Lefty Locke Pitcher-Manager Part 20

When he had sent out the players' contracts from Indianapolis he had instructed the men, after signing, to mail them directly to him in New York. He had made this request emphatic, warning each man not to return his signed contract to the office of the Blue Stockings. He had Kennedy to thank for suggesting this procedure.

"If the contracts go back to the club office," old Jack had said, "Weegman may get hold of them and hold out on you. That would leave you in the dark; you wouldn't know who had signed up and who hadn't, and so you couldn't tell where you stood. It would keep you muddled so you wouldn't know what holes were left to be plugged. If you undertook to find out how the land lay by wiring inquiries to the players, you'd make them uneasy, and set them wondering what was doing. Some of them might even try belated d.i.c.kering with the Feds, and, while you could hold them by law, it would complicate things still more. If the newspapers got wise and printed things, the stock of the club would slump still more, which would help the dirty bunch that's trying to knock the bottom out of it."

Beyond question, Kennedy was foxy and fa.r.s.eeing, and Locke looked forward expectantly to another heart-to-heart talk with the old man at the Great Eastern.

A big bundle of mail was delivered to Lefty after he registered at the hotel. Immediately on reaching his rooms he made haste to open the letters.

"Look, Janet!" he cried exultantly, after he had torn open envelope after envelope. "Here are the contracts--Grant, Welsh, Hyland, Savage, Dillon, Reilley, and Lumley all have signed, as well as the youngsters who didn't attract special attention from the Feds. Not a man lost that the outlaws hadn't gobbled up before Weegman so kindly forced the management upon me. We've got the makings of a real team left. Some of the deadwood has been cleared away, that's all."

With scarcely an exception, the players had sent, along with their contracts, brief, friendly letters congratulating Locke and expressing confidence in his ability to manage the Blue Stockings successfully.

He had won the regard of them all; in some cases that regard fell little short of genuine affection. With him as their leader they would fight with fresh spirit and loyalty.

"It's fine, Lefty!" exclaimed Janet, as she read some of those cheery letters. "There was a time when I could not have believed professional ball players were such a fine lot of men."

"I might have had some doubts myself before I was a.s.sociated with them," he admitted; "but experience has taught me that they measure up in manhood as well as any other cla.s.s. Of course, black sheep may be found in every business."

As he spoke, he hurriedly opened a letter that had just attracted his attention among those remaining. He read it aloud:

MY DEAR HAZELTON: I am writing in haste before sailing for Liverpool on the _Northumberland_. As I thought, you were wrong about having seen Virginia in New York. She is in London, and in trouble. I've had a cablegram from her which, however, explains very little. She needs me, and I am going to her at once. If you should wish to communicate with me, my address will be the Cecil. As I know that both you and Mrs.

Hazelton feel some anxiety about Virginia, I shall let you hear from me as soon as I have any news.

Wishing you the success and good fortune you deserve as a baseball manager, I remain, sincerely yours,

FRANKLIN PARLMEE.

When he had finished reading, he stood staring at the letter in surprise.

CHAPTER XXIV

WHEELS WITHIN WHEELS

"Well, now, what do you know about that?" cried Lefty. "Sailed for Liverpool! The man's crazy!"

"But he says he has had a cable message from Virginia," said Janet.

"She is in trouble in London. You were mistaken."

"Was I?" queried the southpaw, as if not yet convinced.

"You must have been. All along I have thought it likely, but you persisted--"

"I saw her distinctly in that pa.s.sing limousine, which was brightly lighted. True, I obtained only one pa.s.sing glance at her, but it was enough to satisfy me."

"You are so persistent, Phil! That's your one fault; when you think you're right, all the argument and proof in the world cannot change you."

"In short, I'm set as a mule," he admitted, smiling. "Well, there are worse faults. A mistake may prove costly or humiliating to an obstinate person who persists in his error, but, when he is right, such a person is pretty well qualified to win over all opposition. If I did not see Virginia Collier in that car, she has a perfect double in New York. I have great confidence in the reliability of my eyes."

Janet, however, thoroughly convinced that her husband had been deceived by a resemblance, made no reply.

