on. + +Even the prospect of the first game left them cool and unperturbed. +On the other hand, the cubs, thrilled with the notion of showing off +before Kennedy, hustled around, perfecting an elaborate system of +signals and indulging in various other stunts which merely emphasized +their “cubbishness.” + + + + + CHAPTER XVII + + THE TRY-OUT OF SAVAGE + + +It might have been noticed, however, that none of the old squad was +late in arriving at the grounds next morning. Kennedy had announced +that Gene Temple would start pitching for the Regulars, while Savage, +the new twirler from the West, was to step into the box for the +Yannigans. + +“I’m going to give him a fair show,” the manager confided to Stillman. +“He ain’t showed anything much in practice, and if he don’t put +something on exhibition to-day I reckon we’ll have to hitch the can to +him.” + +In the camp of the Regulars knives were being sharpened for Savage’s +scalp with a vigor which had rarely before been shown toward a recruit. + +“I don’t seem to have taken to Jack’s latest treasure,” Dalton drawled +as they were making ready for the game. “It would sort of please me to +spill the beans for him to-day.” + +“Now, I should sorrow!” said Rufe Hyland. “If little Nelsie gets his it +will break my heart.” + +“Gent seems to be awful popular,” chuckled Pink Dillon, of the +pitching staff, who, arriving at camp late, had consequently seen +little of the offending Savage. + +“We all love him,” said Laughing Larry. “Wait till you run up against +him about once, and you’ll be applying for membership in this knockers’ +club. Now, fellows,” he added, as they trotted out into the diamond, +“don’t forget to put in a little extra ginger to-day and blanket this +sweet-tempered affair from the sagebrush. Snow him under so deep he +won’t ever let another peep out of him.” + +This was the explanation of an exhibition of peppery vim on the part of +the Regulars which astonished Jack Kennedy. Usually the older and more +experienced players care little for the results of these early practice +games, and frequently they lose for the simple reason that they think +more of their arms and legs than of piling up a score against a lot of +youngsters. Later, of course, as they begin to shape up, the Yannigans +find it less and less easy to accomplish anything against them; but +even then the cubs’ downfall is generally due to some clever bit of +headwork rather than to any great physical exertion on the part of +their opponents. + +The Regulars had the field. From the bench Lefty watched interestedly +to see how Temple would act in his first appearance with big company. +He had given the youngster a bit of advice as to taking things easy, +and he was pleased to observe that he followed it. + +Coombs, the first man up, got a hit and reached first. The second +batter flied out to Douro, the center fielder, however; and Coombs, +trying to steal second, discovered to his sorrow that the cub pitcher +was far from being asleep. Two more stickmen faced Temple before a hot +grounder toward Larry Dalton was whipped to first ahead of the runner. + +“Now, fellows, remember!” urged Dalton as they trotted in from the +field. “Let’s get after our amiable friend there, and show him +something.” + +The men were quite ready to obey his injunction. Batting is one of the +greatest joys of a ball player’s existence. Moreover, the attitude of +Nelson Savage as he strolled into the box, lips curled sneeringly, his +whole manner one of careless nonchalance, as if he considered the crowd +scarcely worth pitching to, was extremely aggravating. + +Rufe Hyland hustled to the plate, barely able to restrain his +impatience to get after the man who irritated him so. He fell with +violent delight on the very first ball pitched, smashing it on a line +into the field to the right of center, and reached the initial sack +with ease. + +Kid Lewis, who followed him, bunted nicely, sacrificing the outfielder +to second, and almost making first himself. Max Douro landed on the +horsehide with apparent ease, sending it out between second and short. + +“All off with him,” chanted Dalton from the coaching line. “Got him +going already! Everybody hits him! Now, Joe, get busy and send Rufe +home.” + +Welsh advanced confidently to the pan, and Hyland danced away from +third. It was up to Savage to display his wares now or never. With a +curious gleam in his eyes, Lefty glanced at Kennedy, who stood near, +chewing a cigar and scowling at the Western pitcher. + +The southpaw murmured to himself, “I can hear the jangle of the tin can +now.” + +But Welsh presently fouled out back of third, and the cub shortstop +made a splendid one-handed stop of a red-hot liner smashed out by Ogan, +by which the downfall of the pitcher on trial was apparently merely +deferred for a brief time. + +The second inning was practically a repetition of the first. In the +first half a cub managed to reach third, where he languished and +perished. When the sides changed the Regulars proceeded to the bat with +that same zest and ardor, and in a brief space bases were filled with +only one out. + +From the bench Lefty was watching Savage closely, and he could not +help granting the fellow a little grudging admiration. In spite of his +wretched, slip-shod work; in spite of the way he was being hit all over +the lot, the man’s attitude of insolent condescension had not altered. +His lips still curled sneeringly; he continued to regard each batter +with that same slow, heavy-lidded scrutiny which was like a slap in the +face. As in the beginning, his manner gave one the impression that he +was going through a childish performance which bored him to death. + +“He’s got nerve enough for two,” muttered the southpaw. + +Hyland came to the bat again. Seeking to duplicate his performance of +the first inning, he hit the first ball over. It was an infield fly +which the second baseman easily smothered. + +“Too much of a rush, Rufe,” chided Dalton, who had been made temporary +captain of the Regulars. “Take your time. Now, Kid, you know what to +do. Tap it gently on the nose, and let’s have a few tallies.” + +Continuing to watch Savage, it seemed to Lefty as if the man’s delivery +had grown slower and slower. He certainly took his time in winding up, +and for a man getting such poor results it seemed almost ludicrous. + +His first three balls to Lewis were wide, and the batter declined to +reach for any of them. + +“Why the mischief don’t you try the spitter?” Locke wondered to +himself. “Couldn’t do worse with it than you’ve done already. It’s +supposed to be your one best bet.” + +Savage evidently had no intention of following the unspoken advice, +for he made no motion of the ball to his mouth. Slowly winding up, he +lobbed one over that cut the outside corner, and Lewis, playing the +game, let it pass. + +“Strike!” called Pink Dillon, who was acting as umpire. + +“That’s right, Kid,” approved Dalton. “Make him put ’em over. Make ’em +be good!” + +Again that maddeningly long-drawn-out wind-up; again a curve which +shaved the rubber by such a narrow margin that Dillon hesitated a +second before calling: “Two!” + +Lewis, who had seemed on the point of swinging and then changed his +mind, glared at the umpire. + +“Clean your lamps, Pink!” he advised sarcastically. “They need it bad.” + +“Never mind that, Kid,” admonished Dalton. “You’ll get him this time, +all right. On your toes, boys! Run on the hit!” + +Lewis scooped up a handful of dirt, rubbed it over his bat handle, +and faced the pitcher with a firm squaring of his jaws. He looked as +if he was ready to hit anything that came within a mile of the plate, +and perhaps that was what made Savage such a long time getting into +action. His movements were so deliberate and snail-like that the base +runners, dodging away from the sacks in readiness for the hit, grew +impatient. + +“Get a move on!” called Dick Nelson from second. “Somebody put a stick +of dynamite under him!” + +“Just so we finish the inning in a couple of hours!” delicately hinted +another. + +The comments made no impression whatever on the sneering man in the +box. Slowly he drew up his right arm, and leisurely cuddled the ball +under his chin, his eyes fixed scornfully on the face of Kid Lewis. +There was a pause which seemed eternal; then, with a whiplike motion, +the arm uncurled, sending the horsehide spinning squarely across the +center of the pan. + +“Batter out!” cried Dillon. + +His voice reflected the surprise that filled every man on the field. +Lewis had not wiggled his stick. At the plump of the ball and the sound +of the umpire’s voice, he gave a start and a gasp. Then, whirling, he +stared down at the horsehide in the catcher’s mitt as if he had taken +leave of his senses. An instant later, his face flaming, he turned on +Dillon. + +“What sort of a game do you call this?” he demanded angrily. “That +ain’t the right ball! The guy out there never pitched at all!” + + + + + CHAPTER XVIII + + THE VANISHING BALL + + +“Don’t get sore and do the baby act,” Dillon admonished. “You’re out, +and there’s no sense howling about it.” + +“If you say so, I suppose it goes, Pink,” sneered Lewis; “but it’s a +raw deal or a bum joke. You know the ball wasn’t pitched. This gink +catching flashed another ball, and――” + +“Be a sport, Kid, for the love of Mike!” interrupted Torrey, the +catcher. He had taken off his mask, and was busy adjusting the strap. +“Pulling off a string of guff like that don’t get you anywhere.” + +Lewis glared at him, and swallowed hard. He seemed about to retort when +Dalton sharply ordered him to cut it out. + +“That’ll be about all for you, Kid,” he said. “Quit holding up the +game. Now, Gene, old boy, just put a little something on the ball, and +show these infants what they’re up against.” + +Lefty could not help smiling a little as he saw Lewis slouch sourly out +to his place in the infield, scowling and kicking up the dirt for all +the world like a child who has been scolded. + +“Too bad for anybody to take these little games seriously,” he remarked +to Pete Grist, beside him. + +The veteran of the pitching staff absently cuddled a stiff elbow, and +nodded. “That’s one of Kid’s failings. He certainly is there with the +alibis whenever he goes wrong at bat.” + +The unexpected rally on the part of their pitcher heartened the cubs to +such a degree that they hammered out two runs in the first half of the +third, and would have made more only for a bit of swift fielding on the +part of Larry Dalton. + +Taking their turn at bat, the Regulars managed to force one man across +the rubber before they, too, were brought up sharply by clever work in +the infield. + +“Some kid――that playing third,” remarked Grist approvingly. “What’s his +name?” + +“Palsifer――Tap they call him,” Locke explained. “He’s from the Southern +League. It wouldn’t surprise me if Jack was thinking of him for Daly’s +place.” + +The old pitcher nodded understandingly. Third base was one of the +positions everybody felt to be weak, and throughout the remainder of +the game Grist kept an eye on this promising youngster. + +In the fourth inning Temple slumped distinctly, letting the Yannigans +hit him right and left. Had it not been for the admirable support given +him by the Regulars, the cubs would have sewed the game up in a sack +then and there. As it was, the score stood three to one in their favor, +a rather surprising thing, considering the efforts which were being +made by the older men. + +Nels Savage, on the contrary, distinctly improved. Apparently he was +making no greater effort than before, and the insolent indifference +of his manner continued unabated. In spite of all this, there was no +question of his better form. In the last half of the fourth he struck +out two men, the first of whom was Lewis, who again started to raise a +protest that the ball had not been pitched. He was promptly squelched +by Dalton, who was also beginning to show signs of pettishness. As +Lewis passed Lefty, scowling and angry, the southpaw hailed him. + +“What sort of a game is that you’re trying to put over, Kid?” he +bantered. + +Lewis glared. “It ain’t a game! It’s gospel. Dillon called me out twice +on a third strike when Savage hadn’t made a move to deliver the ball. +They put up a job on me, that’s what they done. What in thunder’s the +matter with Pink I don’t know, but――” + +“Say,” interrupted Locke suddenly, “you aren’t really serious? You +sure can’t mean to say you didn’t see that ball come over?” + +“Didn’t see it!” repeated Lewis angrily. “How could I see it when there +wasn’t any to see? I tell you, the gink didn’t make a move to――” + +“Don’t talk nutty, Kid!” admonished Grist. “Lefty and I saw it as plain +as you could see the ball he just pitched to Douro. What’s the sense in +talking like that?” + +Lewis refused to argue further. He turned and departed, leaving Locke, +at least, slightly puzzled by his manner. It seemed impossible that he +could really mean what he said, yet there was a convincing touch of +earnestness in the heat of his temper. + +Lefty and Grist were still discussing the question when Kennedy’s voice +sounded behind them: + +“Locke, get out there and pitch the last inning. They’ve got Temple +sweating blood, and the rest of the staff are about the worst-bunged-up +lot of cripples I ever saw.” + +The southpaw was glad of a chance to use his arm even for a single +inning. He limbered up a bit, and by the time the last Regular had +flied out to the cub center fielder he was quite ready. + +Trusting mainly to his support, Lefty kept down the Yannigans’ score. +With the arrival of the final half of the inning Locke felt a sudden +desire to put his batting skill to the test of Savage’s pitching. Of +course, what Lewis contended was absolutely absurd, but it would be +interesting to see what the fellow had. + +As man after man stepped to the plate and left it either for the bench +or in the direction of first, Lefty’s interest in the proceedings +became greater. In a vague way, he felt as if he were waiting for +something unusual which was presently to take place, and even when +another tally was scored that feeling continued unabated. + +Two men were out, and there was a runner on second. Lefty had a feeling +that the batter would be put out and the game ended without his going +up. It was Larry Dalton’s voice urging him to hustle, rather than the +crack of leather meeting wood, which brought the realization that he +had not guessed right. He snatched up a bat at random, and hurried to +the plate. + +Seen from this particular part of the diamond, Lefty decided that the +sagebrush twirler’s sneering countenance was more disagreeable than +even he had supposed. The uptilt of the lips, the slow, insolent, +heavy-lidded glance, the dragging, maddening deliberation of movement +were all emphasized; and all combined to arouse deep irritation. +Locke felt a sudden desire to plant a fist on those sneering lips. +With difficulty he pulled himself together, realizing with a flush of +chagrin that Savage had put a strike over. + +“Careful, old man!” cautioned Dalton. It was Lefty’s carelessness and +inattention which had made that first strike possible. He would see to +it that there was no more of that. He stood waiting, tense and ready, +his gaze fixed keenly on the narrow slits through which gleamed the +Westerner’s strange, baleful eyes. + +Savage’s movements were very slow. A ball was put over――another, and +another still. To Locke the time consumed had been so everlasting that +he wondered for a moment if it wasn’t four, and why he did not hear the +order to take his base. + +The last delivery had been so wild that it was all Torrey could do to +pull the ball down. The horsehide slipped from his grasp and rolled +toward the rubber, where Locke bent and picked it up. He held it for a +second in his hand before snapping it out to Savage with a force which +was a wordless protest against the busher’s unnecessary slowness; and, +great as was his abstraction, he remembered noticing along one side of +the sphere a streak which was half cut, half scratch, as if the leather +had scraped against a sharp stone. + +If this was the method followed by Savage in regular games, he would +be hooted every time he appeared on the field. The fans like snap and +ginger above all else in a player. No umpire would permit it. That +everlasting stare, too, was annoying. Lefty began to wish the busher +would look in another direction, if only for a moment. + +Presently he looked down himself to see whether he had inadvertently +stepped too far forward. Before he glanced up again the ball, whizzing +over, buried itself in the catcher’s mitt; and Dillon’s voice, full of +a most unprofessional admonition, announced: + +“Two――and three!” + +Flushing, Lefty straightened his shoulders and tapped the rubber with +his bat. What could have induced him to be so careless he did not know. +He was quite sure, though, that it wouldn’t occur again. + +With eyes unwavering, he waited. Every movement of the pitcher’s +dragging wind-up was impressed vividly on his mind. In the midst +of that movement Savage seemed to pause and remain set, poised and +motionless. Lefty was contemplating demanding judgment on a balk, when +the unmistakable plunk of something hard smashing against the catcher’s +mitt made him catch his breath and whirl round. + +“Batter――out!” cried Dalton. Under his breath he growled scathingly: +“Oh――you――big――bonehead!” + +Lefty paid no attention to this uncomplimentary remark. In fact, it +is doubtful if he heard it. He was staring unbelievingly at a soiled +baseball lying in the hollow of Torrey’s mitt――a ball which bore on the +uppermost side a long streak――_the_ ball which he had held in his hand +a few minutes before! + + + + + CHAPTER XIX + + A THING INCREDIBLE + + +It was not strange that Lefty gasped and stared in utter amazement. The +thing was uncanny――impossible! It made him feel for an instant as if +something had happened to his brain――some twist or kink in the nerves +of vision. In the flash of time before he got a grip on himself he felt +vividly the staggering nature of such a thing happening at the crucial +moment of a real game instead of a time like this, when nothing really +mattered. + +“Great Scott, Lefty,” came suddenly from Dalton, in a decidedly peevish +voice, “you’re certainly a pippin, throwing away the game like that! +Why didn’t you come out of your trance and baste that last one? It cut +the pan in halves.” + +Locke swung his bat carelessly in the direction of the pile, and turned +to his chum, with a laugh. + +“Sorry, old man,” he said. “That curve fooled me, that’s all.” + +He made no effort to lower his voice, glancing coolly at Savage, +who was coming in from the box. The pitcher’s eyes held a gleam of +triumph and derision, which brought a touch of color to Lefty’s face, +and roused in him a longing to get even with this fellow for the +humiliation. + +“Curve!” cried Dalton. “It was straight, and it didn’t have anything on +it but the cover.” + +The southpaw moved closer to his friend. His manner was casual and +indifferent, but in his eyes was a look of earnestness which instantly +caught the infielder’s attention and held it. + +“Nothing on it!” murmured Locke lightly. “Larry, if Savage could turn +that trick at will, he’d be the greatest pitcher the world has ever +seen.” + +He paused an instant and glanced around. Most of the players were +heading toward the gate, for it was after eleven, and they were in a +hurry for their shower, rubdown, and lunch. Dillon stood at a little +distance, however, talking with Kennedy, while Kid Lewis was staring +at the southpaw from near the bench. Catching his eye, Lefty waved him +over. + +“You don’t understand what I mean, Larry,” Lefty said, in a low tone. +“Nobody could who hadn’t been through the same thing. Don’t ask any +questions until I’ve talked with Kid; then I’ll tell you all about it.” + +Without waiting for Dalton to speak, Lefty turned toward the approaching +shortstop. + +“Say, Kid,” he asked lightly, “what’s the matter with your eyes? How’d +it happen you didn’t swing when Savage whipped over a straight one +twice for the third strike?” + +The shortstop’s eyes narrowed, and he scowled. “See here, Locke,” he +snapped, in the tone of one driven to the limit of irritability, “do I +look weak in the garret? Anybody ever hint I was ready for the foolish +foundry? There ain’t nothing wrong with my eyes; they was examined by +the best doctor in New York, and found O. K. Savage balked both times +Dillon called me out. I saw him wind up and stop, glaring at me like he +could chaw me up; he didn’t pitch the ball either time. Torrey smacks +his fist into his mitt, and then shows another ball. Then everybody +tries to make me think I’ve been asleep. Fine work! Nice little joke! +But I never thought Kennedy would stand in on anything so piffling and +childish.” + +His jaws snapped shut over the last words like the slam of a door in a +person’s face; turning on his heel, he marched off across the field. +As Grist had remarked that afternoon, the shortstop was prone to make +excuses for poor stickwork and errors, but aside from that he was a +decent, good-natured chap. Evidently the supposed trick, with its +resulting banter, had worked him up to the point of exploding, Lefty’s +question being all that was needed to fire the fuse. + +“What’s it all about?” Dalton suddenly inquired. “Don’t keep a fellow +in suspenders. What’s all this bunk about a game being put up on Kid? +Is he crazy, or just sore?” + +Lefty turned to his friend, his face serious. “It’s simply this, Larry: +Three times to-day――twice with Lewis, and once with me――Savage has +pitched a ball the batter couldn’t see.” + +“Couldn’t see! You mean he sneaked it over?” + +“Nothing of the sort. I mean, from the batter’s point of view, the ball +was invisible.” + +Dalton’s jaw sagged, and he stared oddly at his friend. “You don’t +happen to be――in earnest, do you?” he asked, in a queer voice. + +“Quite,” Locke smiled faintly. “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s a +fact. Listen now, and I’ll tell you.” + +When he had finished a brief, but comprehensive, account of the +inexplicable incident Dalton’s mouth and eyes were open to their widest +extent. + +“Queerest thing I ever heard tell of,” he commented dazedly at last, +running the fingers of one hand through his thick, curly hair. “I don’t +mean to doubt your word, old man, but――an invisible ball! Why, that’s +wilder than the worst nature fake ever doped out by a cub reporter. You +haven’t thought of any sane explanation of the thing, have you?” + +Lefty hesitated, a slight flush creeping into his face. “I don’t know +whether you’d call it sane or not,” he answered slowly, feeling +decidedly foolish and fully expecting his friend to burst into a roar +of derisive laughter, “but it’s the only one I can think of. Do you +suppose he could have done it by――some sort of hypnotism?” + +“Hypnotism!” exclaimed Dalton. “Why, look at the distance he was away +from you! How the deuce could he pull off a stunt like that? They +always have to look you square in the eyes and make a lot of motions +with their hands, and all that.” + +“Not always. I don’t know much about it except the little I’ve read, +but it is claimed that sometimes Oriental magicians can hypnotize a +whole crowd at once, and make them believe something is happening +which isn’t at all. Of course, Savage isn’t an East Indian, but he’s +certainly got queer eyes that make you think he might do things like +that.” + +“You’ve got me,” Dalton admitted in a bewildered tone. “When you come +to discussing East Indian wizards and their tricks, just count me out; +I don’t know anything about ’em.” + +He paused an instant, a smile struggling through the puzzled lines in +his face. “If the same thing hadn’t happened to two of you,” he went +on, his eyes twinkling, “I’d have laid it to a touch of biliousness. +That puts a chap on the bum as quick as anything. As it is, though―― +Look here, Lefty, Jack Stillman’s got a head on his shoulders. He’s +heading this way now. You don’t mind his knowing, do you?” + +Locke shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, I suppose not,” he returned slowly. +“I’m not keen about having every one know the kind of trick that was +put over on me.” + +To tell the truth, the southpaw was humiliated by the possibility that +he had been hypnotized by such a character as Nelson Savage. It was +only natural, of course. No man cares to admit that he can be, even for +a moment, brought under the influence of another person. There is a +general conviction, which is much more widespread than true, that such +succumbing is proof of a weaker intellect. It was this feeling that +brought to the southpaw a sense of shame――concealed under the guise of +light indifference, but none the less poignant――and made him disposed +to shrink from telling even so close a friend as the newspaper man. + + + + + CHAPTER XX + + THE TRAP + + +Stillman was keenly interested. “By Jove!” he exclaimed when all the +details had been told. “What dope for a story! A fellow’d have to make +it humorous, though; it’d never go as a serious yarn.” + +“Do you suppose I