“I can’t believe you are real,” said Joe, contentedly, lounging in a big chair and watching Mabel as she flitted about the room, putting small things in order and seeming by her very presence to make the hotel room a home. “I think you must be a dream or something. Come sit down here and let me look at you.”
Mabel sat down beside him and looked at him with dancing eyes.
“I might almost think you were glad to see me, Joe dear,” she said. Then, as Joe moved toward her, added quickly: “Do you know you haven’t asked me a single thing about the home folks yet?”
Joe’s face clouded and he rubbed a hand across his forehead.
“Truth is, I’ve been afraid to,” he confessed. “I have a hunch that neither mother nor Clara has been frank in their letters to me. I’ve beenworried sick!” he finished, in an unusual outburst of feeling.
Mabel, studying the new lines about his mouth and the strained look of his eyes, was inclined to be worried herself, though not so much for Mother Matson as for Joe. She said, as cheerfully as she could:
“I wouldn’t worry so dreadfully, Joe, if I were you. Mother’s heart is stronger than it has been for some time and she is wonderfully brave and courageous.”
“She would be,” muttered Joe, adding in swift anxiety: “In the last letter I had from her she said she was in the hospital and the operation was slated to take place in about a week’s time. That would make it somewhere around day after to-morrow. Good heavens! I can’t bear to think of it!”
“You mustn’t, any more than you can help,” said Mabel, gently. “It won’t do Mother Matson or the rest of us any good for you to get down sick yourself, Joe. I wonder Dougherty doesn’t order you off the team for a rest.”
“You wrote in one of your letters that you had taken a flying trip to Riverside,” Joe reminded her, and Mabel nodded.
“I didn’t want to stay long. Mother Matson was so sick and I was afraid she would think she must exert herself to entertain me. So Ijust stayed overnight and caught the morning train back to Goldsboro.”
“Did Mother give you any message for me?” Joe’s voice was husky.
“Just her love—and this,” said Mabel, softly. She held out her hand, and in the palm of it lay a tiny, heart-shaped locket. Joe recognized it as one that had long rested in his mother’s jewelry case. He took it and opened it, and the sweet face of his mother in her youth smiled back at him.
Joe got up abruptly and went to the window, standing for a long time looking out, with his back to his wife. Mabel knew that he was having a struggle with himself, and waited quietly until he turned and came back to her.
“If I could get away from the team long enough to go to her!” he said huskily. “But I can’t just now. It’s impossible. I’ve got to keep after the men every minute, or they’re apt to go to pieces.”
“She doesn’t expect you just now, dear,” said Mabel, soothingly. “She knows you can’t leave the team. Now don’t worry.”
Joe sank down in the chair again, his head in his hands. Finally he looked up and asked:
“How about Clara? Are things as bad there as we thought they were?”
“I’m afraid so, Joe. It seems to me that Clara is getting more and more entangled with thatmillionaire all the time. He reads poetry to her, too, in spite of the fact that he’s a great, strapping, athletic looking chap.”
“Oh, then you saw him?” cried Joe, all interest at once.
“Saw him!” repeated Mabel, with a short laugh. “You might better ask me if I saw anything else. He was around the place from morning to night. I think if Mother Matson hadn’t been in such poor health he would have come around to breakfast, too.”
Joe got to his feet and strode around the room, hands thrust deep in his pockets.
“Serious as all that!” Mabel heard him mutter to himself. “How does Clara act? How does she treat this—boob?” he demanded, suddenly stopping short in front of Mabel and glaring at her in exasperation. “Does she encourage him?”
“You might call it that,” Mabel returned, with a puzzled frown. “She certainly accepts his attentions. Lets him take her out in his beautiful car, plays tennis with him, and listens while he reads his foolish poems to her.”
Joe literally ground his teeth in futile rage and exasperation. He began again his restless pacing of the room.
“Did you have a chance to talk to her?” he continued his cross-examination. “Did you askher what she meant by treating a fine fellow like Jim so shabbily?”
“You forget, Joe dear, that I’m not Clara’s guardian. It wasn’t my place to take her to task. All I could do was try to sound her. She evaded all my questions with some light answer, and when I asked her point-blank whether she intended to turn Jim down in favor of her millionaire——”
“What did she say?” interrupted Joe, swiftly.
“She merely remarked that I ought to know better. She seemed to be offended, and if I had pressed things just then the result might have been a real quarrel. I thought the best thing to do was drop the whole thing. After all, Clara is old enough to know her own mind.”
