Lefty Locke Pitcher-Manager Part 23

The old man listened to Locke without comment, and when Lefty had finished, he sat thoughtfully plucking at his under lip with his thumb and forefinger.

"Well," he said, after a time, "Stillman usually puts them in the groove when he shoots."

"Then you think he's. .h.i.t it right in this case?"

"I haven't said so. If anybody else had pa.s.sed this one up, I'd have said it missed the plate by a rod. With Stillman doing the pitching, I'm not so ready to give a decision against him. But you say he finished a lot more confident than he began?"

"Yes. Instead of seeking information, he finished up by giving it."

"Just as though he had talked himself into a settled conviction as he went along?"

"That's it."

"Then we won't accept his statement as fact until he gets some kind of proof, son. You know more about Parlmee than I do, and you've always figured that gent on the level, haven't you?"

"Yes; but I'm compelled to admit that I haven't had sufficient dealings with him to feel certain that my estimation of his character is correct. Furthermore, my first impression was unfavorable."

"First impressions are sometimes the best."

"But at that time, as you know, my judgment could hardly be unprejudiced. It was when Collier first took over the team and I had trouble with Carson, the manager he put in your place. Everything seemed going wrong then."

A grin broke over Kennedy's face, and he chuckled softly, a reminiscent expression in his keen old eyes.

"Those were some stirring times, boy," he said. "Collier fired me for Al Carson, and Carson made a mess of it. He's managing a dub league team now. He thought he could get along without you, just as Collier reckoned he could dispense with me; but at the finish it was you and me that came back and saved the day for the Stockings. You pitched the game of your life that last day of the season. Now it's up to you to come back again, and I've got a hunch that you will. You'll return, better than ever. You're going to make the wiseacres that think you're down and out look foolish."

Locke shook his head. "Knowing what I do, do you suppose I could do that if Garrity got hold of the team? I wouldn't have the heart to work for that scoundrel. Back in the time we're speaking of, it was Stillman's cleverness that straightened things out. Not another newspaper man got wise to the real situation. With his usual uncanny intuition, he saw through it all, and, as usual, he made no mistake."

"Right you are," admitted old Jack.

"All the more reason to suppose he is right now. We can't dodge that fact. To-morrow I'm going to make every effort to find some method of getting into communication with Charles Collier. It's my only play in this game. If it fails--good night!"

Again Lefty began pacing the floor; it seemed that he could not wait patiently for the coming day; he was burning with a desire to get to work at once. It had been his purpose to seek Kennedy's advice on other matters, but these now seemed secondary and unimportant for the time being. His talk with Stillman had led him to alter completely his plan of immediate action. To prevent the control of the team from falling into the clutches of the conspirators was now his sole purpose, as the problem of rebuilding it and restoring it to its former strength and prestige could be solved later.

Kennedy sat thinking, plucking at his under lip, as was the old man's habit when perplexed. "Yes, son," he said, after a time, "that's what you're up against. Old P. T. Barnum had a show; but it doesn't look like you have."

CHAPTER XXVII

THE SUSPENDED AX

All the next forenoon, Locke kept the wires hot. He 'phoned and telegraphed to every one he could think of who might be able to give him the information he desired so desperately. He met with one disappointment after another. In each instance the reply came back that both Charles Collier and his daughter were somewhere in Europe, but no one appeared to know just where. If his efforts established anything at all, it seemed to be the fact that Lefty had been mistaken in thinking he had seen Virginia in New York; for if she were there, surely some of these people would know of it. The feeling of helplessness, of fighting against greedy and remorseless forces too strong for him to checkmate, pressed upon him heavily.

It was a little after noon when he called the office of the _Blade_. He wanted to talk to Stillman again. If anybody in New York could find a person wanted, the reporter was the man to do it, and Locke believed that for friendship's sake Stillman would attempt it.

Near the telephone switchboard in the hotel were two long shelves, situated a little distance apart, at which patrons could consult the different directories. At one of these, several persons were looking up numbers, so Locke took his book to the other shelf and found the call for the editorial rooms of the _Blade_. A man at the next shelf turned, saw the pitcher, and listened when Lefty gave the number to the operator. Instead of giving his own number, which he had found, the man noted down the southpaw's call on a card. It was the fourth time during the day that this same man had made a record of a number asked for by Locke.