was――hypnotized?” Lefty asked, in a disgusted tone. + +“He’s got a mighty queer look about the eyes――just the expression I’ve +seen in people who were abnormal mentally,” said the reporter, somewhat +evasively it seemed. “Remember whether you looked him square in the +eyes when you were up at the plate?” + +“Don’t remember especially, but it’s likely I did.” + +“What we want to do is to make sure how he works this trick,” suggested +Stillman promptly. “It may be hypnotic influence, or accident, or just +plain bluff. It’s up to us to get him to repeat it, and find out.” + +“How are you going to do that?” Dalton inquired. “He’s liable to be +suspicious and foxy.” + +“Very likely, but we’ll have to work it just the same. Now, my +suggestion is this: Keep the whole business under your hats, both of +you. Pretend you haven’t noticed anything queer at all. Some time +to-night Lefty can get in conversation with Larry, and talk about what +a stick he was, letting such a bum pitcher hand him a strike-out. +He should do this when Savage can hear him, and he must pretend not +to know the man is listening. Larry can say that everybody’s rotten +sometimes. Keep up that sort of thing to-morrow. Work it every chance +you have to do it naturally, and I’ll bet by the time batting practice +is called you’ll have him hooked and ready for the landing net.” + +“And then, when he’s good and mad, you think he’ll try that strike-out +stunt again?” said Locke. + +Stillman nodded. “Isn’t it natural?” he queried. “If you work it right, +and don’t overdo it, he’ll be in a state of temper that doesn’t stop +to reason. If I can only get old Jack to make him pitch for batting +practice we’ve as good as got him. There’s just one thing you want +to remember: If you do get up against him, don’t keep staring at his +eyes. Look at anything else about him you want to, but don’t give him a +chance to work his little trick again, if that’s how he does it.” + +Locke and Dalton proceeded to carry out the reporter’s suggestion to +the best of their ability. They maneuvered so well that by breakfast +time Savage had been reduced to a state of cold fury without in the +least realizing how completely he was falling into the trap. + +Stillman attached himself to the person of the manager immediately on +leaving the hotel that morning. The newspaper man had a way of inducing +old Jack to do things, whenever he wished them done, by throwing out +hints; and he now proceeded to throw in his best and most effective +form. + +That his efforts were not wasted was proven when Kennedy ordered Savage +to the mound to pitch for batting practice some fifteen minutes after +the field was reached. + +“Every man run out his hit, and no loafing,” said the Chief. + +Watching Savage, the reporter saw him pass behind Locke and Dalton on +his way to the mound, pause for a second irresolutely, with an angry +snarl of the lips and swift clenching of his fists, and then move on +again. A moment later Kennedy touched the scribe on the arm. + +“Step out here with me, Stillman,” the manager said. “I want to give +you the chance you were anxious for to watch Savage work at short +range.” + +“I’ll be there like a passenger train.” The newspaper man’s tone was +enthusiastic. “Just one second till I get my camera. I left it over on +the bench.” + +Sprinting over, he snatched up the camera and turned back. Halfway he +encountered Locke, and slowed down. + +“Get in as soon as you can,” he whispered. “Don’t forget about his +eyes; string him along a little.” + +Without waiting for a reply, he loped out upon the diamond, and took +his place beside Kennedy, who was acting as umpire. It did not take +Stillman long to discover that Savage had lost some of the cool, +insolent indifference of the day before. It was evident that he +strove to affect the pose, but every now and then, in movements or +gestures, there escaped a hint of the real nature beneath the shell of +make-believe――a hot intolerance, made worse by the rasping his temper +had undergone at the hands of Locke and Dalton. + +The reporter studied him with an interest quite unfeigned, hoping the +while that Lefty would not too long delay his appearance at the plate. +If signs meant anything, the busher was ripe for the experiment. It +needed little or nothing to send him off. Seeing Lefty standing ready +to succeed Hyland at the rubber, Stillman suddenly resolved to give a +last effective push. + +“Well, Locke’s up,” he remarked, in a low tone, as Hyland clouted the +ball and began to lumber heavily around the base lines. + +“He wasn’t very strong with the willow yesterday,” reminded Kennedy. + +The reporter laughed. “That was an accident. There isn’t one of the old +guard, let alone a cub, who can keep Lefty Locke from hitting the ball +somewhere into the diamond when he wants to.” + +He spoke just loud enough for Savage to hear, and was rewarded by a +stiffening of the busher’s whole frame. From that moment Stillman was +oblivious to everything about him save the drama which had for its +limited stage the narrow stretch between the pitcher’s mound and the +plate. + +He saw that the southpaw was following his injunction not to look at +Savage’s eyes. He guessed, too, from the latter’s attitude, no less +than from the sudden slackening of his movements, that the pitcher was +trying to force Lefty into doing the thing he had been warned against. + +To Stillman the affair had suddenly become infinitely more absorbing +than he had expected. It seemed to have developed all at once into +a tremendous struggle between two wills. His glance flashed from +Lefty’s face to the back of the fellow in front of him. The thick, +muscular neck, the very pose of the head, sunk low upon those powerful +shoulders, and inclined slightly forward, combined inexplicably to +give the reporter a strange feeling that perhaps in Savage dwelt an +evil spirit which grew stronger with every victory, as vampires are +said to increase in power and malignity with each new victim. + +Common sense told him that it was absurd. This was the twentieth +century, with evil spirits and magicians relegated to the dim and +distant past. But, though he tried his best to thrust the silly notion +from his mind, he found himself wishing for the power to throw his +influence on Lefty’s side of the balance. + +Savage’s first delivery was wide; it seemed to Stillman as if the +fellow had purposely made it so. The second was also a ball. When the +third missed a corner of the pan by at least six inches the reporter +decided that the man on the mound was following a regular system +which he held to on such occasions as this. He noticed also that the +pitcher’s movements became slower and slower with each delivery. As far +as Stillman could tell, his eyes never left the batter’s face. + +When at last Savage completed his tedious wind-up, and pitched, the +newspaper man fairly held his breath, though in reality he was quite +sure what Lefty would do. The ball was a fair drop, with considerable +speed. Locke missed it by several inches. + +“A bluff, of course,” Stillman muttered to himself. “He’s playing his +part of the game to force Savage to the limit.” + +And yet, as he waited for that interminable wind-up to end, the +reporter was not quite so confident. What if Lefty should forget +instructions and let the busher get in his fine work, after all? It +would be more than humiliating――it would be disastrous. A man who could +break up such a cool character as Lefty Locke would be dangerous even +on his own team――a menace on any other. + +Glancing anxiously at the southpaw, Stillman was just in time to see +his friend’s eyes shift in a sudden peculiar manner. The movement had +in it every appearance of intense effort, and was accompanied by a +queer, dazed shaking of the head. Before he could recover himself, +apparently, the ball whizzed over the center of the pan. + +“Strike!” called Kennedy; and, in a lower tone, to Stillman: “Anybody +who can fan Lefty Locke twice running is going to bother the rest of +the crowd, believe me!” + +“Wait!” retorted Stillman. “He hasn’t fanned――yet.” + +It was far from easy to assume that air of confidence. Lefty had +evidently, through carelessness or bravado, disobeyed orders. His eyes +were fixed, and there was something decidedly mechanical in the way he +swung his bat gently back and forth. + +Stillman frowned. That odd sense of an evil influence radiating from +the man before him returned with added strength and conviction. He +found himself at one moment mentally raging at the fellow’s slowness; +at another he feared Savage would pitch too soon. His eyes never left +the southpaw’s face, and the longer he stared the more certain he +became that his friend was again under Savage’s control. + +Suddenly the busher’s arm shot forward. Stillman caught his breath in a +sharp intake. The progress of the ball seemed as slow and dragging as +a defective motion-picture reel running at quarter speed. Apparently +Lefty had not moved a muscle. He stood with that same staring, vacant +expression on his face, as if utterly oblivious for the moment to +everything that was happening about him. Stillman groaned aloud; then―― + +There was a ringing crack as Lefty swung at precisely the right moment +to meet the sphere when it floated over the center of the pan. Out into +the field to the right of deep center soared the horsehide. + + + + + CHAPTER XXI + + THE LAST STRAW + + +Stillman recovered from his surprise just in time to observe the brief, +fierce spasm of rage which seized Savage. He had partly turned, and +stood, hands clenched and muscles tense, staring at Locke, running +down the base line. There was stamped on the rough-hewn profile a look +of mingled astonishment and bitter hate which made even the hardened +newspaper man feel a little tingle along his spine. + +For a fraction of a minute the baffled pitcher stood motionless. Then, +with machinelike precision, he wheeled full around, deftly caught the +ball lined in by one of the youthful volunteer fielders, and faced the +next batter without having uttered a word. + +“By Jove!” murmured the reporter under his breath. “He’s sure got it in +for Lefty.” + +Stillman cut away from Kennedy as soon as he could after batting +practice was over, and made for the spot where Lefty was preparing to +limber up his arm over by the stand. + +“You certainly need a good tanning, you big bluff!” he said as he came +up. + +The southpaw grinned. “Pretty good, wasn’t I?” + +“Too good! You had me all up in the air, thinking it was real.” + +“You don’t mean to tell me that glassy-eye stuff took you in when you +knew what was doing?” + +“We didn’t rehearse that part,” explained the reporter, “so I wasn’t +expecting it. Besides, it would be just like your crazy ways to chance +doing what I told you not to, just to see what would happen.” + +Locke’s smile widened and took on a touch of chagrin. “That’s just what +I did do――and, say, that gentleman has got some hypnotic eye, believe +me! He was working it overtime to-day, too. If I hadn’t looked away +when I did there’d been nothing doing for mine.” + +“Then I did guess right? He was trying to work it again to-day?” + +“Trying his best. Say, did you see his face when he discovered how I’d +been stringing him along? Some temper there, eh?” + +“You bet!” The reporter’s tone was emphatic. “You want to keep an eye +on him, old man. I don’t believe he’s got a scruple to his name.” + +“Don’t worry,” put in Locke. “He’s had a thrashing coming for some +time, and I’m willing to be the one to hand it to him. Well, now we’ve +found out about this, what are we going to do?” + +This seemingly simple question proved difficult to answer. In setting +the little trap for Savage, the two friends had been animated +altogether by a desire for personal information. They had sought to +know what it was that enabled the busher to perform those almost +uncanny feats. And now, having found out, they were rather at a loss as +to what to do with their information. + +Satisfied though they might be regarding the nature of the man’s +remarkable power, they were unwilling to place themselves open to the +ridicule and disbelief with which ninety-nine persons out of a hundred +would greet such a story. + +After dinner, Lefty, Stillman, and Larry Dalton retired to a corner +of the lobby to discuss this question. Their arguments were warm and +lengthy, and for the better part of the evening they remained oblivious +to much of what was going on about them. They finally decided to hold +off any action until the power on other players of this surprising +talent of the bush pitcher had been tested further. Then Kennedy +appeared before them, his face far from amiable. + +“Any idea where that sweet-scented geranium, Savage, has taken +himself?” he inquired. + +“Might be playing pool,” Dalton suggested. “I saw him go in there with +Ogan after dinner.” + +Kennedy shook his head. “He ain’t. Charley, the marker, says he +finished his game and came out over an hour ago.” + +“Want us to take a look around for him?” inquired Lefty, with no great +show of enthusiasm. A glance at the clock had shown him the hour hand +close to eleven, and the discovery seemed to bring on a sudden yearning +for bed. + +“No!” was the almost snappy retort. “The common scruff’s off tanking up +again, I reckon. If he is”――the lean jaws tightened, and the dark eyes +snapped ominously――“it’s going to be the last time. You boys better hit +the straw. Look at the hour.” + +He turned on his heel and walked away, apparently heedless of whether +his advice was taken or not. Tramping upstairs, he turned into the room +next his own, and walked straight over to one of the windows looking +out on the side of the hotel. His exploring fingers encountered a stout +cord hanging limply over the sill. + +“The cheap, low-down tank!” he growled. “This is the end of him. I’ve +coddled him along all I’m going to. I don’t give a hang whether I’m shy +on working pitchers or not. I’ll tie the can on him to-morrow, an’ if +every decent manager I know don’t hear the jangle of it I’ll certainly +be some surprised.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXII + + SAVAGE’S DISAPPEARANCE + + +With his mind finally made up to a step he had really wanted to take +for days past, Jack Kennedy arose with extreme promptitude next +morning, and dressed briskly. Having made his toilet, he stepped into +the hall and knocked loudly on the door next his own. There was no +response, but this did not surprise the manager. + +“Sleeping it off, I reckon,” he muttered as he turned the knob and +entered without ceremony. “Well, it’ll be the last time he――” + +There was an abrupt pause, followed by a grunt of surprise, as the +manager stopped in the middle of the room and stared about him. Except +for himself, the place was empty. The bed was smooth and untouched. +Even the string still hung limply over the window sill. Evidently +Savage had not returned at all. + +“Out all night!” exclaimed the manager. “Or has he gone for good?” + +Frowning, he walked over to the window and glowered into space for a +minute or two. It was a shock and a disappointment to have the fellow +sneak off this way without giving the manager a chance to let loose +some of the verbal vitriol that had been corked up in him for so long. + +“He can’t be gone for good,” Jack said aloud, “with all his stuff lying +around like this. He’ll be back, and then――” + +The pause was more eloquent than words. The manager turned to leave the +room, when suddenly the door was thrown violently open, and Al Ogan +burst in. + +“You common scrub!” he exclaimed furiously. “Where’s my―― O-h!” His jaw +sagged, and he stared amazedly at Kennedy. “I thought you were Savage. +Where is he?” + +Old Jack shook his head. “Give it up. I was asking myself that question +not half a minute ago. What seems to be your trouble?” + +“Trouble!” Ogan snapped out the word in a tone of extreme anger. “The +cheap skate stole my watch!” + +“What!” Kennedy’s voice was sharply incredulous. “You can’t mean that, +Ogan. Savage has certainly got brains enough not to pull off a stunt of +that sort.” + +“Has he? Well, he don’t use ’em, then! The watch was swiped last night +in the billiard room, and he’s the only one who could have taken it.” + +“What makes you so sure of that?” + +“It’s as plain as print. We were playing pool right after dinner――the +only ones in the room. My coat and vest were in a chair back of the +table. When Savage asked for a match I told him to help himself from +the box in my side coat pocket. I was making a hard shot at the time, +and my back was turned. When I came to look for the watch this morning, +it was gone.” + +Kennedy frowned. “How was it you didn’t notice the loss last night?” he +inquired, with some tartness. “You don’t know but somebody went through +your clothes while you were asleep.” + +“And left a roll of bills in my trousers pocket?” countered Ogan +sarcastically. “I guess nit! Generally I take my watch out and leave +it on the bureau, but last night we were late, and I just dumped the +clothes on the chair and tumbled in. Since Lefty bunked with Dalton, +I’ve had the room to myself, and I have a habit of locking the door. +There’s no getting around it, Jack, Savage is a thief, and I’m hanged +if I let him walk off with something I think as much of as I do that +watch. Haven’t you any idea where he’s gone?” + +A sudden spasm of disgust assailed Kennedy, making him wish fervently +that he had never set eyes on the aggravating individual who had +disturbed his equanimity more than any recruit he had ever handled. + +“Not a ghost of one,” he answered. “I’m done with him. He can be in +the infernal regions for all I care, just so he stays away from me.” + +He strode past Ogan to the door; there, pausing abruptly, as if ashamed +of his outburst, he glanced back over his shoulder. + +“Go see Locke,” he advised gruffly. “He thinks he’s got a hunch where +Savage gets his booze. I’ll let him off this morning to take you there +if he wants to. But don’t mention that man’s name to me again.” + +He stamped out into the hall. + +“Old man’s temper is certainly riz up,” Al commented. “Wonder what else +this crook has been doing to put himself in bad?” + +He wasted little time on that question, however. Descending to the +dining room, he bolted his breakfast, and sought out Lefty Locke. + +“Sure, I’ll go!” the latter agreed, when he had listened to Ogan’s +recital. “Can’t promise to help you much, but I’ll do my best. Jack +Stillman and I have only the vaguest sort of an idea that he gets his +booze at a certain farmhouse across the river; we really don’t know a +thing for sure. I’ll be right with you.” + +Knowing that the reporter would be busy with his daily column for the +_Star_, Lefty made no attempt to hunt him up. Securing his hat, he +joined Ogan at the door, and together they started briskly for the +river road. + +They had scarcely fallen into step before there flashed suddenly into +the southpaw’s mind a remembrance of that perplexing night of over a +week before and the problem of the voice in the dark which he had never +really solved. It was rather curious that these latest developments +should again couple Savage and Al Ogan together. Locke wondered whether +it might not be something more than mere coincidence. He became swiftly +determined to find out, if finding out lay within his power. + +“It’s funny, Al,” he remarked in a rather careless tone, “but I had an +idea you and Savage knew each other pretty well.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXIII + + THE CATASTROPHE + + +Ogan turned and stared at Lefty with an air of questioning which was +either real or remarkably well assumed. “Know Savage well?” he said. +“What gave you that notion?” + +The pitcher shrugged his shoulders. “Reckon it must have been that +night a week or so ago when you came into the hotel with him about ten. +You certainly acted mighty chummy then.” + +“Chummy!” was the puzzled exclamation. “Why, I’ve never―― Oh――that +night, you mean! I remember now.” He hesitated an instant, and glanced +suddenly away with an affectation of carelessness which did not deceive +his companion. “I reckon that must have been the first time I ever +spoke to the man,” he went on. “I ran into him by accident, not a block +away from the hotel.” + +Lefty’s eyebrows went up. “And yet,” he drawled, “you’d left that poker +game and hustled out over an hour before.” + +“I went for a walk,” Ogan explained hastily, without looking at the +southpaw. “I―― Say, what the deuce is this, anyhow――an inquisition?” +The color flamed into his face, and he flung back his head to stare +resentfully at Locke. “You talk as if you thought I wasn’t telling the +truth. You――look that way, too.” + +“Hardly that.” The pitcher’s tone continued lightly casual. “I did have +an idea, though, that you weren’t telling me everything. You see, Al, +it wasn’t just idle curiosity that made me ask.” + +For a second or two longer Ogan’s resentful expression remained +unchanged. Then his eyes softened a little; his lids drooped. + +“Sort of crabby, wasn’t I?” he inquired. “Guilty conscience always does +make a fellow sore. You see, I was ashamed to tell anybody about that +note of Tap――” + +“Tap!” put in Lefty, in astonishment. “Did Tap Palsifer send you that +note?” + +“Sure! Who’d you think did? Tap knew about the trouble I had last +season, but he didn’t want to come right in and break up the game, so +he found a boy to take in a note he’d written to――” + +“You’ve got me, Al,” interrupted Lefty, with a shake of the head. +“Reckon I’ve been barking up the wrong tree. I don’t understand a +single word you’ve said. Don’t go ahead if it’s something you’d rather +not tell me.” + +“It isn’t――now I’ve made the break,” the infielder returned, after the +briefest of pauses. “I’d like you to know, and then you can give me +a hand in case I tumble another time. It’s cards, generally. I can’t +seem to use ’em in moderation. Last year I played so much it put me to +the bad on the diamond, and I had to cut it out altogether. I had no +business to sit in the game the other night, but I thought it might be +different this year. Tap was wiser than I, though. The old hankering +was there worse than ever. I had the time of my life pulling out, +but I managed to somehow; and when I got outside didn’t he give me a +roasting――and then some! Well, we went for a stroll and, on the way +back, ran into Savage. Tap stopped to get some cigarettes; Savage and +I came on together. He wasn’t half bad that night. I didn’t know then +what he was.” + +Lefty drew a long breath, and smiled. It was impossible to doubt the +truth of Ogan’s explanation. The man’s eyes were clear and candid; +his gaze unwavering. So it was Temple, after all, that he had +overheard――Temple, the seemingly open, wholly attractive youngster +Locke himself had been the means of bringing into the Blue Stocking +squad. + +His interest in the puzzle reawakened surprisingly by this discovery, +Lefty promised himself a speedy interview with the young Seaboard +recruit, and made haste to apologize to Ogan for the manner in which +he had bungled. Fortunately the infielder took it all in good part, and +the southpaw forestalled any awkward questions by branching off into +an account of the little Stillman and himself had learned of Savage’s +mysterious trips across the river. By the time he had finished, the +boathouse was in sight. + +Pausing only long enough to see that the boat was gone, Locke led the +way upstream to where Stillman’s worm-eaten old flat-bottomed scow had +been hidden in the bushes. + +“Though why he was so careful about it I don’t know,” Lefty commented +as they hauled it out and shoved it into the water. “I can’t imagine +anybody taking it as a gift, much less stealing it.” + +Placing Ogan in the stern, Locke took the oars, and headed for a slight +cove in the farther bank, which looked at that distance like the mouth +of a small creek or inlet. + +The river was wide, and from the shore it had a sluggish appearance, +which Lefty soon discovered to be deceptive. He had not progressed a +dozen yards before he felt the strong tug of the current, and presently +it was all he could do to keep the bow from being turned downstream. + +“Better let me take an oar,” Ogan suggested. “You don’t want to strain +your arm.” + +“Don’t worry about me,” returned the southpaw. “Keep an eye peeled for +logs coming downstream. These spring freshets always flood out a lot +of ’em, and they’re hard to see in this muddy water.” + +The infielder nodded, and at once directed his gaze upstream. + +There was a pause in midstream to let a water-soaked, low-floating log +shoot past, while two minutes later the oarsman had to pull furiously +to escape being struck amidships by another. There was a lot more, +both of hard work and excitement, in the little jaunt than he had +anticipated. It would be aggravating if nothing came of it. + +At last, after what seemed an eternity of strenuous labor, the strength +of that midstream current began to lessen. Locke bent to his oars, +sending the boat through the water at comparatively good speed. It +seemed to him that not more than a few seconds could have passed before +he saw