Lefty had looked for some word from Kennedy, but had found nothing from him in his bundle of mail. It was possible, of course, that old Jack had found it inconvenient to make the trip to New York just then; but, naturally, if he could not come on he would have let Locke know.

Lefty and Janet had not dined on the train, preferring to do so after reaching their destination. As they were pa.s.sing the desk on their way to the dining room, Locke stopped short, staring at the back of a slender, well-dressed young man who was talking to one of the clerks. Then the southpaw sprang forward and clapped a hand on the young man's shoulder.

"Jack Stillman!" he exclaimed impulsively.

The man turned quickly.

"If it isn't Lefty Locke!" he cried, grabbing the pitcher's hand.

"And you're the one man I've been palpitating to get hold of. You're like the nimble flea. But I've got you now!"

"Murder!" said the southpaw. "My joy at spotting you caused me to forget. I should have pa.s.sed you by, old man. For the moment I completely forgot your profession, and your knack of digging a column or so of sacred secrets out of any old ball player who knows anything he shouldn't tell."

Stillman was the baseball man of the _Blade_, a newspaper with a confirmed habit of putting over scoops. With the exception of Phil Chatterton, who was more of a special writer than reporter, Stillman was almost universally acknowledged to be the best informed pen pusher who made a specialty of dealing with the national game. He possessed an almost uncanny intuition, and was credited with the faculty of getting wise in advance to most of the big happenings in the baseball world.

"So you would have ducked me, would you?" said the reporter reprovingly. "Well, I didn't think that of you!"

"I believe I should, if I'd stopped to figure out the proper play in advance," confessed Lefty. "I don't care to do much talking for the papers--at present."

"Hang you for an ungrateful reprobate!" exclaimed Stillman, with a touch of earnestness, although he continued to laugh. "Why, I made you, son! At least, I'm going to claim the credit. When you first emerged from the tangled undergrowth I picked you for a winner and persistently boosted you. I gave you fifty thousand dollars' worth of free advertising."

"And made my path the harder to climb by getting the fans keyed up to look for a full-fledged wonder. After all that puffing, if I'd fallen down in my first game, Rube Marquard's year or two of sojourning on the bench would have looked like a brief breathing spell compared to what would have probably happened to me."

"But you didn't fall down. I told them you wouldn't, and you didn't.

Let the other fellows tout the failures; I pick the winners."

"Modest as ever, I see," said Locke. "Here's Mrs. Hazelton waiting.

We're just going to have a late dinner. Won't you join us?"

Janet knew Stillman well, and she shook hands with him. "Mrs.

Hazelton!" he said, smiling. "By Jove! I looked round to see who you meant when you said that, Lefty. Somehow I've never yet quite got used to the fact that your honest-and-truly name isn't Locke. I'll gladly join you at dinner, but a cup of coffee is all I care for, as I dined a little while ago. Shan't want anything more before two or three o'clock in the morning, when I'm likely to stray into John's, where the night owls gather."

When they had seated themselves at a table in the almost deserted dining room, Lefty warned Janet.

"Be careful what you say before him, my dear," he said. "He's looking for copy every minute that he's awake, and n.o.body knows when he sleeps."

Stillman became serious. "Locke," he said, "I've never yet betrayed a confidence. Oh, yes, I'm a reporter! But, all the same, I have a method of getting my copy in a decent fashion. My friends don't have to be afraid of me, and close up like clams; you should know that."

"I do," declared the southpaw promptly. "I didn't think you were going to take me quite so seriously. You have been a square friend to me, Jack."

"Then don't be afraid to talk. I'll publish only what you're willing I should. You can tell me what that is. And if you've seen the _Blade_ right along you must be aware that it's the one paper that hasn't taken a little poke at you since you were tagged to manage the Blue Stockings. Nevertheless, here to your face I'm going to say that I'm afraid you've bitten off more than you can chew."

Lefty shrugged his shoulders. "As to that, time will tell. For once your judgment may be at fault."

"I don't mean that you couldn't manage the team successfully if you were given a half-decent show," the reporter hastened to make clear.

"I think you could. But I'm afraid you're going to find yourself in a mess that no man living could crawl out of with credit to himself."