“I doubt it!” said Joe, bitterly, adding in helpless indignation as he again faced his wife: “Can you imagine any reasonably intelligent girl turning down good old Jim for a flossy millionaire?”
“Well, money sometimes dazzles a girl, especially young and very pretty ones like Clara,” returned Mabel, judicially. “I tell you what let’s do, Joe. I know it would be lovely to have our first dinner alone to-night, but don’t you think we might include Jim? It might cheer him up.”
“It would be an act of charity,” agreed Joe. “Jim is pretty low in his mind these days. I’m sure he guesses there is something wrong.”
But in spite of their whole-souled attempt togive Jim a good time that night, both Joe and Mabel felt that they had failed. Jim tried to rouse himself and meet their fun with some of his own, but nothing could disguise the fact that his heart was not in it.
He asked one or two listless questions about Clara, almost, Mabel thought, as though from a sense of duty, and after that maintained a dead silence on the subject they both knew was uppermost in his mind.
They had dined in a jolly restaurant full of lights and music, but despite the hilarity all about them, their party had been a dismal failure. They were glad when the last course was over and they could leave the place.
It was when they had reached the hotel and Mabel had slipped into another room to remove her hat and cloak that Joe turned to his chum with a casual question.
“Got your letter from Clara all right this week, did you?” he asked, in a tone that was not quite natural.
Jim looked at him, surprised, then turned away before he answered shortly:
“Not yet.”
“Oh, Joe, I do believe I’ll go shopping to-day.”
Mabel turned from the window where she had been standing looking down into the street. It was a glorious day, bright and sunshiny, and her face reflected the brightness of it.
“I do so like to shop in nice weather,” she added, as she saw Joe’s indulgent smile. “And if you like, I’ll stop and buy you some gorgeous neckties.”
“Dear girl, is that a threat or a promise?” teased Joe.
“Very well, I shall be completely selfish and buy everything for myself,” Mabel promptly replied, adding with a sigh: “How you do wreck my generous impulses!”
“Didn’t mean to, honey, honestly,” said Joe, contritely, adding with a courage that none appreciated more than Mabel herself: “If you buy me a necktie, I swear to wear it whatever happens!”
Mabel made a face at him and disappeared into the other room, returning almost immediately with her hat and coat on.
“I won’t have much time between practice and the game,” Joe told her, as they went down together in the elevator. “So have a good time, girl. Take in a show if you like.”
Mabel promised to enjoy herself, and a few moments later they parted in the sunny street, going their separate ways. Mabel turned to wave to him before she was swallowed up in the crowd, and Joe thought with a full heart how lucky he was.
“If I were in poor old Jim’s place now, how would I feel?” he asked himself, and instinctively thrust the unpleasant thought away from him. He knew the agony of mind he would have suffered if at any time he had been in danger of losing Mabel, and pity for his chum took on a new intensity. He was almost afraid to meet Jim for fear of seeing that hopeless, lost look in his eyes.
“He certainly knows—or guesses—something,” he told himself. “If I get a chance to-day I’ll sound him out on the subject. After all, it sometimes helps a patient to have the wound lanced.”
After the Giants had dropped another game, the chums, tired and disgruntled, turned their steps toward the hotel again. Jim seemed morethan ordinarily depressed and met Joe’s attempts at conversation with discouraging monosyllables. Several times Joe tried to lead up to the subject of Clara, only to be rebuffed by Jim’s laconic replies.
After that Joe relapsed into silence, studying his chum thoughtfully. The thing was getting serious. Jim’s silence and moroseness were growing on him. And the worst of it was that he did not seem to care. It was this very lethargy that Joe found most alarming. He would have welcomed an outburst of some sort, even condemnation of Clara and her actions. It was Jim’s brooding taciturnity that baffled him.
They had almost reached the hotel when Joe felt a hand on his arm and turned to find himself confronted by a dazzling person. He blinked, and discovered that the vision was Reggie, dressed as always, in the latest fashion from smart soft hat to immaculate spats. Reggie swung his cane and beamed. Perhaps because the friendly face with its inevitable monocle was a welcome contrast to Jim’s moodiness, Joe greeted his brother-in-law with more than usual enthusiasm.
“Say, but you’re a sight for sore eyes, old chap!” he cried. “When did you blow in?”
“About an hour ago. Been busy all this time lookin’ up a novel tie or two. Stopped in all the shops hereabouts and, bah Jove, the best theycould show me was a creation of salmon pink with yellowish polka dots. No taste, no taste whatever, one might say!”