Ogan raise himself suddenly in the stern. + +“Hard on your right――quick!” he shouted. “There’s a snag――” + +The words died on his lips as he dropped back on the seat, clutching +instinctively at the sides. The southpaw put forth every ounce of +strength he possessed in a strenuous attempt to pull the boat around. +Before the clumsy scow had even begun to respond to his efforts, there +was a thud, a crash; the boat rose up as on the crest of a wave, +quivered, then dipped sidewise, coming to rest at a weird angle. And +there it hung precariously, its strained, rotting frame shaking and +trembling continuously with the force of the strong current rushing +against the exposed bottom. + +With the sudden shock of collision Lefty had lost an oar. Now, +bracing himself with one foot against the lower side of the boat, and +stretching a helping hand to his companion, he carelessly relinquished +the other, which was carried away by the water. + +Ogan lost not an instant in pulling himself up beside Locke. He was +drenched to the waist, for the stern seat had been thrust under water +when a knotty spur of the snag tore a hole in the rotten planking just +back of the bow. For a minute they clung to the frail, shaking timber +in silence, staring across the hundred feet or so of troubled, muddy +water between them and the shore. Then the southpaw suddenly burst into +a laugh. + +“Jove!” he cried. “If Savage could see us now, he’d say the joke was on +us.” + +The infielder’s responsive chuckle was prompt, but seemed somewhat +lacking in spontaneity. + +“I’m glad he isn’t around!” he returned. “Say, old man, how the +mischief are we going to get out of this? The old tub’s likely to break +up any minute.” + +“That’s no lie!” Locke had relinquished his hold on the seat, and was +tugging at the laces of his dripping shoes. “There’s nothing else but +to lighten cargo a bit and swim for it.” + +“That’s the bad part of it.” Ogan spoke slowly, in the tone of one who +is striving hard to suppress every hint of emotion. “I――can’t swim.” + +The southpaw’s nimble fingers abruptly ceased picking at the sodden +laces; his head came up with a jerk. His gaze rested for a second +lightly on his friend’s face, then flashed past the baseman’s broad +shoulder to linger appraisingly on the sweep of smoothly sliding brown +water that had suddenly widened so miraculously. In his expression +there was no hint of the momentary contraction of the throat muscles, +or the brief anxious chill which lingered for a second on his spine as +he realized the meaning of that terse announcement. When he spoke, his +voice was level and untroubled. + +“That so?” he queried coolly, breaking one of the laces with a snap, +and dragging off a shoe. “I’ll have to swim for two, then, won’t I? +Don’t lose any time shedding your coat and shoes, old fellow. They’re a +nuisance in the water.” + +Ogan proceeded to obey instructions as quickly as he could. His face +was, perhaps, a shade less brown, but his lips were firm, and there was +not even a tremor in the fingers that did their work without fumbling. +His own feelings gave Lefty a good idea of what must lie beneath that +mask of nonchalance. The fellow was grit clear through, he thought +admiringly, as he slipped out of his coat and let the garment drop +carelessly into the stream. + +“Grab hold of me to steady yourself,” he advised quietly when Ogan +began to wriggle out of coat and vest. “Loosen up your shirt, too. I +reckon that’s about all you’ll have time to do.” + +The southpaw’s own thin silk shirt was open at the throat. Under his +stockinged feet he felt the planks bend and quiver like that absurd +moving floor in one of Coney Island’s side shows. The wreck could +scarcely hold together many minutes longer, yet he waited with cool +patience until the infielder was quite ready. + +“There!” he said at last as the striped vest was whirled out of sight +by the current. “Now, listen. We’ll slide over this side together, and +do it as easy as we can. When we’re in the water you don’t want to +worry. Lie perfectly still, with one hand on my shoulder, and let me do +the rest. You can catch hold of my shirt, but don’t lose your head and +grab me around the neck. Get me?” + +“Sure!” Ogan’s lips were pressed tightly together, a straight gray +line. His eyes were wide, almost purple, but unwavering. “But if I +should be a fool, you――hand me one.” + +Locke smiled briefly, reassuringly. “You’re not going to be a fool. +Come ahead now. Take it easy. We don’t want the old tub to split up―― +Hold up a second! I’ll be hanged――” + +With a splintering crash, the great bulk of a submerged log, swept +down by the rushing current, struck the wrecked boat squarely. Flung +violently against the one remaining oarlock, Lefty caught a momentary +glimpse of Ogan’s body hurled past him into the brown torrent. The +planks under his feet seemed to melt away like ice in boiling oil. +In another instant the muddy water met over his head, blotting out +everything. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIV + + DIRE PERIL + + +With the instinct of a skilled swimmer, Lefty had drawn in a deep +lungful of air before he went under. It was that same instinct which, +on rising to the surface, made him thrust vigorously with arms and +legs toward the place where he had last seen Ogan. He was not in the +least troubled about himself. A moderately good swimmer, keeping his +head, would have no difficulty in reaching shore; and Lefty was more +than that. But the infielder probably would thrash about and struggle +fiercely, only to hasten the inevitable. + +As his head shot up into the sunlight the southpaw brushed a straggling +lock of hair from his eyes, and stared eagerly downstream. Not a dozen +feet away the muddy water was suddenly cleft by a clutching hand, +followed swiftly by the distorted face of Al Ogan, eyes staring, mouth +gasping widely for precious air. + +With a powerful lunge, Lefty flung himself forward. A few strokes +brought him beside the struggling man just in time to slide a firm +hand under his chin. + +“Steady, Al!” he cried. “Take it easy, old man. You’re all right now.” + +He scarcely expected to be obeyed, and he was not. Ogan was in the grip +of that paroxysm of madness which comes to every drowning person. He +knew only that out of the awful, despairing waste of instability had +come something solid, something which kept his mouth for a moment above +the loathsome, lapping, suffocating water. His impulse was to grasp it, +and grasp it he did with a surprising swiftness which caught Lefty, +looking though he was for such a move, off his guard. + +Remembrance of the few succeeding minutes was never very clear to +Locke. The instant Ogan’s fingers closed over his wrist in the iron +grip of despair he knew his work was cut out for him. He recalled +jerking away with all his strength, and of going under in the process. +When he finally came to the surface with lungs fairly bursting, Ogan +was nowhere to be seen. Pausing only long enough to draw a deep breath, +the southpaw dived. + +In diving he had nothing whatever to guide him, and it was sheer luck +that brought his outstretched hands against the body of the man he +sought. This time there seemed no movement. Ogan had evidently lapsed +into unconsciousness, and, catching him under the shoulders with one +arm, Lefty struck out for the surface. + +He was beginning to grow exhausted from so much struggling. He was +assailed by grave doubts of his ability to get Ogan ashore. Then, +to his horror, just as they shot up into the blessed air, the limp +infielder turned unexpectedly in his arms, and fastened clutching +fingers about his throat. + +The southpaw tore away the gripping hands, and took an uncertain stroke +or two out of reach. Almost as quickly he was back again. His head +reeled dizzily, and he could scarcely see, but to let his friend sink +was a thing impossible. Reaching out, he caught Ogan by the hair. Then +a sobbing breath of thankfulness passed his lips as he saw a strange +boat that was almost upon them. + +It came swiftly on the current, threatening to run down the two +struggling in the water. Then it swerved, its progress was stayed +perceptibly, and a figure suddenly bent over the side, with arms +outstretched. Lefty was too much occupied with the now almost senseless +Ogan to glance at the stranger’s face. He held the infielder up in the +water until a pair of strong hands slid under the limp arms and began +to drag the dripping body into the boat. Then the pitcher reached for +the moving craft himself, caught the side near the stern, and clung +there, too weak to pull himself into the boat unaided. + +A moment later a shadow blotted the sun from Lefty’s eyes. Glancing up, +he found himself staring into the face of Nelson Savage. + +For a moment the southpaw had a weird feeling that he was seeing +visions. That the busher should be here was natural enough, but to find +him doing what this man had done seemed incredible. Then, as the fellow +dropped to his knees on the stern seat and reached out a helping hand, +Locke realized that the impossible was happening. + +“Give us your fist,” the Westerner said briefly. + +There was a straining of muscles in which Locke rendered what help he +could, and a moment later the pitcher was in the boat, staring dazedly +and still a little incredulously at the face of his rescuer. + +“All right?” the latter questioned, stepping back to secure one of the +oars which was balanced precariously over the side. + +Savage’s heavy brows met in a single straight line above the bridge +of his rather large nose, and there was an undercurrent of suppressed +anxiety in his voice, and an inflection which faintly stirred a chord +of memory in the southpaw’s mind. + +“Sure!” Lefty answered mechanically, his eyes still searching the +other’s face. “Only a little winded, that’s all.” + +A second later he forgot everything else in the remembrance of Ogan’s +condition. The infielder sprawled in the bottom of the boat, his eyes +closed. Without a word, Savage and Locke straightened him as best they +could, and began to work his arms vigorously. To their intense relief, +he responded almost at once; he was not unconscious, but utterly +exhausted. As soon as he realized this, Locke suggested that they make +for shore at once. + +Savage agreed, and, each taking an oar, they headed for the bank from +which Lefty and Ogan had started, without trying to pull back to the +boathouse. + +It was a curious, silent row. Neither man spoke, for, in truth, they +needed all their wind for the physical exertion of cutting across the +current. But all the time Lefty’s mind was busy trying to figure out +the subtle, but unmistakable, change which had come over the chap +beside him. He could not imagine the Savage of yesterday and the day +before acting as this man had done. He might, perhaps, have come to the +rescue of two drowning men, but certainly he would never have shown any +anxiety for their welfare once they had been dragged from the water. +There were other things, too, slight, but equally puzzling; but it was +not until they had reached the bank and lifted the still helpless Ogan +from the boat that the remembrance he had been striving for came to +Lefty in a flash. + +That unpleasant, baleful glare had vanished from Savage’s eyes. They +were human now, almost attractive and winning――the eyes of the man he +had met and unaccountably liked at the station in that little, far-away +Jersey village of Belle View. + + + + + CHAPTER XXV + + TWO IN ONE + + +The realization had scarcely flashed into Locke’s mind when Ogan, who +had dropped weakly down against a sapling, slowly lifted his head from +his lax arms, and stared fixedly at Savage. His expression was dazed, +as one just awakening from a dream to realities which he could not +understand. Then swiftly the puckered, puzzled wrinkles in his forehead +changed to deep, vertical furrows. + +“You!” he said sharply; then: “Well, where’s my watch?” + +Savage’s eyes widened a trifle. “Your watch!” he repeated. “I don’t +remember seeing it.” + +The infielder made an impatient gesture with his hands. “Don’t try that +game!” he snapped. “You saw it well enough last night in the billiard +room. What’s more, you managed to slip it from my pocket into yours.” + +Even though Ogan was probably still too dazed to realize what he was +doing, the bad taste of entering into a discussion of the robbery at +such a moment brought a flush of embarrassment to Lefty’s face. His +lips were parted in a swift impulse to silence his teammate, when a +glance at Savage stilled the words abruptly. + +The busher had straightened almost imperceptibly; his face took on the +keen wariness of one suddenly on his guard. It was gone in a second, +leaving only the faintest added touch of color and a slight lowering of +the lids; but it was enough to reduce Locke to wondering silence. + +“You’ve made a mistake,” Savage returned, with chill brevity. “I know +nothing whatever about any property of yours.” + +“You don’t!” sneered Ogan. He rose unsteadily to his feet, and faced +the quiet, square-jawed man before him. “I s’pose you’ll be saying next +that you weren’t shooting pool with me last night?” + +Savage’s lids drooped even lower. His hands were clenched so tightly +that the knuckles showed white against the brown skin. He had not +stirred, but to Locke he suddenly gave the impression of tremendous +dynamic force, quiescent, but likely at any moment to leap forth in +strenuous action. + +“Because I played pool with you,” the Westerner returned, in that +same cold, deliberately restrained tone, “it hardly follows that I am +responsible for the disappearance of your valuables. I happen to own a +very good watch already, and really have no use for two.” + +“I didn’t suppose you’d wear it!” retorted Ogan hotly. “Such things are +easy enough to dispose of, as you probably――” + +“Al,” interrupted Lefty indignantly, “cut it out! Can’t you understand +that but for Savage we’d both of us, probably, be at the bottom of the +river? He’s the one who pulled us out.” + +The infielder’s jaw sagged, and for a time he stared at his friend, a +crimson tide surging into his face. His gaze shifted to the busher. His +lips quivered a little and parted, as if he meant to speak, but closed +again as he turned his back and moved uncertainly toward the near-by +roadway. + +“You mustn’t mind, Savage,” Locke said, in a low tone. “He’s been +worrying a lot about losing a watch his father gave him, and he really +isn’t himself at all. Suppose we go on back to the hotel? I’m beginning +to feel as if some dry clothes would be acceptable.” + +The other pitcher nodded, and they started after Ogan. At first there +was a rather awkward pause, but, overtaking the infielder, his very +silence seemed to throw the other two together, and before they knew it +they were conversing on various topics relating to the training camp +and the forthcoming baseball season. + +Lefty was talking with a purpose. An idea had come into his mind――a +strange, fantastic, almost uncanny idea, which, if he could find any +reason for it, would explain a good many of Nelson Savage’s apparently +inexplicable traits. By the time they reached the hotel he had accepted +his solution of the problem, weird as it might seem. Ogan hurried +on ahead of them, apparently eager to escape from an embarrassing +situation. He was passing the desk when Major Holcombe, the proprietor, +halted him. + +“Mistah Ogan,” said the major, in his slow, courtly, Southern manner, +“one moment if yo’ please, suh.” He came forward from behind the desk, +one hand extended. “I think this is yoah property. It seems to be +marked with yoah initials. I regret most sincerely the unfawtunate +situation, suh, but I have discov’ed a man in my employ――the boy +Charlie, who has taken cha’ge of the billiard room――guilty of theft, +suh, and this was found on his pusson.” + +For a long moment Ogan stared at the watch which had been laid in his +mechanically outstretched hand. Then he raised his eyes to Savage’s. In +them there was contrition, embarrassment, and regret. It was not easy +to speak. He moistened his lips, and at last the words came haltingly: + +“I beg your pardon, Savage. I seem to have made a big――mistake. I hope +you’ll forgive me.” + +There was no hesitation in the busher’s acknowledgment of the apology. +He took the other’s outstretched hand promptly. + +“Don’t worry about that, Al,” he said quickly. “We’re all of us likely +to go wrong now and then. Forget it!” + +Mumbling something indistinguishable, Ogan hurried toward the stairs, +and disappeared, leaving the other two to follow more slowly. In the +second-floor corridor Lefty paused an instant beside Savage’s door. + +“Well, I’ll go on and get into something dry,” he said. “See you later, +old chap.” + +Savage nodded and entered his room. The southpaw continued on down the +hall alone. While dressing Lefty turned over and over in his mind the +curious idea that had come to him. It was almost absurd, yet what other +explanation could make apparent impossibilities dovetail so accurately? +Starting downstairs, he found that it was almost noon, and was not +surprised to encounter Jack Kennedy in the lobby below. + +“Well,” queried the manager briefly, “did you find the man you went +after?” + +Hesitating, Locke glanced swiftly around. The players were appearing by +twos and threes at the main entrance. He drew Kennedy across the room, +pausing beside the door of the stuffy little writing room. + +“We did,” he returned quietly. “And, Jack, I want you to do something +for me.” + +The manager stared, then frowned. “Look here, Lefty,” he exploded, +“don’t tell me you want a favor for that sneak!” + +“But I do. Wait! Just let me tell you what he’s done for me.” + +Briefly, but with vivid clearness, he told what had transpired on the +river that morning. Kennedy remained unmoved. + +“Very nice!” he conceded. “But where do I come off――holding on to a +creature who gets skated every time he can beg, borrow, or steal drink? +I’m not running the Blue Stockings for my health, you know. I’ve got +to show results. I’ve got to make every man count, and how am I going +to do that if I keep no-goods like this Savage? Why, son, he isn’t +worth his board. Not only has he tippled ever since he struck camp, and +sassed me till I’m ready to mash his homely mug in, but he’s got the +kind of disposition that would set a whole team scrapping――and you know +what that means.” + +Locke reached forward impulsively and laid a restraining hand on +Kennedy’s arm. “Listen to me, Jack,” he said quickly. “I want to ask +you something. Did you ever read a book called ‘Doctor Jekyll and Mr. +Hyde’?” + +The manager’s eyebrows went up, and he sniffed. “About that fool who +took powders and changed himself into a bum?” he inquired. + +“Well, that’s the way the story has it, but Stevenson didn’t mean it +quite so literally. What he had in mind was a case of dual personality. +You know that every one of us has good impulses and bad. In some people +these impulses are strengthened to personalities which are constantly +at war. Sometimes the good nature is uppermost, sometimes the bad. It’s +a constant fight for control of the body, and the one that is strongest +ultimately wins out.” + +His eyes were very bright; his whole face indicated his earnestness. +“That’s Savage’s case,” he went on emphatically. “I’m positive of it. +I’ve told you what sort he was when I first met him that day on the +train. When I ran into him at Belle View, he was utterly different; he +was human and civilized. He’d lost that beastly look about the eyes; +the better nature was uppermost. Down here he had changed again; the +other self held control, and you know what that was. It got my goat. +I didn’t know what to make of it. But to-day when I found him changed +again I remembered the story. I remembered a play I saw last winter +which had that very subject for its plot, and which was founded on +fact. There have been such cases――a number of them――and I’ll bet you +any money, Jack, that Savage’s is one of them.” + +In spite of the talk and laughter of a group over by the desk, that +corner of the room seemed very still. Kennedy, incredulous and +skeptical, leaned against the back of a worn leather chair. + +“And you believe all that?” he asked at length. + +“I certainly do,” was the emphatic response. + +“Where do I come off if I keep this man? What’s there in it from a +business point of view?” + +“A good deal, I think,” Locke rejoined. “You’ve complained that Savage +has never made good on the diamond. Well, you’ve only had a chance to +judge from the poorer side of him. How do you know what he’ll do in his +present condition? It’s like trying out a totally different man. He may +develop into a pippin.” + +“And then do this lightning-change business just when I need him most?” +the manager growled pessimistically. “Hanged if I want to monkey with +a chameleon like that, son. I’ve got too many troubles running a crowd +of normal, ordinary ball players to bother with freaks who change +themselves every little while.” + +“But won’t you give him a chance, Jack?” pleaded Lefty. “If you won’t +do it for him, or for the good it may bring to the organization, do it +for me. I haven’t asked you for many favors, have I?” + +There was another pause. Then Kennedy’s homely face expanded in that +rare smile which transformed it utterly. “Have it your own way, Kid,” +he muttered. “You mostly do when you really set out to get something. +We’ll give this changeling of yours another try-out, only remember +this: If he falls down you won’t have a leg left to stand on. There +goes the gong.” + +He turned toward the dining room, and Lefty followed him. Even before +they had crossed the lobby there came the scraping of a chair in the +little space misnamed the writing room, and Nelson Savage moved slowly +into the doorway. His face was set, and rather pale. The pupils of his +eyes were dilated, and his expression was a curious mixture of pain, +gratitude, and infinite regret. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVI + + METAMORPHOSIS + + +For a minute or two Savage stood staring across the lobby after Locke +and the manager. Then, as they disappeared into the dining room, he +drew a long breath and raised one hand to his forehead with a puzzled, +undecided gesture. + +“_Jekyll and Hyde!