Lefty Locke Pitcher-Manager Part 14

"He hasn't jumped; he hasn't had the nerve," sneered Weegman, snapping his fingers. "Instead, he's been howling for a contract.

You'd find him waiting if you didn't sign him until the first of April." For just a flicker he had actually seemed to betray annoyance because Pink Dillon had not followed the example of the deserters, but he ended with a laugh.

"It seems to me," said the new manager, "that I'd better get busy and try to save the pieces. The men who haven't jumped should be signed up without delay."

"Of course," agreed Weegman blandly. "You must send out the contracts.

Unluckily, I haven't any blanks with me, but I'll see that you are furnished with them to-morrow."

"Every day counts, perhaps every hour; by to-morrow we may lose another good man, or more."

"Not much danger, and you don't want to make the mistake of getting into a panic and trying to do things in too much of a hurry. We've been farming some clever youngsters, more than enough to make up a team; but you should consult with Kennedy about them, and take only the right ones.

You'll have the most trouble getting hold of pitchers."

"Youngsters," said Locke, "are all right; but do you mean to suggest that we should stop the gaps wholly with men who lack Big League experience? You know how much show that sort of a team would have in the race. We've got to make some deals that will give us some players who have ripened. It'll cost money, too."

"Right there," said Weegman, "is where you're going to need the check-rein. Charles Collier won't stand for needless extravagance in that line, I know, and I shall not countenance the purchasing of high-priced men."

The blood rose into Lefty's face; he tingled to tell the rascal something, but again a warning flicker of Kennedy's left eye restrained him.

"There are lots of good youngsters coming on," said the veteran soothingly. "There were three or four I could have used last season if I'd had room for them. We'll run over the list and see how they'll fit in."

For another hour they continued in conclave, and a dozen times Weegman took occasion to impress upon Locke that he should do nothing definite without receiving Weegman's approval. When he seemed to feel that he had driven this into the new manager's head, he excused himself on the pretext of attending to a pressing matter, and departed, leaving old Jack and Lefty together. Kennedy quietly locked the door. Lefty jumped to his feet and began pacing the floor like a caged tiger.

"Never had such a job to keep my hands off a man!" he raged. "Only for you, I'd--"

"I know," said old Jack, returning and sitting down heavily. "I wanted to kick him myself, and I think I shall do it some day soon.

He's crooked as a corkscrew and rotten as a last year's early apple.

But he ain't shrewd; he only thinks he is. He's fooled himself. You never agreed to his verbal terms, and, just as I said, he didn't dare put them in writing. According to that contract, you've got as much power as I ever had, and you can exercise it. It's up to you to get busy. Don't wait for contract forms from Weegman; they'll be delayed.

I have plenty. Wire the old players who are left that contracts will be mailed to them to-night."

Locke stopped by Kennedy's chair and dropped a hand on the old man's shoulder.

"And you're going to St. Paul?" he said. "You've been handed a wretched deal."

"Nix on the St. Paul business, son; there's nothing to it. That wolf thought I swallowed that guff. Byers is Garrity's friend, and it's plain now that Garrity's mixed up in this dirty business. It was easy enough to ask if I'd consider hooking up with St. Paul. By the time I got round to saying yes, Byers could tell me it was off. This time, Lefty, I'm out of the game for good." His voice sounded heavy and dull, and his shoulders sagged.

The southpaw was silent, words failing him. After a few minutes old Jack looked up into the face of his youthful companion, and smiled wryly.

"You've got a little glimpse of what goes on behind the scenes in baseball," he said. "The fans that pay their money to see the games look on it, generally, as a fine, clean sport--which, in one way, it is.

That part the public pays to see, the game, is on the level. There's a good reason: the crookedest magnate in the business--and, believe me, there's one who can look down the back of his own neck without trying to turn round--knows it would spell ruin to put over a frame-up on the open field. By nature the players themselves are like the average run of human critters, honest and dishonest; but experience has taught them that they can't pull off any double deals without cutting their own throats. People who talk about fixed games, especially in the World's Series, show up their ignorance. It can't be done.

"But when it comes to tricks and holdups, and highway robberies and a.s.sa.s.sination, there's always somethin' doing off stage. What you've seen is only a patch. The men who run things are out for the coin, and they aren't any better, as a rule, than the high financiers who plunder railroads and loot public treasuries. They'll smile in a man's face while they're whetting the knife for his back. Some of them have put the knife into Charles Collier now, and they intend to sink it to the hilt. You've been picked as a cat's-paw to help them pull their chestnuts off the coals. They intend to fatten their batting average at your expense, and when it's all over you'll be knocked out of the box for good. You'll get the blame while they pluck the plums."

"Kennedy," said Locke, his voice hard as chilled steel, "they've picked the wrong stool pigeon. My eyes aren't sewed up. With your help, I'm going to find a way to spoil their villainous schemes. I know you'll help me."

