Lefty Locke Pitcher-Manager Part 15

He had finished his lunch and was back in the Pullman when Skullen found him again. The man planted himself at Lefty's side and pa.s.sed over a newspaper, grinning as he pointed out an item on the sporting page:

Even though it was rumored that old Jack Kennedy was to be let out, the selection of Locke as his successor is a surprise. As a pitcher Locke has had an amazingly successful career and has made an enviable reputation, but he has had no managerial experience, having come to the Big League directly from the bushes. Whether or not he has the stuff of which capable managers are made is a matter of uncertainty; but, with the Blue Stockings badly chewed to pieces by the Feds, Collier might have been expected, had he decided to drop Kennedy, to replace the veteran with a man of some practical knowledge in that line. The policy of the Stockings for the last year or two has been rather queer, to say the least, and the effect upon the team can be seen in its present rating.

That was the final paragraph. Collier, sick and absent in Europe, was credited with the deal; not a word about Weegman. The rascal, pulling the wires, was keeping himself in the background. For a moment Lefty thought of Jack Stillman, a reporter friend, and felt a desire to give him some inside information which, in cold type, would be pretty certain to make the interested public sit up and take notice. But the time was not ripe for a move like that, and he dismissed the thought.

Still grinning, Skullen jammed his elbow into Locke's ribs. "How do you like that?" he inquired gloatingly. "That's the way them cheap newspaper ginks pans you out when they get a chance."

The southpaw was suddenly attacked by an intense distaste for the company of Tom Garrity's coa.r.s.e hireling. He handed the paper back in silence. But the feeling of dislike and antagonism was evidently felt by Skullen, for, after a few minutes' silence, he got up and walked out of the car; and, to his satisfaction, Lefty saw no more of him during the remainder of the journey.

An uncomfortable storm of rain and sleet was raging when New York was reached shortly after nightfall. A taxi bore Locke to the Great Eastern, where he learned that Frazer had not yet arrived. Having registered, he took the elevator for his room on the seventh floor, and, as he was borne upward, a descending car, well filled with people, slipped silently past, and Lefty caught a momentary glimpse of their faces through the iron grillwork. One face he saw quite plainly, that of a charming young woman in her early twenties--a face he recognized at once.

"Virginia Collier!" gasped Lefty, in astonishment.

He did not leave the car; back to the main floor he went. After hastily looking around for the young woman he sought, he made inquiries at the desk. He was informed that no Miss Collier was stopping in the hotel. Still confident that he had not been mistaken, and thinking it probable she was dining there with friends, he had her paged. Even when the report came that no one answered to the name, he did not give up.

From various vantage points, he spent at least twenty minutes looking over the people at dinner in the main dining room, the grill, and the palm room. At the end of that time he was confident that Charles Collier's daughter was not dining at the Great Eastern.

"Of course," he admitted to himself, "it's possible I was mistaken, but I would have sworn it was Virginia."

He went up to his room and prepared for dinner, burdened by the conviction that he had been baffled; that fate had played him a trick. He would have given much for fifteen minutes' conversation with the daughter of the Big Chief, and he was impressed with the belief that he had pa.s.sed her almost within an arm's reach.

This feeling was followed by one of uncertainty regarding Frazer. Old Jack had a.s.sured him that the manager of the Wolves would meet him at the Great Eastern, and he had relied on Kennedy without attempting to get into direct communication with Frazer, and perhaps, after all, he would not come.

"Then I'll have to run him down," considered Lefty. "And I want to get to him before Weegman can get to me. If I don't, he'll be sure to try to ball up any deal I attempt to put across."

Choosing to eat in the grill, he notified the desk where he could be found should any one ask for him. But he had scarcely begun on the first course when he heard his name spoken, and looked up to find Ben Frazer smiling down upon him.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE FIRST DEAL

"Just in time to get in on the eats, I see," said the manager of the famous Wolves, shaking hands with Locke. "It's a rotten night, my feet are wet, and I'm awfully hungry. Only for Kennedy's message I'd be on my way to Chicago."

A waiter placed a chair, and he sat down, took the menu card, and quickly gave his order. He was a short, thick-set, shrewd-faced man; his hair was turning gray on the temples, but he seemed to have lost little of the nervous energy and alertness that had been his in the old days when he had been called the swiftest second sacker in the business. He had been an umpire baiter then, but in later years his methods had changed, and never once since becoming a manager had he been given the gate. Nevertheless, while he had gained in diplomacy, he had relaxed no whit in aggressiveness. Led by old Ben, the Wolves fought to the last ditch. "Now, tell me about it," he requested, turning to Lefty. "How in thunder did you happen to let them rope you into such a mess?"