_” he muttered in an odd voice as he turned back to +the writing room. Beside the spotted, baize-covered table he paused +again, looking down with thoughtful, unseeing eyes at the unfinished +letter lying there. + +“So that’s it,” he murmured under his breath. “I wonder?” + +He frowned, and began tapping lightly on the table with one finger. His +lids drooped, and his whole face was eloquent of troubled indecision. +It was several minutes before he roused himself with a determined shake +of the shoulders, and sat down. + +“What a splendid friend that chap would make!” he said in a low tone, +his somber face brightening momentarily. “He’d stick to a fellow +through thick and thin, once he believed in him. I wish―― Oh, thunder! +What’s the odds, anyhow!” + +He drew the letter to him, and picked up a pen. Five minutes later he +had sealed the envelope and dropped it into a side pocket; and when he +presently entered the dining room no one could have guessed from his +expression that he had so lately been stirred to the very depths of his +being. + +As he hesitated just inside the doorway, glancing from right to left, +Locke, who had been watching for his appearance, hailed him from a +near-by table. + +“Better sit down here, Savage,” he said pleasantly. “There’s an extra +place or two.” + +He had maneuvered so that one of those vacant chairs should be next +his own, for his theories as to the busher’s eccentricities had made +him anxious to see as much as possible of the fellow, and study him +at close range. Several of the other players looked surprised at this +unwonted cordiality toward a man few of them had any use for. Larry +Dalton’s eyebrows went up comically as he glanced inquiringly toward +his friend, but he made no audible comment. He rather suspected some +elaborate joke, but, like the others, was content to wait until he got +his bearings before joining in. + +Savage showed neither hesitation nor embarrassment. He took possession +of the chair beside the southpaw as if it were the most natural thing +in the world, gave his order to the waiter, and settled back, his +smiling eyes, so different in expression from the eyes his comrades had +known, ranging composedly from one to another of the surprised faces. + +Before the meal was over Lefty had observed enough to strengthen +his belief in the accuracy of that odd supposition concerning dual +personality. The Westerner’s two natures were opposite as the poles. +The snappy, grouchy, quarrelsome Savage who had become so unpopular +with his companions and such a thorn in the manager’s side, had nothing +in common with the pleasant, well-mannered, somewhat retiring chap +sitting at Locke’s right. And Lefty was not the only one to notice the +change. He could read in the faces of the others, and in the way they +cast furtive glances at the busher, that they were equally astonished, +and quite unable to know what to make of it all. + +“What’s the game, old man?” Dalton whispered, as they walked out into +the lobby afterward. “What in thunder have you done to him? You must +have done something. The mucker’s almost human!” + +Lefty shook his head. “You’ve got me,” he returned briefly. “I haven’t +done a thing. He’s been this way ever since he pulled Al and me out of +the river this morning. Maybe he’s decided to turn over a new leaf.” + +“Huh!” grunted the infielder skeptically. “It’s more likely he’s +putting up a game.” + +Locke made no comment on the suggestion. His eyes were fixed upon +Savage, who stood a short distance away, talking with two or three +players. His mind was busy with a new detail of the extremely +interesting problem the man presented. + +Was the fellow aware in his present state of what had been said and +done by his other self? During dinner he had not talked a great deal, +preferring apparently the rôle of listener. He had answered questions +freely, however, and now and then volunteered a comment. To the +ordinary observer there had been nothing at all out of the way in his +manner, or in those brief remarks, but Lefty recalled now a certain +keen attentiveness to what was being said which reminded him oddly +of a deaf man feeling his way. There had also been one or two little +inconsistencies of speech that seemed significant. + +Still watching and thinking, Locke presently saw Pete Zacher stroll up +and join the group. A moment or two later the recruit’s harsh voice was +raised in a note of surprise: + +“Say, Nels, what in time have you done with your ring?” + +Savage stared at him for a flash, then glanced swiftly down at his left +hand. + +“That’s so,” he said. “Much obliged for reminding me. Reckon I must +have left it in my room when I was washing up.” + +“In your room?” repeated Zacher. “I thought you said you never took it +off.” + +The Westerner hesitated for a second, then shrugged his shoulders +lightly. “Did I say that?” he queried carelessly. “You mustn’t take +everything so literally. Very likely I didn’t want to take it off at +that particular time.” + +Zacher’s lips curled. “I don’t know what you meant; I only know what +you said.” He laughed disagreeably. “I s’pose there’s hockshops, even +in this little one-horse burg, eh?” + +The recruit’s expression scarcely changed, but to Lefty’s observing +eyes his smile had taken on a chilling quality. + +“Very likely,” he retorted quietly, turning on his heel. “You ought to +know, if any one does. Going out to the park, Lefty?” + +The southpaw nodded, and together they moved toward the door. In a +breath Savage had committed two palpable inconsistencies. He had flatly +contradicted a former utterance about the ring, while his manner showed +undisguised dislike for a man with whom he had previously been on +better terms than with any one in the squad. It was scarcely possible +that he would have done this with a full consciousness of that other +personality. + +Lefty had read of one or two such instances, but to come face +to face with such a condition was vastly different. It seemed +incredible――uncanny. He tried to picture the mental turmoil of a man +awakening suddenly to an existence which had been snipped off as +abruptly, perhaps, months before. The fellow must, by this time, have +some notion of the state of affairs. He must realize that something +almost like another soul inhabited his body at intervals. But to have +absolutely no knowledge of what that other soul had been making his +body do or say would be intolerable. + +The busher’s performance on the field that afternoon won a grudging +nod or two of approval from doubting Jack Kennedy. There was nothing +especially brilliant about his form, but Savage unquestionably showed +an anxiety to do his best which had hitherto been conspicuously lacking. + +“He might make a pitcher if he kept that up,” admitted the manager to +Lefty. “Of course he won’t, though. About the time I begin thinking I +can use him, he’ll get hitting it up again, or have one o’ them fits +you tell about.” + +Though Locke waved away the possibility with some assurance, he was +secretly troubled by that very fear. With no data to guide him, he had +not the least notion of how often these lapses occurred or what brought +them about. The previous period had lasted over two weeks, at least; +but, for all he knew, the present one might terminate at any moment. He +cudgeled his brains to think of anything he could do to ward off such a +catastrophe, but there seemed to be nothing save an effort to keep the +busher’s mind occupied and prevent him from brooding over his condition. + +With this idea in mind, Lefty deliberately started in to make things as +agreeable as he could for Savage, and before very long he discovered +the task to be far from irksome. As in that brief railroad trip they +had taken together in the North, he found the Westerner very winning +and likable; and Savage left no doubt of that liking being returned. +The end of the second day found them good friends indeed, and, +curiously enough, none of Lefty’s older cronies――Stillman, Dalton, +Ogan, and the rest――showed any signs of disapproval at the intimacy. + +Said Laughing Larry: “When a guy who’s been as rotten as he has can +turn himself into a first-rate, decent chap, it would be a crime not to +encourage him.” + +Truly the metamorphosis had been complete. But would it last? That was +the question which troubled the southpaw, and was scarcely ever absent +from his mind. He had a feeling that the hateful transformation might +come at any moment, and without the slightest warning. He could never +be really sure in parting from Savage, even for an hour, that their +next meeting would not find the busher’s evil self again in control. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVII + + ENTER: A GIRL + + +“Going to do anything special to-night, Lefty?” asked Savage, as Locke +hastily averted the searching glance of inquiry which he had come +intuitively to cast on the Westerner almost every time they met. + +“Not a thing,” returned the southpaw promptly. “Got something on your +mind?” + +The busher hesitated an instant, oddly embarrassed; and for the first +time that evening Lefty noticed that his companion was dressed with +unusual care. + +“I wonder if you’d mind――making a call with me?” Savage faltered. +“Would it bore you?” + +“I’ll be glad to go,” said Lefty readily. “Want to start right away?” + +The Westerner nodded and turned toward the door. Pausing a moment at +the desk to mail a letter he had just written, Locke joined him, and +they left the hotel together. For a space they walked along in silence +under the thick, spreading branches which met and intertwined above the +roadway. Then Savage turned suddenly toward his companion. + +“There’s a――friend of mine stopping here with her aunt,” he said, +with an effort at casualness which was not at all deceptive. “She’s +heard a lot about you, and she asked me to bring you around some +evening.” He hesitated perceptibly; in the bright light from one of +the moving-picture theaters his face seemed rather flushed. “You’ve +done a lot for me, old man, and been a mighty good friend,” he went on +impulsively. “I’d like to have you meet her.” + +A thrill of keen interest, mingled with relief, surged over Lefty. In a +flash he realized that the Westerner’s manner could mean but one thing: +There was a woman in the case. A woman, provided the busher had a deep +enough interest in her, was likely to prove a strong influence for good +in his present condition. Moreover, her presence in Tulane explained +the recruit’s absence from the hotel on the previous evening――a +circumstance which had worried Locke not a little. + +“I’d be glad to meet her, Nels,” he said simply, “and I certainly +appreciate your compliment in wanting me to. That’s all rot, though, +about my having done anything for you. If there’s any indebtedness +between us, it’s on my side.” + +It was so dark under the trees that neither man could see the other’s +face. Lefty was conscious, however, of his friend turning swiftly +toward him with a quick-drawn breath. + +“Do you think I don’t know?” the busher asked almost sharply. “I’m not +much of a talker, but some day I may have a chance to do something; +and, believe me――” + +His teeth came together with a click, cutting off the words abruptly, +and leaving the southpaw devoured with curiosity. Just what did Savage +mean? Was he referring merely to Locke’s marked friendliness, or had he +something more vital in mind? Did he really know much of the behavior +of his other self, or was it merely guesswork? + +Had there been time Lefty would have managed to frame some sort of an +indirect question, but just as he was thinking out a way of pursuing +the subject, his companion pushed through a gate and led the way up +a brick walk to the wide portico and spreading façade of a typical +Southern house. + +The door was opened by a negro butler, who took their hats and ushered +them into a room at the right of the wide hall. It was an attractive +apartment furnished with admirable taste in old mahogany and rosewood, +but the southpaw had no time to observe details. A fire flickered +on the hearth, and, standing before it, her back to the door, was a +slender girl, a glimpse of whom made Lefty’s heart bound and sent the +color flaming to his very temples. + +“Janet!” he gasped, in a low, dazed tone. “Why――” + +He broke off abruptly with a stifled gasp of disappointment as the girl +turned, revealing the charming, piquant face and smiling gray eyes of a +stranger. + +“I’m delighted to meet you, Mr. Locke,” she said, with an attractive +Southern accent, as Savage presented his friend. “My aunt, Mrs. +Randolph.” + +Lefty stammered out his acknowledgments rather haltingly. When the +white-haired, Dresden-china old lady had resumed her chair by the +center table, his gaze returned to Miss Celia Berkeley. + +“Didn’t I hear you say something as you came in, Mr. Locke?” she asked +demurely, but with laughter lurking in her eyes. “It sounded like――a +name. I might almost venture to say a girl’s name.” + +Lefty smiled. “It was,” he acknowledged. “As you stood before the fire +you looked so like a girl I know up North that it gave me quite a +shock.” + +Even now, with the lamplight full on her face, he could still see that +odd, tantalizing resemblance to the girl who meant more to him than +any one else in the world. Her height was nearly the same as Janet +Harting’s, and it seemed that they had been cast in the same dainty +mold. The way she carried her head was like Janet’s manner, too, and +while her hair was a shade darker than the Northern girl’s, it curled +and waved above her perfect ears and at her temples in that fascinating +manner with which the southpaw was so familiar. + +“Really?” exclaimed Miss Berkeley interestedly. “Do you mean to say I +have a double somewhere?” + +“Hardly that. It’s more a superficial resemblance of height and hair +and that sort of thing than any real likeness.” + +The girl dimpled, and her eyes gleamed mischievously. “That means she’s +heaps more attractive, doesn’t it?” + +Lefty flushed a little. “I didn’t say so,” he protested. + +“You didn’t have to,” she countered. “I have a trick of reading +people’s minds, sometimes, and I’m quite sure she’s lovely. You must +tell me all about her.” + +The southpaw did not need much urging. He had not laid eyes on Janet +in over a month, and he hungered for a sight of her. There had been no +letter, even, for the better part of a week. He had written lengthily +that very night, asking if there was anything the matter, and he +wished now that he had wired. Naturally, he painted a glowing picture +of Miss Harting’s charms, which would have made that young person +blush, and which caused the girl sitting opposite him to give a long +sigh, the dimple still dancing in her cheek. + +“If I even make you think of such an attractive creature, I am +desperately flattered,” she said. “I have a feeling that I’d like this +Janet of yours immensely, so you must bring us together when I go North +this summer. You’ll promise, won’t you?” + +Of course Lefty did. He meant to keep that promise, too, for he felt +that she and Janet would get along famously together. Miss Berkeley +seemed quite as fond of baseball as Janet, though Locke discovered, +when the conversation presently turned on that subject, that she lacked +a good deal of Janet’s technical knowledge of the game; and they were +both attached to baseball players. If that didn’t make them friends, +the southpaw decided, nothing would. + +The evening was quite the pleasantest Lefty had passed since training +season began. The three young people chatted on all sorts of subjects +while Mrs. Randolph, though mainly occupied with her knitting, +added a remark now and then which showed that she was following the +conversation. There was nothing in the least stiff or formal about the +call; on the contrary, it passed off with an atmosphere of friendliness +which made Locke feel as if he had known the ladies for a long time. +When the two ball players left, shortly before ten, it was with the +promise to return for dinner the following evening. + +They were halfway back to the hotel before a sudden qualm made Lefty +break off abruptly in the midst of a most enthusiastic tribute to Miss +Berkeley’s qualities. + +“By George, Nels!” he exclaimed. “I hadn’t any business to accept that +invitation to dinner.” + +“Why not? Got a date?” + +“N-o, but I’ll be butting in and spoiling another evening for you. She +seemed really to want me to come, and it never occurred to me until +this minute that it was probably her Southern hospitality that made her +do it.” + +Savage laughed softly. “Don’t you go worrying about that. She asked +you, didn’t she? Well, that’s enough. She wouldn’t have done it unless +she wanted you. I can’t imagine why, of course,”――his voice held a tone +of mischievous teasing,――“but I know Celia. If your attention wasn’t +already occupied elsewhere, I’d probably be steering you off. As it is, +I’m mighty glad you get on so well together.” + +There was no mistaking his earnestness, and, though still entertaining +some slight misgivings, Locke let the matter drop. + +Returning from the field next afternoon, he was buttonholed by Kennedy, +who kept him talking for nearly an hour. This still left him plenty of +time to dress, but he lost track of Savage. On descending finally to +the lobby, he found at the desk a note from the other man saying that +Miss Berkeley had asked him to come around early, while Locke was to +follow as soon as he was ready. + +“Glad they’ll have a few minutes alone, anyhow,” the southpaw said to +himself as he walked briskly down Main Street. “I’ll be hanged if I can +understand why she wants to drag in a third party. I’m sure I wouldn’t.” + +As he walked he fell to wondering――not for the first time that +day――whether Celia Berkeley was aware of Savage’s peculiar mental +shifts. It seemed scarcely possible, considering her light-hearted +gayety, and yet it would be a thing most difficult of concealment in +such an intimate friendship. Perhaps she did know, and was bravely +concealing the fact in an effort to keep the man she cared for from +slipping back to that other hateful self. The possibility made Lefty +long more than ever to help in the affair. He was wondering whether he +might dare to broach the subject some day to Miss Berkeley alone, when +he reached the gate of the Randolph place, and, glancing up, saw the +slender girl coming toward him. + +She was dressed in some white, clinging stuff which made her seem +slenderer than ever. She wore a wide, drooping garden hat which partly +concealed her face. In the shadowy half light her amazing likeness to +Janet struck on Lefty’s senses with a fresh thrill. “If only it could +be Janet!” he thought, as the gate clicked behind him. + +“Good evening, Miss Berkeley,” he said, in a voice which he kept steady +only by an effort. “I hope I’m not too early.” + +With a swift, indescribable motion, the girl flung back her head, and +stretched out both hands impulsively in a manner which sent the blood +drumming in Locke’s temples, and made him leap forward with a stifled +cry of astonishment and joy. + +She was not Celia Berkeley, but Janet Harting! + + + + + CHAPTER XXVIII + + THE BETTER MAN DOMINANT + + +“And so you really think Janet and I will like each other?” inquired +Miss Berkeley, her eyes sparkling mischievously above the bowl of +flowers in the center of the candle-lit table. + +The southpaw’s answering laugh was clear and mirthful, without even a +suspicion of pique. With Janet sitting beside him there was no room in +his mind for anything but pure, unadulterated delight. + +“Oh, I’m the only original goat, all right,” he admitted cheerfully. +“You two certainly played the game to the queen’s taste.” He glanced +sidewise at Janet. “I’ve never even heard you mention Miss Berkeley’s +name, to say nothing about being friends.” + +The girl dimpled charmingly. “I didn’t. I only met her the last time I +was staying in New York. We got on famously, though, and when she asked +me to visit her we both thought it would be great fun to surprise you.” + +“You sure did it!” Lefty chuckled. “You’d make a clever actress, Miss +Berkeley. I did wonder a bit why, with one pitcher already attached, +you’d want another butting in.” + +“In other words, you thought me a dreadful flirt,” said the girl. +“Well, now it’s all over, I warn you to make the best use of your time. +Janet and I are here for only three days.” + +Locke’s face fell. “Three days! Why, I thought you’d surely be here +until we break up.” + +“There’s no reason in the world why you shouldn’t, Celia,” put in Mrs. +Randolph from her end of the table. “You know I should love to have you +and Miss Harting stay as long as you please.” + +Miss Berkeley shook her shapely head. “I’m sure you would, Aunt Julia, +but it’s quite impossible. I’ve simply got to get back to look after +dad and the boys. It was all I could do to persuade them to let me off +for this one week. Of course,” she added, with a glance at the man +opposite her, “it isn’t as if we were going a thousand miles from here. +Savannah’s not more than eighty, is it? I know we make it in about four +hours.” + +“Hum!” murmured Lefty. “I suppose a fellow might get off for a Sunday +if we worked Jack right.” He looked at Savage. “Reckon we’ll have to +make the most of these three days, old man, but they’re going to seem +awfully short.” + +It was long after ten when the two men departed, but both commented on +the brevity of their stay. In the morning, too, it required something +of an effort for Lefty to concentrate his mind on the work of training. +But he was not the sort to waste time in vain regrets. + +Savage worked hard, and made such a good showing that about the +middle of the morning Kennedy took him in hand and began coaching him +personally. Lefty had noticed the manager hovering about the Westerner, +watching him in a surreptitious sort of way, and he was not surprised +when old Jack suddenly abandoned his skeptical attitude. + +For the remainder of the morning and all afternoon the lanky baseball +veteran kept at it, hammer and tongs, criticizing almost everything +Savage did, and only varying the monotony by an occasional rare grunt +of approval. It seemed as if he were doing his best to discourage the +man or drive him to an outburst of anger, and Locke watched his friend +with some anxiety as to the outcome. Knowing the old manager better, +probably, than any one else in the squad, he realized that this seeming +onslaught was in the nature of a compliment. Kennedy never wasted +time on the hopelessly incompetent. If a recruit showed little or no +promise he mentally checked him off as deadwood, and got rid of him at +the earliest possible moment. He would never have kept Savage as long +as this but for the necessity of having some one to relieve his old +twirlers in pitching to the other players, and latterly on account of +Lefty’s warm personal interest in the man. It was evident now that he +had altered his opinion, and if the Westerner could only realize this +and continue his good work under the grilling fire of criticism, he +stood a chance to make good. + +His performance surpassed even Locke’s hopes. Not once did he lose his +head or his temper, though several times it seemed as if the latter +was badly strained. Without comment he followed Kennedy’s directions, +pitching the same ball over and over again until he had succeeded in +pleasing his critic. There was no trace of sullenness or boredom in +his manner. He seemed to be giving the best that was in him, honestly +striving to improve his form. He made no objection when the spitball +was suggested, and his ability at that erratic sort of delivery was so +marked as to surprise the manager into a burst of approval. + +“You get a good break on that spitter,” he said. “That’s the sort of +stuff I’ve been trying to get out of you for two weeks.” + +To Locke, on their way back from the park, he was even more +enthusiastic: + +“The boy’s got the makings of a twirler in him. You saw his spitball? +Reminded you of Ed Walsh, didn’t it? He’ll improve before we start +North, and if he only don’t go an’ slump――” + +“I don’t know why he should,” Lefty said reassuringly. “He’s got every +possible inducement for keeping up the pace.” + +He had a feeling that it was not a matter of volition with Savage. But, +knowing Kennedy’s skepticism regarding the matter of dual personality, +he refrained from voicing it. + +“Well, I hope he does,” old Jack said briefly. “Young Temple’s doing +fair, but that’s about all.” He chewed on his cigar for a moment, then +went on meditatively: “I’ve half a notion to put Savage in the box when +we play that Atlanta team next week. They’re a tough bunch, from what +I hear, and if he could make a showing against ’em, I’d begin to think +I’d found a pitcher.