Lefty Locke Pitcher-Manager Part 10

"If you don't sell him to me, some manager is going to take him from you without handing you as much as a lonesome dollar in return. You can't dodge the Big League scouts; it's a wonder you've dodged them as long as you have. They're bound to spot Jones and gobble him up.

Do you prefer to sell him or to have him s.n.a.t.c.hed?"

"What will you give for him?"

"Now you're talking business. If I can put through the deal I'm figuring on, I'll give you five hundred dollars, which, considering the conditions, is more than a generous price."

"Five hundred dollars! Is there that much money to be found in one lump anywhere in the world?"

"I own some Blue Stockings stock, so you see I have a financial, as well as a sentimental, interest in the club. I'm going to fight hard to prevent it from being wrecked. As long as it can stay in the first division it will continue to be a money-maker, but already the impression has become current that the team is riddled, and the stock has slumped.

There are evil forces at work. I don't know the exact purpose these forces are aiming at, but I'm a pretty good guesser. The property is mighty valuable for some people to get hold of if they can get it cheap enough."

"They're even saying that you're extremely to the bad. What do you think about it yourself, Lefty?"

Locke flushed. "Time will answer that."

"You look like a fighter," said Wiley. "I wish you luck."

"But what do you say to my proposition? Give me a flat answer."

"Five hundred dollars!" murmured the Marine Marvel, licking his lips.

"I'm wabbling on the top rail of the fence."

"Fall one way or the other."

Heaving a sigh, the sailor rose to his feet, and gave his trousers a hitch. "Let's interview Jones," he proposed.

CHAPTER XIII

THE PERPLEXING QUESTION

The following morning Lefty Locke received two letters. One was from the Federal League headquarters in Chicago, urging him to accept the offer of the manager who had made such a tempting proposal to him. The position, it stated, was still his for the taking, and he was pressed to wire agreement to the terms proposed.

The other letter was from Locke's father, a clergyman residing in a small New Jersey town. The contents proved disturbing. The Reverend Mr. Hazelton's savings of a lifetime had been invested in a building and loan a.s.sociation, and the a.s.sociation had failed disastrously.

Practically everything the clergyman possessed in the world would be swept away; it seemed likely that he would lose his home.

Lefty's face grew pale and grim as he read this letter. He went directly to his wife and told her. Janet was distressed.

"What can be done?" she cried. "You must do something, Lefty!

Your father and mother, at their age, turned out of their home! It is terrible! What can you do?"

Locke considered a moment. "If I had not invested the savings of my baseball career in Blue Stockings stock," he said regretfully, "I'd have enough now to save their home for them."

"But can't you sell the stock?"

"Yes, for half what I paid for it--perhaps. That wouldn't he enough.

You're right in saying I must do something, but what can I--" He stopped, staring at the other letter. He sat down, still staring at it, and Janet came and put her arm about him.

"Here's something!" he exclaimed suddenly.

"What, dear?"

"This letter from Federal League headquarters, urging me to grab the offer the Feds have made me. Twenty-seven thousand dollars for three years, a certified check for the first year's salary, and a thousand dollars bonus. That means that I can get ten thousand right in my hand by signing a Federal contract--more than enough to save my folks."

Janet's face beamed, and she clapped her hands. "I had forgotten about their offer! Why, you're all right! It's just the thing."

"I wonder?"

She looked at him, and grew sober. "Oh, you don't want to go to the Federals? You're afraid they won't last?"

"It isn't that."

"No?"

"No, girl. If there was nothing else to restrain me, I'd take the next train for Chicago, and put my fist to a Fed contract just as soon as I could. I need ten thousand dollars now, and need it more than I ever before needed money."

Janet ran her fingers through his hair, bending forward to scan his serious and perplexed face. She could see that he was fighting a battle silently, grimly. She longed to aid him in solving the problem by which he was confronted, but realizing that she could not quite put herself in his place, and that, therefore, her advice might not come from the height of wisdom and experience, she held herself in check. Should he ask counsel of her she would give the best she could.

"I know," she said, after a little period of silence, "that you must think of your financial interest in the Blue Stockings."

"I'm not spending a moment's thought on that now. I'm thinking of old Jack Kennedy and Charles Collier; of Bailey Weegman and his treachery, for I believe he is treacherous to the core. I'm thinking also of something else I don't like to think about."

"Tell me," she urged.

He looked up at her, and smiled wryly. Then he felt of his left shoulder.

"It's this," he said.

She caught her breath. "But you said you were going to give your arm the real test yesterday. The Grays won, and the score was three to one when you hurt your ankle and were forced to quit. I thought you were satisfied."

"I very much doubt if the Grays would have won had not Cap'n Wiley insisted upon pitching the opening innings for his team. The man who followed him did not permit us to score at all. I was the only one who got a safe hit off him. The test was not satisfactory, Janet."

Her face grew white. It was not like Lefty to lack confidence in himself.

During the past months, although his injured arm had seemed to improve with disheartening slowness, he had insisted that it would come round all right before the season opened. Yet lately he had not appeared quite so optimistic. And now, after the game which was to settle his doubts, he seemed more doubtful than before. She believed that he was holding something back, that he was losing heart, but as long as there was any hope remaining he would try not to burden her with his worries.

Suddenly she clutched his shoulders with her slender hands. "It's all wrong!" she cried. "You've given up the best that was in you for the Blue Stockings. You've done the work of two pitchers. They won't let you go now. Even if your arm is bad at the beginning of the season, they'll keep you on and give you a chance to get it back into condition."

"Old Jack Kennedy would, but I have my doubts about any other manager."

"You don't mean that they'd let you go outright, just drop you?"

"Oh, it's possible they'd try to sell me or trade me. If they could work me off on to some one who wasn't wise, probably they'd do it.

That's not reckoning on Weegman. He's so sore and vindictive that he may spread the report that I've pitched my wing off. I fancy he wouldn't care a rap if that did lose Collier the selling price that could be got for me."

"Oh, I just hate to hear you talk about being traded or sold! It doesn't sound as if you were a human being and this a free country.

Cattle are traded and sold."