Baseball Joe Around the World Part 33

with the public if it failed to make its statements good.

"They'll have a hot time doing it," grinned Joe.

"I'm wondering how they'll dodge it," remarked Jim.

"By getting out a new lie to bolster up the old one probably," conjectured Joe.

The latest papers from America had come on board just as the steamer left Alexandria, and in the hurry of getting aboard and settling down in their new quarters it was after supper that night before Joe hurried to the smoking room to have a look at them.

"Got a thousand dollars handy, Joe?" inquired Denton, as Joe came near him.

"Because, if you have, the All-Star League wants it," added Larry.

"What do you mean?" asked Joe, all the old discomfort and apprehension coming back to him.

"Read this," replied Larry, handing him a paper opened at the sporting page.

Joe read:

"All-Star League Calls Matson's Bluff. Produces Signed Contract.

Facsimile of Contract Shown Below."

And staring right out at him was the photographic reproduction of a regulation baseball contract and at the bottom was written the name: "Joseph Matson."

Joe stared at it as though he were in a dream. Here was the old blow at his reputation, this time with redoubled force. Here was what claimed to be the actual contract. But it was not the body of the contract that held his attention. The thing that made him rage, that gave him a sense of furious helplessness, that put his brain in a whirl, was this:

_He knew that that was his signature!_

No matter how it came there, it was his. A man's name can seldom be so skilfully forged that it can deceive the man himself. It may get by the cashier of the bank, but when it is referred back to the man who is supposed to have written it, that man knows instinctively whether he ever wrote it. Perhaps he cannot tell why he knows it, but he knows it just the same.

So Joe _knew_ that it was his signature that was photographed on that contract. But he also knew another thing just as certainly.

_He had never signed that contract!_

Both things contradictory. Yet both things true.

Larry and Denton were watching him closely. Joe looked up and met their eyes. They were two of his oldest and warmest friends on the Giant team and had always been ready to back him through thick and thin. Confidence still was in their gaze, but with it was mixed bewilderment almost equal to Joe's own.

Before anything further could be said, McRae and Robbie joined the group.

"Well, Joe, there's the contract," said McRae.

"It seems to be a contract all right," replied Joe. "I haven't had time to read what it says, but that doesn't matter anyway. The only important thing is that I never signed that contract."

"That seems to be a pretty good imitation of your signature at the bottom there," chimed in Robbie.

"It's even better than that," said Joe, taking the bull by the horns. "It isn't even an imitation. It's my own signature."

Both Robbie and McRae looked at him as if they thought he was crazy.

"I don't get you, Matson," said McRae, a little sternly. "And it seems to me it's hardly a time for joking. There's the contract. You say you didn't sign it, and yet you admit that the name at the bottom is your own signature. How do you explain it?"

"I don't pretend to explain it," replied Joe. "There's crooked work somewhere that I've got to ferret out. Somehow or other my name, written by me, has gotten on the bottom of that contract. But I never put it there. Some rascal has, and when I find him, as I will, may Heaven have mercy on him, for I won't!"

CHAPTER XXVIII

WHIRLWIND PITCHING

"A fellow who would do a thing like that is taking long chances," said McRae doubtfully.

"And how could he do it?" put in Robbie. "The name would have to be cut from one piece of paper and pasted on another, wouldn't it?"

"Even admitting that they might get your name from a check or letter, I don't see how a thing like that could stand inspection for a minute,"

chimed in Willis. "Even if it were so well done that an eye couldn't detect it, a microscope would give it away."

"And you can bet that the reporters who hunted up this thing haven't overlooked any bets," said Brennan. "They knew that the signature was the nub of the whole thing and if there was anything phony about the paper they'd have got next at once."

"It's a horrible mixup!" cried Joe, who felt that he was being enmeshed in a net of circ.u.mstantial evidence which he might find it impossible to break. "Let me read the story first from end to end. Then, perhaps, I'll find some clue that will solve the mystery."

He plunged at once into the reading, but the more he read the worse the matter looked.

He found that a nation-wide interest had been excited by his denial and his challenge. The officers of the All-Star League had been besieged by reporters, who had made it clear to them that they must prove their statement that Matson had signed with them or else stand convicted before the American public, on whose favor they depended for support in the coming season, of being slanderers and liars.

Mr. Beckworth Fleming, the president of the All-Star League, had shown a little hesitation in responding to these demands. This, perhaps, was natural enough, since no business organization cares to have the terms of its contracts blazoned forth to the world, perhaps to the benefit of its rivals. Still, under all the circ.u.mstances, Mr. Fleming had finally decided to permit a photographic copy to be made of the contract in order to establish the good faith of the new league. This had been done and facsimiles had been sent to all the leading newspapers of the United States.

There was no question that the contract was genuine. It had been submitted to bank cashiers who were familiar with Mr. Matson's writing, and they had p.r.o.nounced it his signature beyond the shadow of a doubt. The paper had been examined under powerful gla.s.ses and found to be a single piece. Everything was in proper form, and it was clearly up to Mr. Matson to explain what seemed to be explainable only in one way, namely, that he had signed the contract.

There were many worthy charities that could find a good use for the thousand dollars that the great pitcher had so rashly offered.

This was the gist of the story in all the papers. There were various suggested explanations. One paper hinted that men had been known to sign papers when they had dined and wined too well.

Another thought that the denial was purely a "diplomatic" one. Others ventured the hypothesis that the whole thing was an advertising dodge, designed to set the country agog with excitement and stimulate big audiences for the coming season.

But underneath all the suppositions one thing seemed to be unquestioned by the papers, and that was that Joe had signed a contract to play with the All-Star League and had left the Giants in the lurch.

Joe felt as though the ground were slipping from beneath his feet. He was perfectly innocent, and yet he already stood convicted in the public mind of having done a thing that he loathed and abhorred. And the worst of it was that he had not the slightest clue to the scoundrel or scoundrels who had brought this thing about.

"It's beyond me, Mac," he said at last in despair, as he looked up and saw the Giants' manager's eyes fixed upon him as though they would read into his soul. "They seem to have a strangle hold on me. And yet as black as things look I tell you straight, Mac, that you know every bit as much about this as I do."

"That's all right, Joe," returned McRae. "I'll admit I'm flabbergasted.

Who wouldn't be? There's a plot here somewhere, and the fox that planned it has been mighty cunning in covering up his tracks. But there never yet was a lie that didn't have a weak point somewhere, and soon or late we'll find it."

Mabel and Clara, as well as Jim, were beside themselves with anger at the dastardly trick. They racked their brains to find the explanation, but every time they came up against a blank wall.

"I certainly can't understand it, Joe," said Mabel, for at least the tenth time.