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXIX + + THE ETERNAL FEMININE + + +With proverbial Southern hospitality, Mrs. Randolph insisted that the +two ball players dine at her house on each of the three evenings before +the departure of her niece and Miss Harting for Savannah. On the last +of these evenings they were asked to come early enough for afternoon +tea, which was served on a flagged terrace overlooking an attractive, +old-fashioned garden laid out on the slope leading down to the river. +It was a charming spot. + +When the teacups were emptied and Mrs. Randolph had retired for her +customary rest before dinner, Celia Berkeley lost no time in suggesting +that Janet take the southpaw for a little stroll. + +“I know he’s curious to see what a real Southern garden looks like,” +she remarked, her gray eyes dancing. “Nelson doesn’t care much for +flowers, so we’ll wait for you here.” + +Lefty embraced the suggestion with enthusiasm, and without further +delay they passed through the belt of shrubbery to one of the winding, +box-bordered paths; a wilderness of flowers on either hand, before +them the glinting river with a distant line of blue hills, beyond which +the sun was dropping. + +It was the first time they had been really alone, and there were +quantities of things to say, none of which would have been of the +slightest interest to a third person. Besides, back in Lefty’s mind was +a half-formed notion of confiding to Janet his perplexities regarding +Nelson Savage――perplexities which had been increased not a little that +day by a change he had noticed in the busher’s manner. + +It was nothing he would have paid much attention to under ordinary +conditions. Savage had been noticeably thoughtful and preoccupied ever +since breakfast, as if there were something on his mind. But nowadays +the southpaw was fearful of the slightest alteration in his friend’s +demeanor, and he had a positive longing to talk the matter over with a +sympathetic, interested confidant. + +At length they reached the end of the garden and paused, momentarily +silent, beside an ancient stile which gave access through a moss-grown +stone wall to the peach orchard and, beyond, the river. The sun had +dipped out of sight behind the hazy, purple hills, leaving the sky a +riot of orange and flaunting crimson. The sloping orchard before them +was a sea of delicate pink. At their feet, sheltered by the wall, and +creeping over it in places, a wild tangle of yellow jasmine sprawled +untrammeled, perfuming the air afar with its heavy fragrance. It seemed +to Lefty as if such a spot must necessarily beget confidences, and in a +moment his mind was made up. + +“Nels Savage is a good sort,” he began tentatively. + +“Isn’t he!” agreed Janet. “I liked him the minute I saw him.” + +“It’s certainly lucky, then, that you didn’t see him a week ago,” Locke +said emphatically. “He wasn’t the same man at all.” + +Janet bent suddenly and plucked a sprig of jasmine. Usually devoted +to flowers, she seemed bent now on stripping the stem clean of its +starlike yellow blossoms. + +“Not the same?” she repeated slowly, her eyes bent on the unconscious +work of destruction. “What do you mean?” + +“Just what I say. You wouldn’t have known him. He was grouchy and +ill-tempered. The whole crowd hated him like poison. I couldn’t stand +him myself, and you know how thick we are now. When I think of what an +unmitigated ruffian he was――” + +“But, Phil!” The girl’s head came up suddenly; her eyes were +wide――protesting. “You don’t understand. He wasn’t―― He had to――” + +She broke off with a quick little gasp of dismay, and clapped one +hand to her lips. For a second she stood silent, the color creeping +into her face, her startled gaze fixed intently on Lefty’s narrowed, +questioning eyes. + +“Well?” queried the southpaw at length. “What did he have to do? Aren’t +you going to finish?” + +Janet dropped her hand and glanced down through the long vista of +straight, slender trunks with their crowns of blossoms. + +“I don’t know that there is anything more to say,” she answered slowly. +“I suppose I was thinking how impossible it was for a man like Mr. +Savage to――act as you say he did, unless――unless――he was obliged to. +Don’t you think we’d better start back? It must be almost time for +dinner.” + +Lefty ignored the last remark. His face was serious――almost stern. +His eyes were fixed intently on Janet’s profile. The perfume from the +jasmine seemed suddenly to have become almost sickening in its cloying +sweetness. + +“Unless he was obliged to!” he repeated in an odd tone. “Can you +suggest, Janet, any possible reason which would necessitate a fellow +like Savage turning himself voluntarily into a beast?” + +“But I know so little of him,” she protested. “How can I tell――how can +any one tell――what motives govern some one who is almost a stranger? +Don’t be absurd, Phil, and make a mountain out of a molehill. Mr. +Savage is nothing to me except that he’s practically engaged to Celia, +and I like him.” + +Lefty did not speak for a moment. Then he shrugged his shoulders +slightly, and turned toward the house. + +“It _is_ getting rather late,” he said quietly. “Perhaps, as you say, +we’d better go in.” + +His voice was colder than he realized. It was merely the man’s instinct +to hide from a woman the fact that she had hurt him. That Janet knew +something was perfectly evident. What it could be he had not the +slightest idea, save that it had to do with the problem he had been +trying his best to solve. He had no wish to force her confidence, but +the fact that she was unwilling to give it freely stung him to the +quick. + +The girl herself started slightly at his tone, and turned a little +pale. Then her chin went up in that old, familiar movement, and without +a word she fell into step beside him, walking back to the house in +silence. + +The evening was not exactly a lively one. Lefty did his best to forget +the incident and behave as if nothing unpleasant had happened. He +honestly wanted to ignore it, but always at the back of his mind was +the consciousness that Janet was keeping something from him. It was +her own secret to keep or reveal as she chose; he admitted that. It +might amount to nothing in the end; though, knowing the girl as he did, +such a possibility was doubtful. But it had to do with another man, +and there is no suitor alive, though he may have absolute faith in the +woman he cares for, who can behold with equanimity that woman mixing up +in the intimate affairs of even his best friend, if it be to his own +exclusion. + +Janet was, by turns, dull and superficially brilliant. At nine she +pleaded a bad headache and wished to retire, thus breaking up the party +prematurely. The girls were leaving at an hour which made it impossible +for Lefty or Savage to see them off, so the good-bys had to be said +that night. They left Locke enraged at himself, provoked at Janet, +and soured with the world generally. He had a feeling that he was a +brute who had spoiled what would otherwise have been three days to +look back upon with unalloyed pleasure. He even blamed Savage because +his interest in the busher had prompted him to ask that unfortunate +question; and on reaching the hotel he hunted up a paper and took +refuge behind its open sheets, mainly to avoid mingling with one of the +several groups scattered about the lobby. + +He did not escape; one of the groups joined him. He had scarcely +settled down before Jack Stillman, Dalton, and Al Ogan invaded the +ancient leather-covered sofa. The irrepressible Larry gently removed +the newspaper and sat on it. + +“What the deuce do you want with the world’s happenings?” he inquired +airily. “Within a month we’ll be making history ourselves. Listen, +till I tell you some real news. Did you know there was going to be +a genuine, old-fashioned horse race over at the county seat next +Saturday?” + +“No; is there?” was the indifferent reply. + +“There is. Wouldn’t you like to take it in?” + +Lefty shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t say I’m pining away with any +such desire.” + +Dalton sighed and cast up his eyes. “Gee! You’re about as lively +to-night as a wooden Indian. I thought you’d be all for it. Anybody +who’s got a passably good nag around here will enter, and they say +there’s an Englishman come on from the West with a couple of fast ones. +It ought to be more fun than a badger pull.” + +Locke drew himself up in the corner of the sofa, and surveyed the +volatile infielder. “Have you figured out how you’re going to get off +to see this jamboree?” he inquired briefly. + +“Well, you know what a store Jack sets by you, old man,” Dalton said +ingratiatingly. “We thought if you asked him――” + +“Nothing doing!” put in Lefty decisively. “I’m not going to lay myself +out for a panning. By next Saturday the old man will probably have +games scheduled for every other day or so, and you’ve got just about +as much chance of getting off for the afternoon as a snowball has down +below. If you’re so keen about it, ask him yourself.” + +All of which goes to show how completely a misunderstanding with a +girl could sour even as good-tempered a man as Lefty Locke. Later, in +his room, he realized that he had been rather short, and regretted it; +but by that time he had begun to consider Janet’s abruptly terminated +remark in detail and ponder over it. + +She had intimated that Savage had been obliged to act the part of an +ill-mannered rowdy in the early part of the training season. Whether +she knew what she was talking about was, of course, a question; but if +it was true, Lefty’s hypothesis of dual personality was knocked into a +cocked hat. But how could it be true? How could any man deliberately +work the transformation which had occurred in Savage’s case? How +could any normal human being, of his own volition, be sane and decent +and likable one day; a coarse, evil-eyed rowdy the next? Above all, +supposing such a thing were possible, why should he do it? + + + + + CHAPTER XXX + + THE ATLANTA TIGERS + + +The days which followed were so full that Lefty had little time in +which to trouble over the coolness of Janet. As the end of the training +season loomed in sight, Kennedy worked his squad harder and harder. The +mornings were devoted to all sorts of intricacies having to do with +“inside” baseball. Each afternoon saw a hotly contested game between +the Regulars and Yannigans, now lengthened to full nine innings. There +were long runs to and from the park, bathing, massaging; and the result +of it all was that the men slowly but surely shaped into the pink of +condition. Those who had been overweight found themselves getting back +to normal, while the few who needed it gained the coveted pounds under +this wholesome, healthy routine. + +The men, one and all, ran faster, batted harder, and threw with more +confidence and accuracy. The members of the pitching staff had worked +out that first inevitable soreness, and were beginning to put on steam. +Best of all was the growing sense of efficiency――the delight in doing +without effort something which had, a short time before, been so +laborious. + +There was one feature of this period which was not so pleasant to the +thoughtfully inclined. Scarcely a day passed that did not see the squad +diminished by one or more members. It is not so bad when a recruit +departs. He is young, and life lies before him; another chance will +come if he is worth his salt. But the case of an old-timer who has +failed to stay with fast company is rather tragic. He has outlived his +usefulness. It is the beginning of the end. He will go swiftly down the +ladder he, perhaps, climbed laboriously, to end in the oblivion of the +bushes whence he emerged so short a time before. + +Happily, this season, there were no especially trying instances of this +sort. Herman Brosk, the veteran center fielder, realizing that the +inevitable had come, spared Kennedy the performance of a distasteful +duty by stepping down and out of his own accord. But he was known to +have saved his earnings with German thrift, and to be the possessor of +a profitable farm in the Middle West. Spider Grant’s case was harder, +but even he had hopes that a year of care and treatment would put him +in shape again. As for Jack Daly, the old third baseman, Kennedy simply +benched him, trusting to carry him through the season as a pinch hitter. + +Of the new men, Ogan was retained at first, Tap Palsifer at third, +while Congreve showed such signs of developing into an exceptional +hitter that he was taken on. The fate of Red McLean, Tetlow, and Lane +still hung in the balance. The remaining recruits were all shipped to +minor leagues, where they would have a year in which to become better +fitted for fast company. + +On the pitching staff, Temple and Nelson Savage were the only youngsters +retained. The former showed indications of becoming a fair, all-round +twirler of the sort who might never be spectacular, but could always be +depended on. As for Savage, his general work improved constantly; but it +was his cleverness with the spitball which attracted general attention +and admiration. + +Lefty could detect no signs of threatened backsliding in the Westerner’s +manner. There was a slight restlessness to be noticed at times, and one +evening he disappeared from the hotel, returning very late. Aside from +these trifling instances he continued to be the same pleasant, likable +chap, friendly with all, but particularly devoted to the southpaw, and +intensely keen about his progress on the diamond. + +The game with the Atlanta Tigers was looked forward to with interest by +every man in the squad. The first contest with an outside team always +is an event in training camp, but this particular crowd of Southern +professionals had a reputation for unusual ability, and a hot go was +predicted. + +When they arrived at the hotel just in time for dinner on the day of +the game, their appearance seemed to proclaim them real ball players. +Bronzed of face, keen and alert of expression, snappy in movement, they +bore themselves with an air of quiet assurance which narrowly escaped +being cocky. + +“Some bunch, that!” commented Dalton, a little later, as he and Lefty +stood watching the visitors indulging in gingery practice. + +“They should be,” rejoined Locke. “I understand they’ve won every game +to date. We ought to take a fall out of them.” + +“Hope so. I’d feel a lot more sure, though, if you were going to be in +the box instead of Nels. He’s been showing form lately, but you can’t +tell how he’d stand being hammered.” + +“I wouldn’t worry about that.” The southpaw’s tone was confident. “His +head’s screwed on all right. Unless I miss my guess, he’ll make an even +better showing against this crowd than he has in practice. He’s the +sort of a fellow who does his best when pushed to it. Well, there they +go. We take the field.” + +As Savage walked out to the mound Locke could not help contrasting +his demeanor with what it had been on that day when the “vanishing +ball” had so startled and bewildered the portsider. He was juggling +his glove and smiling over some joke Dalton had made in passing, and +seemed utterly devoid of nervousness. He had been cool before, but that +was the sneering nonchalance of one who did not care, as different +from his manner now as day is different from night. Locke had a sudden +conviction that the game would produce no such semihypnotic tricks +as the busher had worked off before. Those had been part and parcel +of that other detestable personality. The Savage who stood there, a +smile lingering on his lips, but with eyes keenly sizing up the batter +taking his place at the pan, was incapable of such wretched artifices. +He would pitch straight ball, and win or lose on his ability as a +legitimate twirler. + +Unless two teams have played against each other before, the first +inning of a game is likely to prove something of a lottery. Neither +pitcher has had a chance of getting a line on the opposing batters. A +few fortunate twirlers seem possessed of a sort of sixth sense, almost +like intuition, but this is generally no more than an unusually keen +observation, coupled with long experience in facing an infinite variety +of batters. + +Savage had undergone no very lengthy experience. His first delivery +was a tentative teaser at which Olds, the big outfielder, failed to +nibble. His second was also wide; then something in the batter’s +attitude seemed to tell him that a high, close ball might be difficult +for him to meet. + +It was a wrong guess. Olds rapped the horsehide with unexpected ease, +pushing a warm grounder into right field. He sought to draw a hasty +throw by romping over first and turning toward second, but Rufe Hyland +was wise, and winged a perfect heave to Lewis, who covered the hassock. + +Big as he was, and apparently unwieldy, Olds proved astonishingly +fast. Taking a deceptively small lead off the sack, he went down, +nevertheless, like a flash on the first ball handed up to Moore, the +Tiger first baseman. + +Evidently expecting such a move, the latter swung at the ball without +trying to hit it, his sole intention being to bother the catcher. Dirk +Nelson caught the ball in perfect throwing position, and got it off to +second with a sharp, short-arm throw. + +But the runner covered ground so fast and made such a perfect +“fall-away” slide that it was impossible to tell whether he touched the +sack first or was tagged successfully. It seemed simultaneous, and he +was declared safe. + +“Some start,” remarked Lefty, who sat on the bench with Pink Dillon. +“You wouldn’t think that big fellow could get over the ground like +that, would you?” + +“No. I hope it don’t rattle Nels.” + +His fears were short-lived, for Savage showed no trace of annoyance, +even. Toeing the slab, he carried the ball to his mouth, covered with +both hands. There was an upward and backward motion of his head, and +suddenly the captain of the Tigers shouted: + +“Look out for the spitter, Irish!” + +The admonition was to no purpose. The ball, whizzing from Savage’s +fingers, took a sharp shoot toward the ground as if actually dodging +the bat! + +“Strik-ah!” announced the umpire. + +Savage repeated the performance, but this time his shoot carried the +sphere a shade wide. At least, that was how it evidently appeared to +the umpire, an official belonging to the visiting team. + +When Savage had handed up two more balls he found himself compelled to +put the horsehide over. Behind his hands he pretended to make ready to +throw the spitter again, but, instead of moistening the ball, he wiped +it as dry as possible on his glove, and delivered a straight smoker for +the inside corner. + +Moore seemed almost to anticipate what was coming, for to all +appearances he thrust out his bat and held it so loosely in his fingers +that the ball almost knocked it from his hands. In this manner he +dropped a bunt in front of the plate, and was off toward first. + +On the alert, Olds was away like a shot toward third. But Savage had +not been caught napping, for the moment the ball left his fingers he +was chasing it in. Snatching it up, he whirled to throw, realized +that it was too late to catch Olds, and, without a perceptible loss +of motion, spun on around, sending the sphere to first. It sped past +Moore’s shoulder, and Ogan had it with the runner ten feet away. + +But the sacrifice had been successful. The Tigers had a man on third, +with only one out. Their chance to score seemed good. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXI + + TWO RUNS BEHIND + + +“That’s the game!” cried McCormick, the visiting captain. “Get into it, +Rick. Here’s where we pull in a little old run or two. On your toes, +Irish.” + +It was an excellent opportunity for a squeeze play, and as Allaire +hurried to the plate the infielders closed in, ready to go after the +ball the instant it was dumped into the diamond. + +Savage, evidently believing that the squeeze would be attempted, handed +up a shoot, high and close. Allaire made a foul, and Olds was fully +halfway down the line before he could pull himself up and turn back to +the sack. + +Returning to third, Olds edged off toward the plate, knees bent, every +muscle tense. + +Savage flashed a glance at him, then got into position to pitch. He did +not start to deliver the ball, however, but, suddenly stepping toward +third, whipped it to Palsifer. + +Three times Savage drove Olds back to the cushion, but when again he +pitched, the runner stretched his legs for the plate. Unfortunately +for him, Allaire simply popped a little fly into the pitcher’s hands, +and Savage, taking his time, threw it to third for a double. + +The abrupt termination of the inning brought a grim smile to the lips +of Jack Kennedy, who, resting on one knee, with arms doubled under his +chest in a characteristic attitude, had been watching the progress +of the game. To him the result of the contest was of no importance +whatever. It was simply an opportunity to size up his players. Savage +had done nothing extraordinary, but he had kept his head and used it, +and that satisfied the manager for the present. + +Buck Liddell, the slender, wiry, rather handsome pitcher for the +Tigers, bore himself in a confident manner, with just a trace of +self-consciousness. His wavy blond hair, worn rather long, had a way of +trailing down now and then over his forehead, to be tossed back by a +jerk of his head, or swept aside with a quick movement of his hand. + +“Reckon he’s some bear with the Atlanta dames,” chuckled Joe Welsh, as +he stepped to the plate. + +“Regular matinée idol,” agreed Kid Lewis, swinging a couple of bats. + +Liddell nonchalantly sent a couple of sizzlers across to the first +baseman while the catcher was adjusting his mask and wind pad. They +fairly smoked, denoting that he had speed, at least. A moment later he +toed the slab, swung his arm in a wide sweep, balanced himself on one +foot for an instant, and shot over one which Welsh missed by inches. + +The next had a hop on it and the batter fouled. Another foul followed +and the Big Leaguer recovered himself, a slight frown wrinkling his +forehead. When Liddell made ready to pitch again he went through the +movements which seemed to indicate great speed. But suddenly, following +those movements, he sent in a ball that seemed to drag and hang in the +air. Welsh, who a month later would have called it a cinch, was fooled +like any youngster, and struck too soon. + +“You’re out!” said the umpire. + +“What’s he got, Joe?” asked Lewis in passing. + +“Mostly speed and a change of pace. Look out for that.” + +Lewis made a bid for a hit off the second ball pitched to him. It was +a snappy grounder, hugging the sod, but the shortstop made a splendid +one-handed stop, whipping the ball to first for a put-out. + +Rufe Hyland did better, dropping a fly over the infield, and romping +to first with ease. With the first ball pitched to Dalton, Rufe was +off down the base line. Thanks to a high throw on the part of the +backstop, he made the sack; and his teammates began to root for a run, +urging Dalton to smash out one of the two-baggers which had been his +speciality during the previous season. + +But Laughing Larry had not regained his batting form of six months +before. The best he could do was to lift out a long fly which the +opposing left fielder secured without any great expenditure of effort; +and the Tigers romped in, pleased by the manner in which they had held +down the famous Blue Stockings. + +The latter did not seem to be seriously disturbed at the way things +were going. There was a lot of josh and banter as they spread out on +the diamond. They remembered that they had been in training for little +more than two weeks, whereas their opponents, bushers though they were, +had been playing the game much longer. They knew that a few weeks hence +they would be able easily to beat a team twice as good as this one. + +But when, in the second inning, through a series of fielding errors, +combined with a strong hitting streak on the part of the Tigers, the +latter managed to push two men across the rubber, the pride of the Blue +Stockings began to be touched. + +“It’s up to us to wake up,” Dalton remarked, with his infectious grin. +“Reckon we’ve been taking things too easy. Oh, you’re all right, kid,” +he added, catching Savage’s eye. “You’ve got the goods. It’s the rest +of us dubs that have been loafing on hits and pegging wild. Suppose +we try a dash of pepper.” His gaze shifted around the circle, coming +to rest for an instant on the face of Jack Kennedy, who stood within +hearing distance. “I guess it won’t hurt anybody, to perk up a mite and +show this crowd that we’re not all down with the Charley horse.” + +The manager nodded. “Get after their pitcher the moment he lets up,” +was his advice. “He won’t last nine innings. He’s putting every blamed +thing he’s got on the ball now, and it’s going to wear him out before +long.