“Poor old Reggie!” said Joe, piloting him toward the hotel entrance and looking invitingly at Jim. “I’ll put you wise to a couple of shops where you can get all the novel neckties you want. Come on upstairs, old boy, and see Mabel. She’ll be pleasantly surprised. Coming, Jim?”
Jim hesitated for a moment, then nodded. The three stepped into the elevator and were swiftly shot up to the fourth floor. As they left the elevator, Reggie looked Jim over critically and gave vent to one of his too-frank observations.
“Lookin’ rather seedy, old chap,” he said. “Off the feed bag and sleepin’ badly, eh?”
“Not at all. I’m feeling as fit as a fiddle,” retorted Jim, brusquely.
The curt tone caused Reggie to look at the other in mild surprise, and, seeing that he was about to give voice to this emotion, Joe quickly changed the subject, keeping the conversation on safe ground until they reached the door of his rooms.
Mabel had not yet returned from her shopping expedition, and Joe felt curiously deserted as he led the way into the quiet place.
“Mabel is out buying up the department stores,” he said. “Reckon she will be back mostany time now. Tell us about yourself, Reggie. Every one well at home?”
Reggie glanced briefly at Jim, who had slumped into a chair and was staring abstractedly out of a window, then turned to Joe.
“Very well, old chap. In excellent health and spirits,” he replied, puffing at a cigarette. “Missing Mabel, of course. It is really quite remarkable how that girl stirs things up. Bah Jove, it’s a gift. Bally place gone dead without her, you know.”
“Do you think you can tell me anything about that?” inquired Joe, with a humorously uplifted eyebrow. “I know all there is to know about missing Mabel!”
Jim turned from the window, rousing himself with difficulty from his abstracted mood.
“I think she’s coming now,” he said. “Thought I caught a glimpse of a red hat in the crowd. Guess I’ll be going, Joe,” he added, listlessly. “You three will have a lot to talk about.”
“Hang around, old boy,” urged Reggie, cordially, placing the monocle in his eye the better to stare at the disconsolate Jim. “Always regard you as one of the family, don’t we? You would be offending Mabel by running away just as she arrives, you know. Stick around, old chap. She will be here presently. Ah, here she is now.” He rose quickly, the monocle falling to his immaculatewaistcoat, the most genuine pleasure on his thin face.
He took a step toward the door, but Joe was before him. He caught his young wife—and several bulky parcels—in a bear’s hug, and when she emerged several seconds later, her face was flushed and the little red hat was set distractingly over one eye.
“Oh, Joe, and it was a new one, too!” she wailed, evidently referring to the hat. “I had such a gorgeous time. I bought and bought and bought— Who is that in the corner? Reggie, you old darling! Come here and give me a hug. Oh, this is just the best surprise ever.”
“Rippin’. Had an idea you would like it all along,” replied Reggie, complacently, as he favored his sister with a brotherly embrace. “You look perfectly stunning, you know. I say,” he added thoughtfully, “did you see old Jim, hidin’ over here in his corner? I take it your neglect is not intentional? No feud or the like, is there?”
“Oh, Reggie, don’t be so silly,” said Mabel, flushing a little as she went over to Jim. “I just didn’t see him at first, that’s all.”
She held out her hand and Jim squeezed it heartily. There was a dumb suffering in his eyes that tugged at her heart. If she could only tell him something about Clara, something reassuring and heartening!
Mabel was in the midst of a laughing recital of her shopping tour when the telephone rang and Joe, answering it, found that McRae was in the hotel lobby waiting to speak to him. Reluctantly Joe excused himself, while Mabel disappeared into the other room to get ready for dinner.
Reggie, left alone with Jim, turned his quizzical gaze upon the latter. It was evident that Reggie was very much puzzled by Jim’s strange behavior. And when Reggie scented a mystery he headed straight for the solution of it with a doggedness worthy of a better cause.
“Hard luck the team’s been runnin’ in lately, old chap?” he began.
“No hard luck about it. Bad playing. Bad team work,” snapped Jim.
“Well, you shouldn’t worry, anyway, old chap, you really shouldn’t,” reproved Reggie, mildly. “Bad for the game you know, and bad for the good old constitution.”
Jim looked at him, a slow anger in his eyes.
“If I never had anything worse than my constitution to worry about, I’d be all right,” he said, and turned his back upon Reggie, hoping that such action would terminate the conversation. But Reggie, in sublime ignorance, blundered on.