The veteran sprang up, a bit of the old-time fire in his face. "You bet your life, son! That's why I wired for you to come on, and that's why I wanted you to pretend to take the hook and sign up with Weegman. I knew we could work together, and it puts us in position to get the harpoon into them before they wise up to what's doing. Let's get busy."

CHAPTER XVII

GETTING INTO ACTION

Locke was for open work and defiance of Weegman, but Kennedy argued against it.

"You want to get the jump on that snake," said the old man, digging a package of contract forms for players out of his traveling bag. "He won't be looking for you to get into action so sudden, and you'll gain a lap before he knows it. When it comes to fighting a polecat, a wise man takes precautions. Weegman's gone to send word to his pals of the slick job he's put over, and he'll be coming back to bother us pretty soon.

We don't want to be here when he comes."

So, for the purpose of conducting their private business, another room was engaged, and an arrangement made whereby no person, no matter how insistent he might be, should be told where to find them. Then a telegraph messenger boy was summoned to that room, and telegrams were sent to the still loyal Blue Stockings players, stating that contracts were being mailed for their signatures. Then the contracts were filled out, sealed, and dropped into the mail chute.

A square meal was ordered and served in the private room, and for nearly three hours Lefty and Jack talked. They had many things to tell each other, but their princ.i.p.al topic was the filling of the frightful gaps made in the team by the Federal raids, and both agreed that the time had come when the close-fisted financial policy of the Blue Stockings must be abandoned; players fully as good as the ones lost, or better, if possible, must be obtained at any cost. Various team combinations that seemed to balance to a nicety were made up on paper, but how to get the men coveted was the problem.

"We've got two catchers left," said Kennedy, "but the best of the pair ain't in the same cla.s.s as the man we've lost. We've got to have a backstop as good as Nelson. And when it comes to pitchers--say, son, is it possible there ain't any show at all of your coming back?"

"I wish I could answer that," confessed Locke. "At any rate, we've got to have two more first-string men. If this Mysterious Jones I told you of is anywhere near as good as he looked to--"

"Not one chance in a hundred that he's good enough to carry a regular share of the pitching the first season, no matter what he might develop into with experience. The Wolves have been hurt least by the Feds, and you might pick something worth while off Ben Frazer if you paid his price. Last fall he offered to trade me that youngster, Keeper, for Dayly, and since then he's bought Red Callahan from Brennan. That'll put Keeper on the bench. You know what Keeper is, and I've always regretted letting Frazer get him off me for five thousand, but it was Collier's idea. The boy'd look well on our third cus.h.i.+on about now.

But don't lose sight of the fact that it's pitchers we've _got_ to have."

Locke took the five-fifty train for New York, leaving Weegman, whom he had succeeded in avoiding, frothing around the Grand in search of him.

Kennedy knew how to reach Frazer by wire, and he had received a reply to his telegram that the manager of the Wolves would meet Lefty at the Great Eastern the following night. Between Kennedy and Frazer there had always existed a bond of understanding and friends.h.i.+p.

Despite the burden he had a.s.sumed, the new manager of the Blue Stockings slept well. It was this faculty of getting sleep and recuperation under any circ.u.mstances that had enabled him to become known as the "Iron Man."

At breakfast the following morning he received a slight shock. Three tables in front of him, with his back turned, sat a man with fine shoulders, a bull neck, and a bullet head. Mit Skullen was traveling eastward by the same train. Lefty cut his breakfast short and left the diner without having been observed.

"If he should see me, he'd probably take the first opportunity to wire back to Weegman," thought Locke, "and I'm going to follow old Jack's advice about leaving Weegman in the dark for a while."

There was a possibility, of course, that Skullen would come wandering through the train and discover him, but, to his satisfaction, nothing of the kind happened. All the long forenoon he was whirled through a snow-covered country without being annoyed by the appearance of Garrity's henchman, and he had plenty of time to meditate on the situation and the plans laid by himself and Kennedy.

But it was necessary to eat again, and shortly before Albany was reached he returned to the diner, hoping Skullen had already had lunch. The man was not there when he sat down, but he had scarcely given his order when the fellow's hand dropped on his shoulder.

"Hully smokes!" exclaimed Mit, staring down, wide-eyed, at the southpaw. "What's this mean? I can hardly believe me lamps. You must have left Indianap' same time I did, and Weeg asked me twice if I'd seen anything of you."

"Weegman?" said Lefty, startled, but outwardly serene. "Is he on this train?"

"Nix. Last I know, he was tearing up the Grand looking for you. How's it happened you skipped without dropping him word?"

"I'm going to see my folks, who live in Jersey," Locke answered, truthfully enough.

"But you'll stop in the big town to-night? Where do you hang out?"

"Usually at the Prince Arthur." This was likewise true, although the southpaw had now no intention of putting up there on this occasion.

Mit looked at his watch. "We must be pulling into Albany," he said. "I want to get a paper. See you later."

"Go ahead and shoot your telegram to Weegman," thought Locke. "Any message sent me at the Prince Arthur is liable to remain unopened for some time."