"You mean--"

"Getting tied up as manager of the Blue Stockings. Boy, you're the goat; you've been chosen for the sacrifice. Somebody had to fall, of course, but it's a shame that you should be the victim. I'd thought you too wise to tumble into that trap."

"Then you think it is a trap?" asked the southpaw, feeling the blood hot in his cheeks.

"Of course it is! The Stockings have been undermined and blown wide open. They've got as much show this year as a s...o...b..ll would have in a baker's oven. They'll land in the subcellar with a sickening thud, and there's no way of stopping them."

"No way--"

"No way under heaven, take it from me! I've been in the business long enough to know what I'm talking about. It takes years to build up such a fighting machine, and, when it's torn to pieces, rebuilding is bound to be another job of years. The public won't understand. You'll get the kicks and the curses. As a successful pitcher you've been a favorite; as an unsuccessful manager you'll be about as popular as a rusty spike in an automobile tire. Crowds are always fickle. When a man's winning they howl their heads off for him; but let him strike a losing streak and they scramble like mad to pelt him with mud and brick-bats."

"But somebody has to build up a team."

"Somebody has to start it and get the blame. He's the goat. Where's Burkett, who managed the Wolves before I came in? Out in the Border League. Where's Ashton and Gerrish, who struggled with the Blue Stockings before Kennedy stepped in on the turn of the tide? One's running a cigar store in Kewanee, the other's drinking himself to death in Muskegon; both left the game with busted reputations and broken hearts. Where's McConnell, who tried to make a ball team of the Hornets before Brennan's day? He took to the c.o.ke, and his friends are paying for his keep in a private bug-house. Where's Decker, who had a crack at the Panthers--But what's the use! There's no surer way for a good man to ruin his career than to manage a losing ball team."

"In that case," said Locke, "I've got to manage a winner."

Frazer gazed at him pityingly. "Swell chance you've got! About one in fifty thousand. You haven't got the makings of an ordinary second-division team left."

"I know the Feds have copped off some of our best men, but--"

"Some! Some! I should so remark! But don't blame it all on the Feds.

They were practically invited to come in and take their pick. The bars were let down. All your players knew there was trouble. They heard all sorts of rumors that made them nervous and uncertain. They didn't see any contracts coming their way to be signed. They knew there was something the matter with Collier. It was even said he'd gone crazy.

They knew Kennedy was going to get out from under. There was gossip about old men being shunted and new blood taken on. What they didn't know was where they were at. It was all nicely worked to get them to take the running long jump."

"Then you believe there was a plot to smash the team?"

"You don't have to be a mind reader to get my opinion, but I'm saying this here private, man to man. I'm not goin' round talking for publication."

"But you're wrong about Kennedy getting out; he was dropped."

"Was he?"

"Sure."

Frazer twisted his face into a queer grimace. "Old Jack Kennedy was too wise to stick on under any such conditions. He knew what it meant, and I'll guarantee that he wouldn't have managed the Blue Stockings this year for twice the salary he got last. What I've got against him is that he didn't put you wise before you tied up."

"It was on his advice that I consented to manage the team," replied Locke.

"What?" exclaimed Frazer. "Is that straight? He advised you to--The infernal old scoundrel!"

Locke warmed immediately in defense of Kennedy. The manager of the Wolves listened, uncertain, shaking his head doubtfully.

"He may not have meant it," he admitted presently, "but he's got you in bad, boy. You haven't got a show against the powers you'll have to buck, and the conditions that were fixed up for you in advance."

"As to that, time will tell," said Lefty. "I'm going to make one almighty try. First, I've got to plug the gaps. What have you got to sell that I want?"

"Nothing that you'll pay the price for. I know Collier's policy."

"Collier is in Europe, and I'm manager of the team, with full authority to make any deals I please. Here's my contract." He placed it before old Ben. "Collier will have to stand for any trade I put through.

I'll buy Smoke Jordan off you."

"You won't! I won't sell him."

"Then how about Jack Keeper? You've got Red Callahan, and I need a third baseman."

Frazer finished his soup. "I won't sell you Keeper," he said; "but I'll trade him. I need a center fielder in the place of Courtney, who's retired. I'll trade Keeper for Herman Brock."

At first Locke had no relish for a trade that would add to the Blue Stockings infield at the expense of the outfield, even though in his secret heart he knew Brock had during last season shown vague symptoms of slowing down. Then he remembered the list of reserves given him by Kennedy, on which there was one fast, hard-hitting youngster who had been sent back to the Western Canada League, and had made a brilliant record covering the middle garden for Medicine Hat.