“I say, Jim, I’ve got it now. Worried because Clara couldn’t come on with Mabel, eh? Nodoubt she wanted to come—rather. I say, old chap,” he added, archly, lighting another gold-tipped cigarette, “better tend to your knittin’.”
Jim, who had risen and was moodily pacing up and down, stopped and looked at Reggie.
“What’s that?”
The quiet of his tone disarmed Reggie, who went on beaming pleasantly.
“Why, that millionaire who is hangin’ around Clara, you know. Mabel has told you, hasn’t she? Have I spilled the beans, Jim—let the jolly old cat out of the bag, and all that? Frightfully sorry. I thought you knew——”
Reggie’s explanations and excuses wavered into silence before the expression on Jim’s face. At that moment he thought of nothing but escape, and with a few muttered phrases about “huntin’ up Joe,” blundered from the room, leaving Jim to his furious thoughts.
When, a few moments later, the door opened to admit Joe, Jim turned upon him, all the pent-up worry and nerve strain of the last few weeks finding vent in a flood of words.
“I knew you and Mabel were holding something back all the time, Joe. I’ve known from Clara’s letters, for a long time, that something was wrong. If you’re a friend of mine and have any regard for me, tell me about this millionaire who is hanging around Clara.”
“Has Reggie——”
“Yes, Reggie has!” retorted Jim, grimly. “Go ahead, Joe, and tell me the truth.”
Seeing that there was nothing for it, Joe told all he knew about Jim’s rival, glossing over the details and making as light of the whole thing as possible.
“So that’s that!” said Jim, quietly, when Joe’s explanation had stumbled into silence. “The end of everything!”
Joe, feeling deeply for his chum but powerless to comfort him, said, with a forced cheerfulness, “All this probably sounds a hundred times worse than it really is, Jim. When you go down there——”
“If she wants to marry for money, let her!” interrupted Jim, with sudden ferocity. “Do you suppose I’d deprive her of her pet millionaire? Not much!”
“It cuts me to the heart, Jim,” said Joe, with deep feeling, laying his hand affectionately on his chum’s arm. “I can’t tell you how sick I feel about the whole thing. Nothing that affects you can fail to affect me. You know that, don’t you, Jim?”
“Of course I do, Joe. You’ve been a brother to me ever since I joined the Giants. Whatever success I’ve had in my work has been due to your kindness, your teaching, your encouragement. Don’t think I’ll ever forget it. I shouldn’t have burst out the way I did, but you can’t know the misery I’ve endured in the last few weeks. It was bad enough when I only had a vague suspicion that things weren’t right. Now it seems more than I can stand. It’s hard, Joe, to see your house of cards come tumbling to the ground.”
“I know it is, Jim,” replied Joe, with warm sympathy. “But take it from me, Jim, your house hasn’t fallen yet. I’m sure that Clara istrue blue at heart, and that no matter how things look, there must be some explanation that will clear up everything.”
“I hope so,” said Jim, though there was not much hopefulness in his tone. “I’ve got to know soon or I’ll go crazy. You see how this thing has knocked me out of my stride. I’m not pitching up to my usual form, and you know it.”
“I’ve noticed it, of course,” said Joe. “And I’ve guessed the reason. You’ve got all the old stuff, all the strength and cunning, but you haven’t been able to use it because of the burden on your mind. Even at that, though, you’ve been turning in more victories than the other fellows.”
“Which isn’t saying much, the way the team is running now.”
“All the more reason for taking a big brace, old boy!” exclaimed Joe, giving him a hearty slap on the shoulder. “Try to throw off your troubles and work your head off for the success of the team.”
“I’ll do it,” promised Jim, as he shook his chum’s hand to bind the bargain.
“Good,” said Joe, heartily. “And promise me one thing, Jim. Don’t hint at anything of this in your letters to Clara. Nothing can really be explained in a letter. Nothing in the world has caused so much estrangement, so much heartache, as trying to arrange a misunderstanding by letter.You can’t say just what you want, and what you do say is never understood just in the way you want it to be. Wait until you can see Clara face to face, and I’ll bet the whole thing will be cleared up in five minutes.”
“But that will be at the end of the season!” exclaimed Jim, in dismay.
“Not so long as that, I guess,” said Joe. “I’m going to see if I can’t by some means get Clara to make a flying visit to New York.” He paused a moment, and his brow clouded with anxiety. Then he resumed: “Of course she can’t do it right now because my mother is in too critical a condition. But if the operation turns out all right and she has a good recovery, it might be managed. If not, I have something else in mind that I’ll talk to you about later.”