Returning the card to his pocket, the man pretended to busy himself again over one of the directories, keeping his back partly turned toward the pitcher. Soon he heard the switchboard girl repeat Lefty's number, and direct him to booth No. 1.

The man closed his book and turned round slowly. The southpaw was disappearing into a booth at the end of one of the rows, and, in closing the door behind him, he unintentionally left it slightly open. The watching man moved quietly forward until he was close to this booth, through the gla.s.s of which he could see that Lefty's back was partly turned toward him. There he paused, taking some letters and papers from his pocket and running them over as if searching for something. While appearing to be absorbed in his own affairs, he could hear every word that the pitcher spoke into the receiver.

Getting the editorial rooms of the _Blade_, Locke asked for Stillman.

After a slight delay, he was informed that the reporter was not there. No one could say just when he would be in.

"This is important," stated Lefty; "a matter in which he is greatly interested. I must talk with him as soon as possible. Will you ask him, as soon as he comes in, to call Philip Hazelton at the Great Eastern?

Yes, Hazelton; that's right. Why, yes, I'm Lefty Locke. All right; don't fail to tell him immediately he arrives."

The man outside slipped the letters and papers into his pocket, and turned away after the manner of a person who has suddenly decided upon something. He had not walked ten steps, however, before he turned back.

The southpaw was paying for the call. The man watched him now without further effort to avoid notice, and when the pitcher turned from the switchboard he stepped forward deliberately to meet him.

"h.e.l.lo!" said the man in a voice distinctly husky and unpleasant. "How are you, Locke?"

Lefty stopped short and stared. It was Garrity, coa.r.s.e, complacent, patronizing. The owner of the Rockets grinned, showing the numerous gold fillings in his teeth. His features were large, and his jaw was square and brutal. His clothes were those of a common race-track follower.

"Quite well, thank you," answered Lefty coldly, thinking of the pleasure it would be to tell Garrity his private opinion of him.

"Seems to me you look worried. I don't wonder, though, considering the job they've handed you. Some job piecing together the tattered remnants, hey? It's going to make you a busy little manager."

"I'm busy now," said the southpaw, moving as if to pa.s.s on; but Garrity detained him. "You've got some positions to fill. The Feds got at you hard. Shame to see a team like the Stockings shot to pieces.

You've got three or four bad holes, and I'd like to help you."

"_You_ would?"

"Sure. I've got the very lads you need, too--Mundy and Pendexter.

Both fast men. They work together like two parts of a machine. Mundy covers the short field like Maranville, and Pendexter sure can play that keystone cushion. They're the boys for you."

"How's it happen you are willing to let go of them?" asked Locke, feeling some curiosity to know what lay behind this particular proposition.

"Well, this is between us, mind? I'd just about as soon give up an eye as part with either Mundy or Pendexter, but it's easier to lose them than dispense with Pressly, my third sacker. That's been the trouble with my team. Pressly loves Mundy and Pendexter as he loves aconite, and they reciprocate. You know what a feud like that means. It knocks the bottom out of any team. I can't fill Pressly's place, but I've got a couple of youngsters that I can work in at short and second. I'm not going through another season with those three sc.r.a.pping. You need the very players I'm willing to part with, and there we are."

Locke knew the man was not honest, and that he was holding something up his sleeve. In order to make him show his hand, the southpaw asked:

"What do you want for Mundy and Pendexter?"

Garrity considered for a minute. "Well," he answered slowly, "I'll trade them with you for Spider Grant--and cash."

Lefty stared at him in amazement. Was it possible the man could think he was such a soft mark? He laughed loudly.

"You don't want much, do you, Garrity? The 'and cash' was a capper!

Man, I wouldn't trade you Spider Grant for your whole team--and cash!"

The owner of the Rockets scowled, glaring at Locke, the corners of his thick-lipped mouth drooping.

"Oh, you wouldn't, hey?" he growled huskily. "I suppose you think that's a joke?"

"Not at all; it's serious. I couldn't use the players you offer, anyhow.