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXXII + + THE BREAK + + +Whether or not old Jack was right in his prediction――it was probable +that he was, since he had few superiors in the subtle art of sizing +up a ball player――Buck Liddell certainly showed no immediate signs of +slumping. He kept up his extraordinary pace, varying speed, curves, +and slow balls in a manner which proved that he possessed exceptional +judgment. In the last half of the second only three men faced him; in +the third inning, but four. The Blue Stocking batters, piqued by his +steadiness, put forth their best efforts to hit him effectively, but in +vain. + +Savage was equally successful in preventing further scoring on the part +of the visitors, though his methods were quite different. He made no +attempt, apparently, to try for Liddell’s strike-out record, preferring +to rely on the support of the men back of him. Each inning saw one +or more hits made off him, and the bases were populated most of the +time. He was chary of the spitball――that most trying delivery in a +pitcher’s repertoire. He used few curves――not nearly so many as his +companions knew him to command. It might have been noticed, however, +that he varied these with such skill that the effect, though seemingly +so infinitely inferior to Liddell’s performance, was practically on a +par with it. Always at the crucial moment he stiffened, putting forth +all the skill he possessed, using spitter or speed or curve, as the +occasion demanded. + +In the first half of the fifth, with only one out, the Tigers had +men on first and second. It was evident that the batter would try to +sacrifice, and Locke rather expected Savage to keep the ball high and +close in an effort to prevent this. To his surprise the Westerner +lobbed over a low one which could not have suited a stickman better if +it had been made to order. As in the first inning, however, he followed +the pitch through, and was almost on the plate when the batter sent the +sphere rolling slowly along the third-base line. Pouncing on it with +amazing swiftness, Savage snapped it to third for a force-out. Without +an instant’s hesitation, Palsifer lined it down to second, beating the +runner from first by a foot, and retiring the side in a twinkling. + +Kennedy, who stood a few feet away, wheeled toward Lefty. “There’s a +bit of headwork,” he said. + +Tap, the infielder, loped in from his position, grinning widely over +the successful double play. + +“Was that turn put up between you and Savage?” the manager asked him. + +“Sure!” chuckled Palsifer. “He tipped me off to stick by the base next +time a bunt was expected. It worked, didn’t it?” + +“It did!” The manager turned to Locke again. “He uses his head. He’s +been using it right along. You’ve seen how he’s been sparing himself +and depending on his support. That’s what fielders draw their salaries +for――to stop balls that are hit at ’em. This boy’s got the right idea. +He’s not wearing himself out like that fellow yonder.” He indicated +Liddell, strolling across the diamond. “He’s not giving away all he’s +got in the first couple of innings. He’s holding back a trick or two +for a pinch. That’s the sort of a man I like to handle, and the sort I +can make something of.” + +Lefty had rarely heard the old manager express himself so warmly over a +recruit, and the southpaw was more than pleased by the fact that Savage +was making good. After his intervention in the Westerner’s behalf he +felt more or less responsible, and it was agreeable to realize that his +judgment had not been wrong. + +During the last of the fifth Liddell showed signs of growing +unsteadiness, which increased when he was hit by the first two men up. +He managed to pull himself together in time to prevent an avalanche +of runs, but during the lapse the score was tied, and the entire Blue +Stocking contingent felt that it was only a question of another inning +or so before the final blow-up. + +McCormick, of the Tigers, opened the sixth inning with a single, but +the lead he took off first was much less than it would have been +earlier in the game. Savage had shown dangerous speed and accuracy in +throwing to bases, and the visitors were becoming cautious. + +Sam Vogt, the clever little Southern shortstop, was handy at laying +down bunts; but Savage kept the first two balls high and close and Vogt +found himself in a hole before he knew it. + +“That’s the stuff, Nels!” cried Dalton. “You’ve got this chicken cold!” + +Savage smiled. Suddenly his whole frame stiffened as if stricken by +some strange paralysis. Seconds passed, and still he stood quite +motionless, a perfect picture of arrested action, eyes set, the healthy +color draining from his face. + +As he stared at him in astonishment Lefty felt a sudden premonitory +tightening of the throat, and his heart began to beat more rapidly. +Then Larry Dalton broke the spell. + +“Come alive, old man,” he sang out amiably, “and take this victim into +camp.” + +Savage shivered slightly. The next instant, with a little shake of his +shoulders, he sent the sphere straight over the center of the pan with +only moderate speed. + +It was the sort of ball the rawest of recruits might have pitched, and +Vogt fell on it with violent delight, smashing out a hot two-bagger. +McCormick reached third, and might have scored but for the fast +fielding of Max Duoro. + +“Well, what do you know about that?” muttered Kennedy, penthouse brows +coming together above his big nose. + +Lefty made no answer. His eyes were riveted on his friend’s face. He +was conscious of a sickening sense of apprehension stealing over him. +Had it come? Could it be possible that the man out there was fated to +undergo that horrible transformation again, and at the very height of +his triumph? + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIII + + SUSPENSE + + +McKnight, the second baseman, was up, and ready. A successful bunt or a +long sacrifice fly would give McCormick a chance to register. + +Savage took the signal from Nelson, and nodded. His face was no longer +pale, but his jaws were hard, and his lips set in a straight line. + +The sphere cut the air, passing high with a slight inswerve, and +McKnight’s attempt to bunt was a failure. + +McCormick was sent diving back to third by Nelson, who whipped the ball +to Palsifer. The runner managed to reach the sack, but it was by a +desperately narrow margin. + +The infielders had crept up into the diamond, and were balancing +on their toes. Lefty’s heart was pounding; his eyes never left the +pitcher’s face. + +A second time Savage put the ball over high and close, with that +same inswerve. Though the batter again did his best to bunt, he only +succeeded in making a small foul. + +“Got him, Nels――got him!” cried Laughing Larry. “He’s in a hole now.” + +McKnight spread his legs, and, taking a fresh grip on the bat, waited +for a good one――waited too long. Savage started the ball high. The man +at bat evidently fancied it would pass above his shoulders. Too late he +saw it take a marvelous drop, shooting down across his chest. + +“Three――you’re out!” + +Lefty drew a breath of relief, and his tense muscles relaxed. Savage +was evidently still there with the goods. Perhaps that inexplicable +lapse had been only momentary. Perhaps the thing Locke dreaded had not +come, after all. + +Wurts, the next man up, took his place at the pan, bat held loosely. +Once more Savage kept the ball high and close, and put it over with +speed. Like his predecessor, the Tiger backstop bunted a foul. + +A wide one followed, which Wurts made no effort to reach. Then came +another of those amazing drops, and the batter found himself fooled +even as McKnight had been. He failed to strike when the ball cut across +his shoulders and breast. An outcurve followed, and was disdained. A +moment later, however, he whiffed fruitlessly at a spitter. + +“Reckon he’s on an even keel again,” the southpaw murmured under his +breath. “Now, if he can only put the kibosh on this bird he’ll be all +right.” + +Few professional pitchers are good batsmen, but there are exceptions, +and Liddell had proved himself one of them. His performance with the +stick earlier in the game had been admirable, and he advanced to the +plate now with determination written all over his slightly supercilious +face. + +How he missed the first ball was evidently a puzzle to him. He swung at +it as if he felt quite certain of meeting it fairly and squarely, and +his failure brought a ludicrous look of surprise to his face. + +Savage was not faltering now. He wasted no time, nor did he hurry +unduly. He put over a curve which fooled Liddell even more than the +first one. + +“Great work, old man!” cried Dalton. “You can sure put it on that +little old pill to-day.” + +For an instant the rival twirlers faced each other in silence. +Liddell’s air of superciliousness had vanished; he was biting his +lip as he gripped his stick. Savage still wore that expression of +grim determination, but his lids were drooping slightly, and for a +second Locke was unpleasantly reminded of the fellow’s manner two +weeks before, when he had tried the vanishing ball. He thrust the +recollection from his mind as the recruit pitched. + +Liddell’s judgment told him that the ball would cut a corner when it +broke. He was not mistaken in thinking it would be good, but instead of +crossing the outside corner, it took such a sharp shoot that it barely +clipped the inside of the rubber. + +“Out!” announced the umpire. + +Hurling his bat to the ground, the handsome pitcher strode out to the +mound in a very unbecoming state of temper. + +Lefty moved a little farther over to intercept Savage, who came slowly +in, head bent over the glove he was apparently examining. + +“You pulled out of that hole fine, old man,” Locke said, as soon as the +other was within earshot. + +Savage raised his head for an instant, showing a face which was still +rather serious. His eyes were perfectly normal, however, and Locke +decided that he must still be troubled over that momentary slump. + +“Had to,” returned the Westerner briefly. “No business to get into it.” + +Locke smiled. “What was the matter?” + +The recruit’s eyes dropped again to the glove, which Lefty saw to be +ripped along one side. + +“Oh, nothing special,” he answered vaguely. “Just carelessness, I +reckon.” + +“We all do it now and then,” consoled the portsider. “What’s up now?” +he asked, as Savage passed the bench and headed for one end of the +grand stand. + +“Going to get another glove,” explained the Westerner over his +shoulder. “This is on the blink. I’ve got a good one stowed away in the +dressing room.” + +Locke nodded, pausing by the bench long enough to see his friend reach +the end of the stands and disappear through a door leading to a small, +rough sort of dressing room occupying part of the space beneath the +seats. It was never used for that purpose by the Blue Stocking crowd, +who always changed at the hotel, but it made an admirable storage place +for bats, balls, spare gloves, and all the other paraphernalia of the +game. The southpaw’s attention was swiftly recalled to the field, and +there it remained for the better part of ten minutes. + +Whether or not Liddell’s predicted downfall had been hurried by his +experience at the bat, or was simply due at this time, there could be +no doubt whatever that it had come. The first man up hit him, and those +who followed continued the work gleefully. Before another man could be +hustled into the box they had made three runs, and ere the pitcher’s +successor had worked the kinks out of his arm two more were added. The +inning ended with the Blue Stockings five tallies in the lead. + +“That’s more like it,” said Dalton, as the visitors came slowly in from +the field. “That’s the way it ought to be. Come ahead, fellows; we’ll +hold ’em down this inning, and see if we can’t put the blanket on this +new pill slinger. Get a move on, Nels.” + +Lefty turned in time to see Savage rise slowly from the ground a little +to one side of the bench, where he had apparently been sitting since +his return from the dressing room. As he passed, on his way to the +mound, he not only failed to glance at the southpaw or speak a word, +but seemed actually to be averting his head. + +The unnaturalness of the proceeding at once struck Locke, keyed up +as he was by the busher’s inexplicable slump in the last inning. An +instant later he drew a quick breath as the unmistakable reek of liquor +was borne to his nostrils, and he stared after Savage, his face full of +deepest apprehension. + +“Whew!” he whistled, “the crazy idiot went off to take a drink. Now the +deuce is to pay!” + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIV + + THE EVIL TRANSITION + + +Sick at heart, all his recent fears revived, Lefty watched his friend +step into the box and prepare to pitch. To the best of his knowledge +and belief Savage had not touched liquor for ten days, and his breaking +over now seemed to the southpaw like the beginning of the end. Whether +it was the cause or effect of that hateful change of personality, Locke +did not know; but he always associated drink with the evil side of the +busher’s character, and he could not now shake off the feeling that the +worst was happening. + +Savage’s first delivery was a swift inshoot that cut a corner of the +pan, and was pronounced a strike. He followed it with two coaxers which +were disdained. Then came another shoot at which Billy Olds swung in +vain, and Lefty was conscious of a growing sense of wonder mingled with +that hope which is so hard to kill utterly. + +Could it be possible that he had been mistaken? Savage’s manner was +not what it had been earlier in the game, to be sure. He had lost, in +a great measure, the snap and vim and swiftness of action shown up to +now――had become almost irritatingly deliberate. Also, his expression +had changed from keen, light-hearted gayety to heavy-lidded somberness. +But Locke had never seen the man pitch in a real game before. For all +he knew, this might be simply the prelude to a blow-up such as comes to +many pitchers at about this stage of a contest. Perhaps he had felt it +coming, and resorted to liquor in a desperate effort to brace himself +and stave it off. + +All of this was unlike the man Locke had come to think so much of, but +the southpaw’s reluctance to believe the worst made him ready to seize +upon any possible explanation. Even when Olds fell upon the next ball +handed up and smashed it out for a safety, he did not lose hope. The +same thing had happened more than once in each of the previous innings. + +Moore, next batsman, hit a slow bounder to Lewis, who made the mistake +of waiting for the ball, and was then forced to throw hastily. That +throw was wide, and dragged Ogan off the cushion, permitting Moore to +make the base by a single stride. + +Savage took the ball from Ogan, and turned to glare angrily at the +shortstop. His lips moved, and for a moment it seemed as if a burst of +heated denunciation would break forth. In another second, however, +his teeth came together with a snap, and he stepped back into the box, +frowning heavily. + +“Don’t blame him for being sore,” muttered Lefty to himself. “If he’s +on the verge of a blow-up, that sort of thing certainly gets a fellow’s +goat. Keeping his mouth shut shows he’s got some self-control left.” + +The portsider was further heartened by the manner in which Savage took +the next batter in hand. Allaire did his best to bunt, but the pitcher +kept the balls high and close, and two fouls resulted, the second of +which came down back of third, giving Palsifer an opportunity to make a +circus catch. + +Unfortunately these encouraging symptoms were of short duration. Locke +could not fail to observe that Savage’s work became slower and more +labored with each delivery. He started by handing “Brick” Forbes two +balls in succession. A single strike followed, then another ball, and +the pitcher was in a hole. + +There was no similarity now to the debonair coolness with which the +Westerner had met the same situation several times before. His face +was set and tense, the mouth a single gray line. His lids drooped +until they seemed almost closed. His wind-up was dragging, as if each +movement was an effort. + +Forbes swung savagely as the ball came across the pan, lifting a high +fly to center. + +“Duoro will grab that,” murmured Lefty, his eyes following the white +spot sailing across the vivid blue. “He can’t miss it.” + +The young fielder had ample time to get under the ball. It looked +like a certainty, and the base runners ducked back to their bags. +Unfortunately, by one of those inexplicable slips usually caused by +overconfidence, the horsehide struck Duoro’s mitt and trickled over the +edge to the ground. + +Olds stretched himself for third, and a sarcastic chorus arose from the +infield, in which Locke could plainly distinguish the voice of Savage, +raised in a roar of fury. Olds made his base, getting there ahead of +Duoro’s throw. + +The damage was done. + +Still growling inarticulately, his face an angry crimson, Savage sent +over a ball which the captain of the Tigers lined out for a two-bagger, +scoring Olds and Moore. Sam Vogt fell on the second ball pitched to +him, smashing out a line drive between second and short. Laughing Larry +pulled off a marvelous mid-air catch, following it with some ground +flipflaps, from which he recovered in time to make a throw to the plate +that nailed Forbes in an attempt to score after the pill was captured. + +Lefty drew a long breath and glanced sidewise at Kennedy, who had +scarcely stirred during the entire inning. The manager’s face was dark, +but, beyond the fact that he was far from pleased at the progress of +events, his expression told nothing. + +The southpaw’s troubled gaze veered swiftly back to the figure of the +busher moving slowly toward the bench. In spite of what he had been +trying to make himself believe――that this was simply the natural manner +of a man struggling against an inevitable breakdown――there was dread in +his heart, which increased swiftly as he studied that forbidding face +with its lowering brows, drooping lids, and twitching lips. + +Savage came straight on, head bent, slapping his glove at intervals +against his thigh. He passed Lefty without as much as a glance, heading +for a point a little to one side of the bench. The portsider stepped +forward. The continued suspense was growing intolerable. He must know, +one way or another, how matters stood. + +“Brace up, old man, and don’t take it so seriously,” he said, with +forced lightness. “We all make a bull now and then.” + +Like a flash the fellow whirled on him with a movement which suggested +the sudden snapping of hardly won self-control. + +“Bull!” he snarled, his eyes gleaming through narrow slits. “That’s +what you call it, is it? Let me tell you this, Locke: I don’t want any +of your sympathy. You can save that for those bonehead friends of yours +who play ball like a bunch of bushers. What’s more, you can keep out +of my way from now on. I told you once before that I didn’t like your +brand, and I meant it. I pick my friends, and you’re not one of ’em, +nor ever will be. Get me?” + +His eyes were wide open now, and from their baleful, evil depths came a +gleam of bitter hatred which sent a sickening sense of failure surging +over the man on whom they rested for a second before Savage turned and +walked away. + +Lefty had found out what he wanted to know. His efforts to stave off +this moment had been without avail. The evil transition had come again. +The very worst had happened. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXV + + THE LAST STRAW + + +It was the shock of having his hopes dashed so utterly and completely +that made Locke oblivious for a moment to Savage’s insolence. But +swiftly the sting of the uncalled-for insult brought the color flaming +into his face, and made him leap forward in mingled anger and sorrow. + +“Savage! Savage!” he called sharply. But the busher did not heed him. + +A touch on his arm cut off further action abruptly. Glancing round, he +found Kennedy beside him. + +“Get busy and warm up,” ordered the manager briefly. + +Locke hesitated an instant, his eyes searching the older man’s face. +The manager was evidently in no mood for conversation. He wheeled and +marched over to the coaching line, leaving the pitcher to hunt up a +glove, root out Babe Torrey, the change catcher, and proceed to a +retired spot. + +Their unexpected success in the first half of the inning seemed to put +new heart into the Tigers. Though Liddell’s successor was hit several +times, fine support prevented those hits from being effective. As the +visitors trotted in from the field, Lefty loped over to where Kennedy +was standing. + +“Want me now?” he asked. + +The manager shook his head. “Not just yet. I’m going to give this bird +one more chance. Buzz around. You may have to go in any time.” + +The manager was evidently bitterly disappointed over the behavior of +the man he had lauded so highly a little while before, and was probably +hoping against hope that he would pull up before the final smash. But +the person going out to the mound now held nothing in common with the +Savage who had pitched so brilliantly up to the previous innings. They +were as unlike as two different beings. + +Lefty moved back and continued his warming up with Torrey, pausing +at intervals to follow the progress of events on the diamond. He had +worked conscientiously while the Blue Stockings were at bat to put his +pegging arm into condition, but now his efforts became desultory and +intermittent, serving no more than to ward off any possible chill. +He kept the ball in motion between himself and Torrey, but it was +a mechanical sort of business which showed how absorbed he was in +watching Savage. + +The change in the latter had become more striking. He seemed to +have thrown aside the efforts he had previously made to conceal his +condition, and lapsed into the man Locke had known and detested in the +early days of training. He strolled into the box, his lips curling +with that old air of insolent condescension, as if he had little or no +interest in the proceeding, and was only there in the performance of a +not very highly regarded duty. + +Locke tried to tell himself that his growing irritation, threatening +to become anger he could not bridle, was unjust to the busher’s +other――and, he believed, normal――self which he had liked so well; but +it was all to no purpose. The evil personality of Savage was so strong, +so dominant, above all so antagonistic, that the southpaw presently +forgot everything save the intense dislike it raised within him. + +McKnight, the first batter up, opened the inning with a single off +the second ball delivered by the Westerner. Alec Wurts, who followed, +seemed to have no difficulty whatever in picking out one that suited +him, dumping it into the diamond. He took his medicine at first, while +McKnight advanced to second. + +“That’s the game!” called McCormick from the coaching line. “This guy’s +all in, boys! We’ll have the blanket on him in two shakes.” + +Earlier in the day Savage had shown remarkable skill in preventing +bunts, or else had used them to his own advantage. The contrast +presented by his careless, slipshod work now was too striking to escape +general notice, and Locke was not surprised to see Larry Dalton hurry +across the diamond and touch Savage on the arm. The portsider was too +far away to hear what was said, but he saw the busher roughly shake off +Larry’s hand and snap out something which brought an angry sparkle to +the captain’s eyes and a tart rejoinder from his lips. + +The reprimand evidently had little effect. Within two minutes Kent, +who had replaced Buck Liddell, reached first on a single. McKnight was +stopped at third; but, with only one out and the crack hitters coming +up, things looked more than encouraging for the visiting team. + +“Might as well hand ’em the game, and be done with it!” was the +disgusted comment of Babe Torrey, scarcely audible above the racket +made by various Tiger coaches. “Why the deuce don’t Jack take him out?” + +Lefty shrugged his shoulders. He had been keeping an eye on Kennedy, +but the manager had not even glanced in his direction. + +When Olds squared himself at the rubber, alert and fairly quivering +with eagerness, Lefty and the change catcher, with one accord, +abandoned their languid tossing of the ball, and faced the diamond. +Both felt that the next few seconds would see something doing. + +“He’ll knock the coating off the pill unless that fellow takes a +brace,” muttered Torrey. + +Locke had little hope that the brace would come. Savage’s expression of +careless insolence was unaltered. One might have supposed him a bored +spectator, for all the interest he showed. How any sane human being +could make such an exhibition was beyond comprehension. + +Not only were the first two balls pitched wide of the plate, but the +third almost escaped Dirk Nelson’s clutches, and made him mutter under +his breath as he saw Kent scampering to second, with the sack already +safely purloined. + +Then came a pause――a curious, tense pause. Watching Savage, Lefty had +an odd feeling that the man was aware all at once that he had gone too +far. He flashed a single swift glance around the diamond, and moistened +his lips. When he faced the batter again, it was with a determined +shake of the shoulders and a quick jerk at the visor of his cap that +brought it down over his eyes. + +Slowly, deliberately, Savage kicked away an imaginary pebble, but +without glancing downward. Like a statue, he stood poised, leaning +forward slightly. For no single instant did his intent gaze leave the +batter’s face. + +Suddenly Lefty realized what was coming. “He’s going to try the +vanishing-ball stunt!” he said under his breath. + +Would it work this time? The southpaw felt his pulse quicken; his eyes +began to smart with the intensity of his stare. Would the man never +pitch? Slowly――very slowly――the arm drew back, paused, and at last shot +forward, projecting the sphere straight over the heart of the pan. + +Before the ball had reached the plate Lefty knew the attempt had +failed. The bat came round with every ounce of the big man’s muscle +behind it. There was that sharp, ringing crack which sends a thrill +through every fan, and the horsehide soared out over the infield――on, +on, climbing higher and higher. + +Duoro and Joe Welsh both whirled and raced toward the fence. The +diamond instantly resounded with the shouts of coachers urging on the +circling base runners. The Blue Stocking infielders stood dejectedly, +hands on hips, following with their eyes the progress of that little +dot of gray. + +It was falling now. Faster and faster it dropped in a wide arc which +would carry it well beyond the laboring fielders. At last it vanished +beyond the fence. The voice of Jack Kennedy promptly sounded above the +racket made by the jubilating Tigers: + +“Get off the field! Yes, I mean _you_――bonehead! Don’t lose any time +about it! Locke, get busy!” + +As Lefty passed the manager, Kennedy’s angry voice, pitched in a much +lower key, followed him: + +“Hope to thunder you’re satisfied with your experiment!” + +Old Jack rarely lost his temper, nor was he the sort to taunt a man +because of mistakes. He did both now, and Lefty could not blame him. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVI + + BREAKING A BATTING STREAK + + +With that trained sense of observation which Big League players develop +to its highest point of efficiency, Locke had noted the strength and +weakness of each Tiger batter, even while his mind was more or less +occupied with a study of Nels Savage. Now, to begin with, he forced +Moore to foul twice in rapid succession. + +With two strikes and no balls declared, the portsider did his best to +lead the Tiger batter into reaching. But Moore, evidently having a good +eye, was not to be fooled, and three balls were called. + +“Take a walk, Irish!” urged McCormick. + +Lefty had no intention of walking anybody. He sent over a swift +inshoot, which, observation had told him, was as distasteful as any +ball to this really exceptional hitter. Moore was ready for it this +time, unfortunately, and he cracked out a grounder that Lewis reached +with difficulty. It seemed to scorch Lewis’ fingers, and he fumbled. +When he recovered the slippery sphere, his throw was so hurried that +it pulled Ogan off the sack, giving Moore “a life.” + +Instantly the Tiger coaches opened up. But their racket affected the +southpaw not a particle. Cool and undisturbed, he continued his work +in the box, luring Allaire in to swinging at the first ball over――an +elusive curve. + +But the hitting germ seemed to be coursing in the veins of the Tigers. +With two and three called on him, the batter finally forced Lefty to +put the ball over, then lifted it into left field. + +It looked as if Joe Welsh had a good chance to get the fly and Moore +hesitated on the line, part way down from first, ready to duck back to +the bag in time to prevent a double play. + +Welsh seemed to stumble a bit just as he was reaching for the sphere. +He dropped it. + +Moore got away for second like a flash. Welsh made a swift recovery of +the ball and lined it unerringly into Dalton’s hands, but the runner +beat it to the “anchorage.” Still Lefty was undisturbed. Not even when +Dalton missed stopping a hot liner by what seemed the fraction of an +inch, and the bases were filled, did Locke show a sign of worry or +irritation. But his jaw hardened a little, and that characteristic +expression of stubborn determination his team-mates knew so well came +into his face. + +He was working with deliberation, and, though he did not seem to watch +the bases, the Tigers swiftly learned that it was extremely hazardous +to take much of a lead. It puzzled them not a little, for they could +detect no signals between catcher and pitcher. They were up against +one of the minor phases of inside ball. The infield’s code of signals +was well-nigh perfect, and impossible of detection by ordinary outside +players. + +The first ball to McCormick was a trifle wide. Lefty caught it on the +return and seemed about to pitch, but, instead, without the slightest +warning, whirled, and threw to second, where Dalton had been edging in. +Allaire dived back barely in time, after which he took a smaller lead. + +Locke’s next pitched ball was a queer little wobbler, lacking speed +though delivered with a snap that seemed to promise smoke. The batter +saw that it would come over, but his impatience to hit seemed to +overbalance his judgment. He struck too soon, popping a little fly +which Locke caught without moving from his tracks. Like a flash, he put +the ball over to third; but Moore, warned by Allaire’s narrow escape, +had remained in the vicinity of the cushion, and managed to get back in +time. + +“That’s the way to stop ’em, old man!” called Dalton encouragingly. +“Take this rube into camp.” + +Sam Vogt was no mean hitter. Lefty had sized him up as one of the most +dangerous on the visiting team, for the reason that he had a fine eye, +a powerful swing, and few weaknesses. + +One of the latter, however, was an evident distaste for a dead slow +ball, and that was the sort first handed up by the portsider. Waiting +with steady nerves, Vogt saw that it would not cross the plate, and +declined to go after it. + +He swung at the next one, however――a sharp drop which he simply fouled. + +“Give him another like that,” urged McCormick. “He’ll take the peeling +off it!” + +Lefty smiled good-humoredly, and whipped over a high smoker. It proved +to be too high, however, and there was some joyous cackling from the +coachers. When Locke followed this up by still another wide one they +felt that the famous southpaw had been much overrated, and jubilated +loudly. + +“Take one, Sam!” advised the captain. “Let him force a run.” + +Lefty’s judgment told him that the batter would follow instructions +unless he saw that the ball was certain to come over the center of the +pan. He consequently laid one carefully over the inside corner, and +Vogt let it pass. + +“Strike――two!” called the umpire. + +There came a momentary pause, hushed and tense. A second later the ball +came hissing from Locke’s fingers with a burning speed surpassing +anything he had yet known. It took a sharp hop just before it reached +the pan, and Vogt’s bat slashed empty air. + +Lefty had stopped a dangerous batting streak and prevented further +scoring. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVII + + THE VOODOO CHARM + + +The crucial point of the game had been in that first half of the +eighth. Before the inning was over the Blue Stockings had discovered +the weak points of the substitute pitcher, and hammered out three runs. +In the beginning of the ninth Locke proved invincible on the slab, and +the game ended with the Big Leaguers in very good humor again. + +Lefty glanced curiously about for Savage. The busher was nowhere to +be seen, so the southpaw led the crowd at a lope back to the hotel. +Turning into Main Street, he saw ahead of him the lanky figure of +Kennedy, striding along at a speed plainly evincing some fixed purpose. +He had left the field before the finish of the game. That in itself was +significant. + +“Something doing,” murmured Locke. + +Quickening his pace, he entered the lobby almost on the manager’s +heels. The first person his eyes rested on was Savage, lounging against +the desk, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from one corner of his +mouth. Kennedy walked straight up to him. + +“You can pack up,” he said. “There’s a train out at three. Don’t miss +it. If you’re hanging around this town to-morrow there’ll be something +happen that you won’t forget. Get me?” + +The busher exhaled a cloud of smoke and surveyed Kennedy defiantly from +under drooping lids. + +“I ought to,” he drawled. “You talk loud enough. Supposin’ I don’t care +about leaving? You don’t happen to own this hotel, and――” + +Half the witnesses thought the manager was going to knock Savage down. +The look upon Kennedy’s face must have awed the insolent man, for he +hesitated an instant before adding slowly: + +“Oh, very well. I hadn’t any idea of staying. I was just interested in +finding out how far you’d go.” + +He took a step or two toward the stairs; then, with the lithe quickness +of a panther, whirled and strode over to Lefty. The latter’s muscles +tensed, ready for an attack. Savage stopped abruptly, scarcely a foot +away, and thrust out his face until his baleful, hate-filled eyes were +separated from Locke’s only by inches. + +“Maybe you think you’ve pulled off a clever stunt in getting me fired,” +he said in a voice that quivered with passion. “But I’m going to get +you, and get you good and plenty!” + +“Why don’t you start something?” Lefty invited. “So far you’ve managed +to duck every time. Just kick in now, and see what happens.” + +“Too easy!” sneered the busher. “I’ll play the game my own way, and +I’ll put it across on you, bet your sweet life!” + +Wheeling, he hurried toward the narrow hallway out of which the stairs +led. As he turned the corner, he collided with a negro boy just coming +through the door. + +“Get outa my way!” he snarled. + +A blow of his open hand sent the boy spinning, and Savage passed on, +leaving behind a feeling as if a tornado had swept through the lobby. + +For a second the negro cowered against the wall. Then, with a +frightened whimper, he ran straight for Lefty, catching the southpaw’s +sweater tightly in both hands. + +“Doan let him git me, mistah!” he gasped, his voice shaking with +fright. “Doan let him tech me! Ah’ll done be turn inter a stone, or +suthin’! Ah――Ah knows dat man, mistah! He――he am de dibbil hisself――wif +horns!” + +A glance only was needed to show that the boy was half crazed with +fear. His face had turned a mottled gray, his eyes rolled, his teeth +were chattering like castanets. Locke put aside an impulse to get +after Savage and chastise him then and there, and gave his attention to +calming the negro. + +“Don’t worry,” he said soothingly. “I won’t let him touch you.” A +sudden recollection brought a glint of curiosity into his eyes. “You’re +new in the hotel, aren’t you?” he went on. “How do you come to know +anything about that man?” + +“Ah――Ah knowed him ’fo’ I cum hyer, boss,” was the hesitating reply. + +By this time Dalton, Ogan, Jack Stillman, and several others had +gathered around. Lefty glanced at the reporter, with uplifted eyebrows, +and turned swiftly back to the boy. + +“Where was that?” he asked. “Tell us about it. You needn’t be afraid of +him,” he added, as the boy glanced fearfully toward the stairs. “He’s +going away from here in a hurry.” + +“Dat ain’t nuffin’,” sighed the boy. “He put de ebil eye on me jes’ +de same.” His eyes grew round and large; his voice sank to an awed +whisper: “He’s frien’s wif ole Mammy Bunce, ober de ribber. She done +give him a voodoo chahm. Wif dat an’ his ebil eye he do anythin’ he +want. He make a hoss jump clean across de ribber. Ya-yassir, he done +it.” + +“What!” ejaculated Lefty, in amused surprise. “Why, you young sinner, +you――” + +“Fo’ de Lawd, mistah, thass gospel!” protested the boy earnestly. “Ah +done seen him do it. Ah was ridin’ Marse Liv’mo’s roan to de blacksmif +along down ribber――de hoss Mistah Tet’ridge want fo’ to buy. Marse +Liv’more wouldn’t go fo’ to sell nohow, an’――” + +“Tethridge!” interrupted Locke suddenly. “Who’s he?” + +“He am de gemman dat’s train’ hosses for de big race over to Marse +Liv’mo’s.” + +Lefty’s eyes narrowed the least bit as he remembered that the name +of the Englishman who had been Savage’s companion that wintry day on +the train was Tethridge. He also recalled something Dalton had said +about an Englishman who was entering a couple of horses in the race at +the county seat two days hence. It began to seem as if there might be +points of interest in the boy’s fantastic tale. + +“All right,” he said briefly. “Go ahead.” + +“Ah was ridin’ de roan down ribber,” resumed the youth, “when Ah meet +up wif dat man. Ah see him at Mammy Bunce once, an’ Ah was pow’ful +sca’t. When he stop an’ look at me wif dem debbil eyes, Ah was sca’t +worse. He say to me: ‘Boy, dat hoss am gwine to jump across de ribber; +better git off.’ But Ah’s so sca’t Ah jes’ couldn’t move noways. Den he +comes up close, his eyes gettin’ bigger an’ bigger, lak dey was gwine +jump out’n his haid an’ bite me. Woo! He doan’ say nothin’ mo’, but I +git outa de saddle an’ he jump on. Seems lak Ah couldn’t do nothin’ but +jes’ stan’ dere an’ watch him. He rid straight down to de ribber, an’ +jab de roan wif his heels, an’――whiff!――over de ribber dey goes, clean +to de odder side――one jump!” + +A snicker went round the circle, and several of the men lounged off, +chuckling at the boy’s infinite capacity for lying. Dalton and Stillman +remained with Locke, however, to see if there might be any further +developments. + +“And when you woke up the horse was gone?” Lefty inquired skeptically. + +“Yassah. Ah’s jes’ tellin’ you-all dat he jump de ribber.” + +“Are you sure he jumped, or did you only dream it? How about the +tracks? Did they lead down to the water?” + +“Ah――Ah didn’t stop fo’ to look. Ah’s so sca’t dat man might come back +Ah jes’ run an’ run. Ah didn’t dare go back to Marse Liv’mo’s wifout no +hoss, so I hangs aroun’ down to Holt Ferry fo’ right long time, an’ den +comes up hyer, an’ Majah Hol’cum done hire me.” + +“How long ago did this happen?” inquired Lefty. + +“Ah doan rightly ’member, boss, but Ah reckon close on three +weeks――mebbe fo’.” + +Locke hesitated an instant, his face thoughtful. Then he shrugged his +shoulders and smiled. + +“All right, Snowball,” he said carelessly. “Chase yourself, and don’t +worry about this devil of yours. We won’t let him swallow you.” + +With a voluble burst of thanks, the boy scuttled out of the room. Locke +turned back to his two companions. + +“Some imagination there, eh?” chuckled Dalton. + +“Wish I knew what it was founded on,” muttered the reporter +thoughtfully. “He’s evidently met Savage somewhere, and has been +thoroughly scared. Do you suppose that blackguard could really have +stolen a horse, Lefty? Of course that jumping-the-river stuff is all +bunk, but it looks to me as if the kid had been hypnotized by our +two-sided friend.” + +“Oh, I guess he’s quite equal to anything,” the southpaw returned. +“Between three and four weeks ago would place it just before the +training season opened, and make it possible for him to be there. +Moreover, this Tethridge, who was so anxious to buy the roan, was +chumming with Savage the first time I laid eyes on the latter up North. +You can take that for what it’s worth, Jack.” + +“Jove!” exclaimed the newspaper man, his eyes brightening. “Looks as +if there might be more to that Arabian Nights tale than you’d think at +first. Isn’t it up to us to find out from Livermore whether the horse +was stolen, and――” + +“You can do anything you like, but cut me out.” Locke’s tone was a bit +heated. “I’m sick of the sound of the name of Savage. I’d be thankful +if I knew I was never going to hear it again. What’s more, with the +bunch moving on so soon, I haven’t the least intention of getting mixed +up in any criminal cases and being held here for weeks, perhaps.” + +He wheeled and made for the stairs without further delay, leaving +Dalton and the reporter alone. + +“Right off the bat!” the former grinned. “Say, Jack, what about that +voodoo dope the kid was giving us? Anything to it?” + +“You’ve got me,” said Stillman. “I happen to know that there is an old +black woman across the river with a reputation for holding talkfests +with his satanic majesty. Whether Savage kicked into the game or not I +can’t say.” They turned to follow the southpaw. “I reckon Lefty’s right +about it,” he went on regretfully; “but after what he did to-day I’d +certainly like to put that Savage proposition where he couldn’t play +anything but solitaire for a while.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVIII + + IN THE NIGHT + + +The Holcombe House was a low, rambling, typical country hotel such +as one sees in many small towns throughout the Southern States. A +wide veranda, much frequented on balmy nights and sultry afternoons, +stretched across the entire front of the main building, its sloping +roof surmounted by a long row of bedroom windows, monotonously alike. + +By half past ten the lobby was generally deserted save perhaps for +a lone drummer making out his report, or a chance friend of the +major chatting with him in the little office behind the desk. At +twelve, precisely, the courtly, old-fashioned proprietor followed his +invariable custom of shutting up, and retired to his private rooms on +the southwest corner of the second floor. Half an hour after midnight +the place was tight as a drum. + +After a long day of hard work in the open, the Blue Stockings were +usually quite ready for bed at ten o’clock, and this night was no +exception. Lefty and Larry Dalton were among the first to go, and by a +quarter after the hour they were stretched between the blankets in the +room they occupied together, next to Major Holcombe’s. + +The southpaw slept soundly, but not heavily. Any unusual noise was +likely to arouse him. Consequently he was not surprised, a little +later, to find himself sitting bolt upright in the darkness, listening +in bewilderment to unwonted sounds that seemed to come through one of +the open windows. There was an irregular thumping, a muffled crash, the +dull pad-pad as of shoeless feet, then a voice raised in anger. + +A second later, as his brain cleared, Lefty realized that a struggle +of some sort was going on in the next room. This brought him out of +bed with a single bound. Gripping the shoulder of the still-slumbering +Dalton and giving him a shake, he ran over to the window, thrust up the +screen, and slid out on to the veranda roof. + +The major’s nearest window, not two feet away, was wide open, and +as Locke threw one leg over the sill he heard a dull, muffled thud, +followed by the heavy crash of a body falling. For a fraction of a +second he feared that he had come too late. Then the major’s voice, +panting and somewhat shrill with excitement, came to him out of the +blackness: + +“Keep back, yo’ ruffian, or I’ll put a bullet through you!” + +“Don’t shoot, major!” exclaimed Lefty as he dropped into the room. +“It’s Locke. Do you need any help?” + +There was a brief pause, followed by the click of a switch, and the +room leaped into brilliancy, revealing a curious scene. Major Holcombe, +tall, lean, and lanker than ever in his abbreviated nightshirt, stood +against the wall, one hand gripping an old-fashioned service revolver. +His gray hair, left long at the sides to be brushed across the thin +spot on top, was mussed and disheveled. He was breathing a little +unevenly, and there were hectic spots on his high cheek bones. But +his black eyes flashed as he stared at Locke across the body of a man +huddled against the foot of the bed. + +“I――thank yo’, suh,” he said at last, a touch of the old stateliness +in his manner. “Your promptness does yo’ credit, suh, but I seem to +have settled fo’ the scoundrel. A clear case of breakin’ and enterin’ +combined with murderous assault, suh. The ruffian had a gun, which +I was fawtunate enough to knock out of his hand; otherwise I should +probably not be heah to tell the tale. I shall call yo’ gentlemen to +witness”――by this time Dalton had appeared in the window, and was +staring in with bewildered, sleep-muddled eyes――“that I was obliged to +strike him down in――” + +He broke off abruptly with a whistling gasp, and stared downward. +With an inarticulate grunt, the man on the floor stirred and rolled +over, revealing the flushed face of Nelson Savage. There was a slight +cut on his forehead, but the reek of liquor in the air gave Locke an +impression that the fellow’s collapse had been caused as much by drink +as by the glancing blow from the major’s revolver. With Savage in +normal condition, the old Southerner would have stood no chance at all. + +“You!” exclaimed Major Holcombe, straightening up. “So!” + +He turned to Lefty, his lips set, his lean jaw tightening. “This is a +case fo’ the sheriff, suh,” he said coldly. “The scoundrel evidently +wanted revenge fo’ havin’ been turned out of my hotel. If you will look +after him until I can make a hasty toilet, I shall be obliged.” + +He thrust his antiquated weapon into Locke’s hand, and, gathering up an +armful of clothes, stalked into a rear room. Lefty stared thoughtfully +at the unconscious man for a moment, then glanced at Dalton. + +“Revenge,” he murmured thoughtfully; “I wonder if that was it――and he +mistook the window?” + +“Thunder! You mean he was after you?” + +“Why not? I told you how he ranted down in the lobby this afternoon, +and you can see he’s more than half seas over. It would be a simple +matter for a man in that condition to mistake the second window from +the corner for the third, especially when they’re so close together.” + +“The scoundrel!” exclaimed Dalton, his face darkening. “I hope―― He’s +coming round.” + +The southpaw turned to see his enemy struggle to a sitting posture and +stare slowly around the room. His eyes were only half open, but as they +came to rest on Locke’s legs, clad in silk pajamas, they widened, and +his gaze traveled swiftly upward to Lefty’s face. + +“Didn’ git yer, but I will yet!” he snarled in half-drunken fury. “If I +don’t make you――” + +“Stop!” ordered Lefty, his patience utterly exhausted. “Another word +out of you, and I’ll put a gag in your mouth.” + +The busher promptly let out a stream of unprintable abuse. Locke as +promptly stuffed the end of a towel into his mouth, securing it firmly +in place with a necktie Larry brought from the other room. Another +towel was used to tie the man’s hands, and Savage was reduced to a +helpless condition. + +Looking more like himself, the major presently returned, his mood of +cold, determined indignation unchanged. He had been humiliated and +outraged, and the person responsible was going to suffer the full +penalties of the law. As a precaution, Kennedy was roused, and informed +of what had happened; but he refused to see the recruit, much less +interfere in his behalf. + +“Let him go to jail, where he belongs,” he said grimly. + +Savage was presently carried off by the sheriff, defiant to the last. + +When the Blue Stockings departed, late the next afternoon, for Webster, +to play an exhibition game at the big county fair, the prisoner was +behind bars awaiting trial on charges which could scarcely fail to land +him in the penitentiary for a prolonged stay. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIX + + THE FACE IN THE CROWD + + +The game at Webster was scheduled for the morning in order not to +interfere with the horse race at two P. M. The latter was the big event +of the fair; but the presence of an organization like the famous Blue +Stockings naturally attracted a goodly portion of the big crowd which +had come in from miles around. + +Kennedy’s squad looked upon the occasion as more or less of a lark, and +were interested in it mainly because of the opportunity it brought to +witness the race. But they found the team from Savannah a snappy bunch, +and it was only by really hard work that they pulled out winners by a +score of four to one. + +Pink Dillon pitched for six innings, and was succeeded by Lefty. The +latter had not been in the box five minutes before he noticed a waving +handkerchief from one of the lower rows of the grand stand. Looking +closer, he was astonished and overjoyed to see Janet Harting and Celia +Berkeley smiling down on him. + +He had received two letters from Janet since her departure from +Tulane. Both were written in the old, friendly style, which made Locke +hope and believe that she had forgotten the disagreement that had +spoiled their last evening together; but in neither letter had she +hinted at a possibility of their meeting so soon. + +“Another surprise, I reckon,” murmured the southpaw as he doffed his +cap and stared searchingly at the girls’ escorts. “Or maybe they came +on the spur of the moment. Wonder who she’s got with her?” + +A second later his heart sank, and even his slightly jealous +speculation concerning the identity of the good-looking man at Janet’s +right was swept from his mind. He would have to face Celia Berkeley! +Worse than that, he would be obliged to tell her what had happened to +Savage. He fairly squirmed at the thought. + +There was a smile on her lips, and her laughing eyes were gazing around +the field. She was looking for the man, of course, wondering, probably, +why he had not shown himself. How could he tell her the truth? + +In his troubled abstraction, Lefty put over a ball which the Savannah +batter fell on with violent delight, smashing it out for a two-bagger. +The accident brought Locke up sharply, and for the remainder of the +game he kept his mind strictly on business. + +He had no more idea, as he hurried toward the stands after the ninth, +of how to break the unpleasant news than when the necessity for it +first burst upon him. Striving to hide his discomfort, he pushed +through the crowd to where the girls stood, and greeted them warmly. +The escorts proved to be Miss Berkeley’s two brothers――good-looking +young fellows――who would have appealed instantly to Lefty had his mind +not been absorbed with the disagreeable duty before him. + +“We only decided to come last night,” the Southern girl explained, +in answer to Locke’s question. “We wanted to, of course, the minute +we heard you-all were to be here; but Ted and Billy couldn’t tell +definitely about getting off till yesterday afternoon. But where’s +Nels? Didn’t he come?” + +It was impossible to tell her here in the crowd, so the southpaw hedged. + +“No,” he answered. “You see, Jack didn’t bring the whole squad”――which +happened to be quite true――“and Nels was one of those left behind.” + +“How mean!” pouted the girl. “That manager of yours must be a regular +old bear.” + +To Lefty’s relief, she asked no further questions, but at once began +a discussion concerning lunch. They had motored over, it seemed, and +brought a large hamper with them, the contents of which Lefty Locke +was invited to share. Thankful for the temporary respite, the portsider +hustled off to dress, accompanied by Ted Berkeley, while the others +sought their machine. + +The ordeal he was dreading did not come during the informal meal. At +half past one the pitcher found himself beside Janet in a box that +must have cost real money to secure at so short a notice, with the +disagreeable task still before him. + +Directly opposite them was the judges’ stand, and Locke had scarcely +taken his seat before he became aware of a small-sized disturbance +going on in that direction. A tall, erect old gentleman with iron-gray +hair and a nose like the beak of a hawk stood against the stand, his +hands behind the back of his long frock coat. Beside him were several +other less noticeable men――officials, if one could judge from the +ribbons on their lapels――while about them was a circle of some two +dozen nondescript persons, attracted evidently by the dispute; for the +track had not yet been cleared, and people were crossing it in every +direction. + +The eyes of each member of the little group were fixed intently on the +small, wiry little man who stood before the gray-haired judge, rage and +indignation mirrored in his keen, narrow face, emphasizing each remark +by the slap of a clenched fist against an open palm. + +“I tell you, colonel,” Lefty heard him assert, “that mare is a ringer! +I know it! I can prove it! She’s got a record, she has! She ran in the +race for the Maxworth Cup