To Joe’s already overburdened mind was added another worry in the game with the Bostons the next afternoon.
Jackwell and Bowen, while they had been affected by the general slump of the team, had given no evidence of a return of the peculiar nervousness that had marked their actions earlier in the season. But Joe noticed on that afternoon, the frequent looks at the stand and the pulling of their caps over their faces for which he had before taken them to task.
Merton was pitching, and Joe was playing inleft. In the fourth inning, an easy fly came out to Bowen and he made a miserable muff. Jackwell also made a couple of errors at third. In each case the blunders were costly, as they let in runs.
“What made you drop that fly, Bowen?” Joe asked, as the Giants came in from the field.
“I lost it in the sun,” replied Bowen. “At this time in the year the sun comes over the grandstand in such a way that it’s right in my eyes.”
“Haven’t heard you complain of it before,” remarked Joe, dryly. “For the rest of this game I’ll play center, and you shift over to left.”
The change was made accordingly. In the eighth inning another fly came to Bowen and again he dropped it while the crowd booed. The error let in what proved to be the winning run for the Bostons.
“I want to see you fellows after the game,” said Joe, curtly, to the two men. “Wait around the clubhouse after the others have gone.”
When the clubhouse was finally deserted by all but the three, Joe turned to them sternly.
“I’m fed up with this mystery stuff,” he said. “It’s got to end right here. It lost the game for us this afternoon, but it isn’t going to lose another. Come across now and make a clean breast of it.”
The two men looked at each other uncertainly.
“You heard me,” said Joe. “Out with it now, or I’ll see that you’re fired off the team.”
“All right, Mr. Matson,” Jackwell spoke up with sudden resolution. “I’ll tell you just what the trouble is. Ben and I are afraid that detectives are after us.”
“Detectives!” ejaculated Joe, with a start. “What are they after you for? What have you been doing?”
“Nothing wrong,” declared Jackwell, earnestly, and Bowen echoed him.
“Why should they be after you, then?” asked Joe, with a faint tinge of skepticism in his tone.
“We got mixed up in a shady business,” explained Jackwell, with a look of misery on his face. “But we didn’t know there was anything wrong about it till it went up with a bang. You see, Mr. Matson, this is the way it came about. Last winter, Ben and I were rather up against it—short of ready money. You know what poor salaries they pay in the league we came from. We were down in Dallas, Texas, and the oil boom was on. We saw an ad for men to sell oil stocks, and we answered it. The fellow at the head of it—Bromley was his name—was a smooth sort of chap and could talk any one into anything. From his description, we thought his oil well was an honest-to-goodness well, and we sold a lot of stock for him. Then came the blow-up, and itturned out that his well was just a dry hole in the ground. He got out from under just before the crash came, and I heard he went to Mexico. The federal officers got after him and all connected with it. We heard that warrants were out for us, and we skipped North. But until the company broke we thought they were straight as a string. We wouldn’t have had anything to do with it if we had thought it was crooked. We were just roped into it. That’s as true as that we’re sitting here this moment. All that either of us got out of it was part of our salaries and part of the commissions that were promised.”
The story had a ring of sincerity that was not without its appeal to Joe. Still, he knew that some of the most plausible stories are told by the worst of crooks, and before accepting it fully he determined to make some investigations on his own account.
“Dallas is a long way from here,” he remarked, as he eyed the two men keenly. “What makes you think the federal agents are looking for you?”
“Because we know some of the men that are in the Dallas branch,” replied Jackwell, “and on several occasions we’ve seen one or more of them at the Polo Grounds and at other fields on the circuit.”
“That doesn’t say they’re looking for you,” said Joe. “I suppose all of them take in a game when they get a chance. Besides,” he went on, as another thought struck him, “if they really wanted you, it would be no trick to get you.Your names appear in the papers in the scores of the game every day. Every one that follows the game knows Jackwell and Bowen.”
“True enough,” admitted Jackwell, a little shamefacedly. “But, as a matter of fact, we didn’t go by our own names while in Dallas. You see we thought the rest of the baseball players would think that we were kind of hard up to be working in the season when most of them are resting. I can see now that it was a foolish sort of feeling. But, as Ben said, actors and actresses don’t go by their right names, and authors use names that are not their own, and we had as much right to do it as they had.”