over the line last September, under the name +of Princess. She was a sorrel then, with a white fetlock, and a white +crescent on her off flank. She’s a sorrel now underneath the dye this +faker soaked on to turn her into a bay, and――” + +“One moment, suh!” The colonel lifted an impressive hand. “Yo’ are +making serious charges, Mistah Baxby. Steve, run ovah an’ fetch +Tethridge. He left heah not two minutes ago.” + +One of the men hustled off, and Baxby, finding that the judge turned a +deaf ear to his monologue, began to pour out his woes to the crowd of +curious onlookers, which increased with every passing minute. He gave +the date of the race, the fact that Tethridge had been the owner of the +winning horse, and various other details in such a positive manner that +Locke, becoming convinced that he was speaking the truth, waited for +the Englishman’s appearance, with a smile of grim anticipation. + +After considerable delay, Lefty discerned the attendant returning. +Beside him was the lean, lank, rather awkward figure of a man with a +slouching gait and a thin, hard, weather-beaten face. The pitcher had +no difficulty in recognizing this individual as the same Tethridge +whose slurs on professional baseball had once roused his ire. + +As the Englishman came closer, a certain veiled anxiety almost hidden +beneath an overassured manner, made Locke wonder if the attendant, +inadvertently or otherwise, had not put the fellow on guard. + +Pushing through the rapidly increasing crowd of people, Tethridge +paused before the judge. “Well, old chap,” he drawled, “what might be +the trouble?” + +The colonel cleared his throat and bent a searching gaze on the man, +which was returned without the tremor of an eyelash. + +“A serious charge has just been made against yo’, suh,” explained the +official. “Mistah Baxby heah asserts that the mare yo’ have entered +under the name of Alice Gray is a――ah――ringer, suh. He claims that she +won the Maxworth Cup under the name of Princess.” + +“He’s a bally liar!” retorted Tethridge, drawing himself up. “Princess +is a sorrel with white mawkings. Blimy――I ought to know! I only sold +the blooming mare a fortnight since.” + +“Who’d you sell her to?” shrilled Baxby. “Produce the owner――I dare +you! Produce the bill of sale! You can’t do it! Because why? She’s over +there in the stable this minute, daubed up with dye! A bit of acid +will show up the fake, you crook!” + +By this time the space about the judges’ stand was packed with people, +jostling, shoving, and surging back and forth as they tried to get a +place in the inner circle to see what was going on. Some one raised a +cry of “ringer,” and it spread like wildfire, echoing in a chorus about +the track. Others came running; the people in the boxes and seats stood +up to see and hear better. The whole affair reminded Lefty suddenly of +a brimming powder keg waiting for the spark. He was just congratulating +himself that the girls were not down there in that seething mob when +all at once a new actor entered upon the scene. + +He was a burly fellow of thirty-five or so, and he came tearing up the +track, dragging by the arm a wizen colored boy, roughly dressed, and +evidently frightened half out of his wits. Straight at the crowd the +man launched himself, boring a hole with his big shoulders, heedless of +angry protestations from those he was shoving aside. At last he burst +into the inner, much diminished space――the boy popping after him like a +seed squeezed from an orange――and glared around. + +“There you are!” he roared, in a voice which rose even above the din. +“You dog!” He shook his fist under the Englishman’s nose, and Tethridge +shrank back to the edge of the narrow circle. “I’m going to beat up +that face of yours so your own mother won’t know you!” He whirled +toward the judge. “Kunnel, my horse is gone lame!” + +An uneasy quiver eddied through the crowd. Voices took up the news, +adding the name of the horse which had so unexpectedly failed at the +last moment. Freckles couldn’t run――he was out of the race. Freckles +was evidently a favorite, for instantly men by the dozen flung +themselves out of the mob and tore over to the betting shed. + +The noise increased. Lefty, bending over the edge of the box, could see +the colonel’s lips move, but heard no sound. Tethridge, his ruddy color +gone, shrank behind the officials, passing a limp hand across a shining +forehead. Gesticulating wildly, the big, black-haired man continued +to shout out his story. Though Locke missed a word here and there, he +heard enough, thanks to that bull-like voice, to understand what it was +all about. + +Tethridge had evidently tried to bribe the stableboy to prevent his +master’s horse――the favorite above all other entries――from running. Not +daring to take the risk, the boy refused; but threats or bribes, or +both, sealed his lips. Not an hour before, Tethridge had been in the +stable with a friend, who had diverted the attention of the trainer +long enough for the Englishman to slip into the favorite’s stall and +out again. When the horse was led out he limped badly, and examination +revealed a cut muscle which would take months to heal, if, indeed, a +cure could ever be accomplished. No one had actually seen it done, but +that was unnecessary. + +The recital proved to be that spark which Lefty had been expecting. +With a roar, the crowd surged forward. + +A gasp arose from the stands. Women screamed and turned their backs. +For a second Locke expected to see the man torn to pieces before +his eyes. But at this juncture Colonel Arlington gave an exhibition +of strategic maneuvering which proved his early training. With a +single sweep of his arm, he flung Tethridge against the foot of the +narrow steps leading up into the judges’ stand. In another second +he whipped out a large revolver and held the crowd at bay until the +terror-stricken man and the various officials had climbed into the +stand. Once safely up there, with the colonel and his revolver at the +top of the steps, the mob might surge and eddy and roar around the base +of the structure without doing a particle of harm. + +It did not even come to that. Almost immediately, now that the cause +of their excitement had been spirited out of reach, the units of the +mob began to lapse into individuals, and realize how foolish they had +been. In rapidly increasing numbers they slipped away, some spurred by +the necessity of rearranging their bets, until at last the crowd had +shrunk to a size easily handled by officials and policemen hurrying up. + +From his seat in the box, Lefty smiled grimly as he watched the white +and terrified Tethridge, cowering behind the railing of the stand. + +“And you’re the man who called professional baseball crooked!” he +murmured to himself. “I wonder――” + +He stopped abruptly, gripping the arms of his chair spasmodically. +Unaccountably his gaze had shifted to the fair-sized crowd still +thronging about the foot of the judges’ stand. He found himself staring +down into the upturned face of Nelson Savage! + + + + + CHAPTER XL + + BEWILDERING FACTS + + +It was but a momentary glimpse, for the crowd, seized with a panic at +the approach of a number of policemen, fled in a body, and the busher +was whirled out of sight in an instant. But it was enough. Locke knew +that face too well to be mistaken. It was Savage――the man he had left +sixty miles away behind iron bars, with no chance of a trial within the +week at least. + +The thing was incredible. It was on a par with that fantastic story of +the jumping horse, and for a moment Locke felt his brain reeling. He +pulled himself together to answer a question of Janet, then set about +reasoning it out more calmly. + +There must be some natural explanation, of course. The fellow was +here in Webster. That much was beyond any doubt. There were only two +possible ways of his getting out of jail――either he had broken out, or +in some inexplicable manner he had been released. The southpaw found it +difficult to understand how either of these things could have happened. +After a most uneasy ten minutes, he excused himself, and left the box +to seek a long-distance telephone. + +He had some difficulty in getting the Tulane jail, but when he finally +did so the connection was so good that he recognized at once the voice +of Joe Warren, the assistant keeper, an ardent fan who had spent most +of his off hours at the ball park. + +“Joe, this is Locke,” Lefty said quickly. “I wanted to ask you about +Savage. Is he――still there?” + +“Here!” The man’s voice vibrated over the wire with sudden shrillness. +“I should say nit! The old man chased him as far as the station, and +then lost him. Reckon he must have jumped the fast freight that went +through a couple of minutes before.” + +Locke’s eyes narrowed. The explanation was very simple, after all. + +“Broke out, did he?” + +“You bet! Lord knows how he done it, but he cut his way through the +roof of the calaboose. Couldn’t even wait till dark, an’ of course +he was seen. It ain’t twenty minutes since old Mose Peters piped him +climbing through the hole he made, an’――” + +“_What?_” + +“I say, it ain’t more’n twenty minutes ago that he broke out. Mose +Peters lives in that――” + +“But that’s impossible!” protested Lefty dazedly. “Stop kidding, Joe, +and tell me the story straight.” + +“I ain’t kidding!” Warren’s voice took on a slightly injured tone. “It +might be twenty-five minutes by now, but not a second more. Peters seen +him through his back winder, an’ hustled over as fast as his rheumatics +would let him. Bob took it on the run without even waitin’ for his +hat. Got a glimpse of the feller duckin’ out of Main Street toward the +station, but that was the last he seen of him. By hard runnin’, he jest +about had time to hook on to the freight above the station, an’ that’s +what we reckon he done. I ain’t seen Bob since. He ’phoned from the +station for me to send down his hat an’ gun, an’ that’s when I heard +about it. I hadn’t no more’n hung up before you rung.” + +Lefty drew a long breath, and passed one hand dazedly across his +forehead. Visions of high-power motor cars, of aëroplanes even, flitted +through his mind; but the speediest of them could not make three miles +a minute. By changing from the freight to the down train, which came +along within the half hour, Savage could reach Webster around half +past four at the earliest. But he was here now――somewhere out in that +vast crowd swarming around the track. At least, the pitcher had been +positive of that until this moment; now his mind began to waver. +He might have been mistaken by a chance resemblance――it was within +the bounds of possibility. Through the thin partition before him the +muffled shuffling of many feet and the rasping sound of many voices +came to him from the betting shed. Then he realized that Warren was +speaking: + +“Hello! Hello! Are you on yet, Mr. Locke? Say, how the mischief do you +happen to know anything about the escape? Bob ain’t ’phoned you, has +he?” + +“N-o.” The pitcher’s face had suddenly become curiously altered. The +lips were firm, the muscles of the jaw had hardened. “No, Joe,” he +repeated more briskly, “Bob didn’t ’phone. I――thought I saw Savage in +the crowd on the track just now, but of course that’s――impossible. Yes, +sure! I guess you’ll pinch him all right. We’ll be back by to-morrow +noon, I reckon. Sure, we licked ’em――four to one. I’ve got to get back +for the race. Good-by.” + +Returning to the box, Lefty found that order had at last been +reëstablished, and that the first race was about to start. After all +the preliminary excitement, the actual events seemed rather tame. The +party sat through two of the races, then Miss Berkeley suggested that +they drive back to the hotel to have an early dinner before the rush. + +The southpaw was still unusually quiet, and more than once Janet +jokingly commented on his preoccupation. He laughed it off, but when +they reached the hotel and the girls went to their rooms to dress for +dinner, the thoughtful pucker flashed instantly back into his forehead. + +“Well, suppose we improve the shining hour with a nip or two of +bourbon,” suggested Ted Berkeley. “I’ve got some good stuff in my bag. +You’ll join us, won’t you, Locke?” + +Lefty smilingly shook his head. “I can’t. We have to keep pretty strict +training, you know. I’ll come along, though, and watch you punish it.” + +Berkeley, laughing, acquiesced, and led the way toward the elevators. +Already the lobby was filled with a heterogeneous assemblage and as +they pushed their way through Locke’s roving eyes suddenly lit up at +the sight of a figure moving along a cross corridor toward the side +entrance. + +With a hurried apology and a promise to come up later, he fairly +flung himself in the direction the fellow had taken. Halfway down the +corridor the young man glanced back, and, instead of stopping, jerked +his hat over his eyes and sped on almost at a run. A moment later he +became mixed up with an entering crowd. Before he could extricate +himself, Lefty reached him and caught his shoulder. + +“Hold up a minute, Savage!” he said quietly. “I want to talk to you.” + +With no reply save a defiant movement of his head, the busher turned +and faced him. For a tense moment their glances clashed. Then Lefty +broke the awkward pause. + +“I know all about it,” he said, in that same quiet, restrained tone. +“Suppose we go up to my room and talk it over?” + +Savage hesitated momentarily. Then, with a slight shrug of his +shoulders, he followed Lefty back through the hallway. A few seconds +later the metal gate of the elevator shaft clanged shut behind them. + + + + + CHAPTER XLI + + REVELATIONS + + +There was a constant passing and repassing of people through the lobby, +but not until after five did the advance guard of the Blue Stockings, +consisting of Kennedy, Dalton, Gene Temple, and Ogan, appear. They came +by the main entrance, laughing and joking, at the precise moment that +a broad-shouldered young man, a soft hat pulled down over his eyes, +turned from the register and put a question to the clerk. + +“Tethridge?” the latter repeated briskly, turning for an instant to +inspect the keyboard. “Why, he hasn’t come――” + +He stopped abruptly, with a sniff of surprise, for the young man, +without a word of explanation, had whirled about, and was making +swiftly for the side corridor. A second later the keen eyes of the +Blue Stockings’ manager sighted him; there was a gasp of astonishment, +checked in its very birth. Then a shout: + +“Savage! Grab him, Temple――don’t let him get away!” + +For a fraction of a second, Temple, who was nearer the hurrying man +than any of the others, seemed to hesitate. But another roar from +Kennedy, accompanied by a forward rush, spurred him on, and, plunging +through a throng of bewildered loungers, he grabbed the Westerner by +one arm. + +With a snarl like that of a trapped animal, Savage whirled on him. “Let +go, you cheap sport!” he cried. “If you don’t, I’ll put the whole crowd +wise to your crookedness――” + +He did not finish, for at that moment Kennedy gripped the other arm, +and, with characteristic presence of mind, shoved him through the door +of an adjoining writing room, whence he was followed by the other +members of his squad. Then the door slammed in the face of the crowd of +curious spectators. + +There was another door leading to a small reception room, but this Ogan +promptly closed, taking his position in front of it. Kennedy released +his hold on the busher, who stepped back against a table, his chin +high, his eyes insolently returning the manager’s steady, contemptuous +stare. + +“So you broke out?” the latter commented scornfully. “Nice one you are +to talk about crookedness! Why, that’s your middle name!” + +Savage’s eyes gleamed. “At least I never forged my father’s name, +like that man!” he retorted, with a vicious side glance at Temple’s +flushed face. “Nor passed myself off for an amateur after I’d played +professional ball all summer. Oh, you can’t deny it! I know! Your old +man didn’t prosecute, but it’s the truth, all the same. You didn’t +think to run up against me, I s’pose, after pitching two seasons as +Fred Moore out on the coast, an’ then trotting back East to pretend you +were a sweet young innocent that didn’t even know fellows got money for +playing ball.” + +Temple’s face was flaming now, and his eyes were filled with a mixture +of bitter shame and indignation. + +“That’s nothing to what I’ve got on you!” he retorted. “It’s past and +gone now.” His eyes swept pleadingly from one face to another. “I +had to earn money to get through, and pitching was the only trade I +knew. The rules of professional athletics are unjust, anyhow. Fellows +do other things for money to help them along in college――waiting, +dishwashing, tutoring, coaching――why shouldn’t they play ball? The +check was a heap worse, but it was that or starve. Since my father +forgave me, I don’t see it’s anybody else’s business.” + +He caught his breath, and his eyes returned to Savage’s sneering face. + +“You’re a corker to bring up things like this!” he went on bitterly. +“I was in the grandstand the day you pitched against the Atlanta +Tigers. Oh, I know you didn’t see me! I was spread out flat, taking +things easy. But I saw _you_――through a crack in the floor. It was a +nice, wide crack, too, that gave me a fine view of the dressing room +underneath. I saw everything that went on there. I know the game you’ve +been playing, and when I’ve told Kennedy he’ll――” + +“Great――cats!” The exclamation came in a gasping gurgle from the lips +of Al Ogan. “Am I seeing things?” + +The door had opened and closed. Two men stood with their backs against +it. One was Lefty Locke. The other so resembled in every detail――save +expression alone――the sneering busher leaning against the table that +the result was petrifying. + +A tense silence fell upon the room as the dazed occupants stared with +widening eyes and sagging jaws at this apparent miracle. It was the +face of the manager which changed first. His gaze had been shifting +continually from Savage to the newcomer, and back again. Presently the +dark, heavy brows lowered in a scowl. + +“So there’s two of you!” he snapped. + +A bitter smile flitted across Locke’s lips. “A pretty dual personality, +Jack,” he said quietly. “This has certainly been one on me, all right.” + +The newcomer took a step forward, his face serious. + +“I know you’ll be furious, Kennedy,” he said slowly. “You certainly +have a right to be, but I――” + +“Hold on, there!” The manager’s voice was harsh and angry. “You say you +know all about this game,” he went on, glaring at Temple. “Suppose you +spin out the rest of that story.” + +Temple flushed and dropped his eyes. Apparently he would have much +preferred remaining in the background. + +“There――isn’t――much more,” he stammered. “I’d dozed off, and when I +came to I heard some one moving around down below. It was Savage, and +I was some surprised that he wasn’t out on the field. Once he went +outside for a minute or two, and a little while afterward the other one +came in.” + +“Other one!” ejaculated Kennedy. “You knew there were two, then?” + +Temple nodded. “I knew Neil here”――he glanced at the scowling fellow +by the table――“had a brother, Nelson, who was a lot better pitcher, +and when I found him passing under Nelson’s name I guessed there was +something queer about it.” + +“But you kept your mouth shut because of what he knew about you,” +growled the manager. “Go on.” + +“I hadn’t any idea they were so much alike. When I saw them together +in the dressing room under the stand I was stunned for a minute. I +gathered from their talk that they had planned to make a shift that +night, but Neil was half full, and insisted on going out then to finish +the game. Said if Nels didn’t agree he’d go out anyhow. So he got his +way. They changed clothes, and Nels went out through the gate in the +fence, while the other walked out on the field. That’s all, I think.” + +“All!” Kennedy repeated harshly. “I should hope so!” He turned to +Nelson Savage with a heavy scowl. “You’re the one I hired, ain’t you?” +he snapped. “I thought so. You deliberately turned my offer over to +this miserable brother of yours, didn’t you? Well, what did you do it +for? You must have known what he was. What was the game?” + +Nelson Savage winced a little, clenching his hands tightly behind his +back. + +“I did it because I wanted him to have one more chance,” he explained, +in a low tone. “He’d been going to the bad for a long time, but he can +pitch when he’s right. I hoped a chance like that, and being down here +in training where he couldn’t drink, would make him pull up. I even +gave up baseball myself, much as I hated to, and accepted an offer to +go on the road for a sporting-goods house.” + +He hesitated an instant, and caught his lip between his teeth. “It +wasn’t any use. When I came down through the State, I stopped off +to――see a friend, and also to learn how he was making out. I discovered +that Neil had got in with a shark named Tethridge, who was training +some race horses over at Livermore’s place, across from Tulane. He’d +evidently been supplying my brother with liquor, for when I slipped +over there I found Neil so intoxicated he could hardly move. He was as +bad next morning, and there was nothing to do but take his place until +he could sober up. He seemed perfectly content to lie around doing +nothing, but finally I simply had to cut out and attend to work or lose +my job. So I looked him up, and told him he’d have to come back. I’d +planned to make the shift after the game, but――well, you’ve heard about +that. I know what a poor trick it was to play on you, Kennedy, but I +was trying to save my brother. If I can ever make it up to you in any +way at all, I’ll be mighty glad.” + +During the recital, to which the others listened with absorbed +interest, Neil Savage had preserved his attitude of sneering composure, +unmoved. Now he straightened languidly, and yawned. + +“Now that the Sunday school sentiments have all been expressed,” he +drawled insolently, “I don’t suppose there’s any particular use of my +hanging around.” + +For a second Kennedy did not answer. He was looking at the other +brother, and the expression of appeal in Nelson’s eyes would have moved +a much harder-hearted person than old Jack. + +“All right; you can beat it,” he said shortly. “I might suggest that in +the future Georgia would be a good State for you to avoid.” + +“Thanks for the advice,” was the nonchalant reply. “I had the same +notion myself.” + +Without further comment, glancing neither to right nor left, he moved +toward the door. Lefty stood aside to let him pass, his look eloquently +expressing the indignation which was consuming him. Nelson Savage, his +eyes fixed rather wistfully on his brother, took an impulsive step +forward as Neil passed, and then drew back, his face white. The door +opened and closed with a slam which had in it a sense of finality as +absolute as the word at the end of a tale. The pause that followed was +broken by Kennedy. + +“You’re a fool, young man,” he said, “to monkey with a brother like +that; but I reckon you’ve had your lesson. You can pitch, and I believe +you can make good in professional baseball. Mebbe, after this, you +won’t care to tie up with me, but perhaps I can get you a try-out with +Ben Frazer, manager of the Wolves. He’s got a catcher, Brick King, +that he’s been trying to trade for a twirler, but I don’t want any of +his lemons. Still,” he added, “everything considered, I ought to have +first shot at you. If you’ve got a full line of the goods I’ve seen a +few samples of, I might give you a chance to put your John Hancock to a +Blue Stocking contract. Would you?” + +Savage’s face lightened. “Would I?” he cried. “Just give me that +chance!” + +With the departure of Neil Savage, happening to glance toward the door +of the small reception room, Lefty was surprised to see it ajar, and, +standing in the opening, the figures of Janet and Celia. + +How long they had been there he did not know, but without delay he +walked swiftly over. Miss Berkeley’s face was serious; the gray eyes, +fixed so intently on Savage, held a glint of tears in them. She did not +speak or even turn her head when the southpaw, his expression somewhat +stern and accusing, drew Janet back into the other room. + +“You knew all the time,” Lefty said briefly, his brows drawn down in a +frown. + +She put one hand lightly on his arm, and raised her anxious, +questioning eyes. “Celia told me about it,” she explained hastily, “but +made me promise never to breathe a single word――even to you. Surely you +won’t blame me for keeping that promise?” + +For a second the frown struggled for existence before it was swept away +by the light which illumined Lefty’s whole face. + +“Perhaps I’ll forgive you――if――” + +His hand had found hers. He bent nearer, looking into the depths of +those wonderful violet eyes. His voice sank to a murmur, so low that no +third person could possibly have heard and understood. + + + 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, for example, + Douro/Duoro. + + ――Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77754 *** |