“I suppose you had,” admitted Joe. “Though in business I think it’s a mistake not to go under your own name. What names did you go by?”
“Dan was Miller and I was Thompson,” put in Bowen, who up to now had let Jackwell do most of the talking. “So you see they don’t know Jackwell and Bowen, but they might recognize our faces, just the same. I suppose they have descriptions of us, and that’s the reason we hate to go on the field when we see they’re around.”
“And why you pull your caps down over your faces when you do go out,” added Joe. “Well, boys, I’m glad you’ve told me what’s been bothering you. Perhaps the very telling will take some of the load off your mind. For the present, I’mgoing to take your word for it that you didn’t knowingly do any wrong. But I tell you frankly that I’m going to have the matter looked up, and if you haven’t told me the truth, you’ll have to get off the team. McRae won’t have any one on the Giants that isn’t as white as a hound’s tooth, as far as character is concerned.
“But in the meantime, you’ve got to play ball. We can’t let your personal troubles interfere with the success of the Giants. There’s been many a time when I’ve had a load of trouble on my mind, but I’ve played ball just the same. The chances are that you’re magnifying this thing, anyway. You don’t really know that there are any warrants out for you at all. You say you heard there were, but the chances are that if there were they’d have nabbed you before you heard anything about the warrants. Those government fellows don’t hire a brass band to let you know they’re coming. Perhaps you’re tormenting yourselves about something that never happened. And even if it did, the agents have lots of bigger cases to look after, and they may have forgotten that you’re alive. But whether they have or not, the thing that interests me just now as captain of the Giants, is whether or not you fellows are going to play the game. How about it?”
“I will, Mr. Matson,” said Jackwell, with decision.“I’m going to put this thing out of my mind and play the game for all it’s worth.”
“Count me in on that,” declared Bowen, with emphasis.
“That’s the stuff!” returned Joe. “Just remember that the coward dies a thousand deaths while the brave man dies only once. Half the troubles that worry us in life are those that never happen. Now forget everything but that you’re ball-players, that as honest men you owe your best services to the team, and that the Giants have got to win the flag this year. That’s all for now.”
The results of this heart-to-heart talk were not long in coming. Both Jackwell and Bowen seemed to brace up wonderfully. The former took in everything that came his way and made plays that seemed almost impossible. Bowen ranged the outer garden in first-class style and put Wheeler and Curry on their mettle to keep up with him.
The brace that they had taken was not long in communicating itself to other members of the team, and the Giants began to come out of their slump. A stern chase is proverbially a long chase, and it proved so in this case, for the Pirates and the Chicagos had made hay while the sun shone, and had piled up a commanding lead. But the case, though hard, was not yet desperate, andthe Giants had not relinquished hope of coming out ultimately at the head of the heap.
As Joe had promised himself, he looked up the Dallas matter. He had fully made up his mind that if the men had been guilty of crookedness they would have to get off the team. He would miss their playing sorely, and would have all kinds of trouble in plugging up the holes that would be left by their departure, but anything was better than a scandal that would damage the game. Of course, the ultimate decision would be made by McRae, but Joe knew his manager well enough to feel sure that he would be in accord with him in this matter.
Joe got in touch with a lawyer, who in turn communicated confidentially with a Dallas law firm, asking it to make inquiries in the oil-well case and find out whether there had been any warrants or indictments out for men named Miller and Thompson, and if so, to find out the exact charges on which the instruments were based.
A week or so elapsed before a reply was received. Joe tore the letter open eagerly and ran his eyes over the contents. Then he gave a shout of exultation and brought his hand down on his knee with a resounding slap.
“What’s the matter?” asked Jim, looking up in some surprise. “Any one left you a million dollars?”
“Not exactly that,” laughed Joe. “But I’ve just learned something that makes me feel mighty good, just the same.”
His elation was caused by these words in the letter:
“In re Miller and Thompson, we beg to report that there were no warrants or indictments handed down for these men in the Bromley case. Investigation convinced officials that they had no guilty knowledge of the fraud. The only documents connected with them were subpœnas calling them as witnesses before the Grand Jury. Their testimony was not needed, however, as a true bill was found against Bromley, who is an international swindler with many aliases. He is believed to have fled to Mexico. A reward of five thousand dollars is offered for his capture.”
“In re Miller and Thompson, we beg to report that there were no warrants or indictments handed down for these men in the Bromley case. Investigation convinced officials that they had no guilty knowledge of the fraud. The only documents connected with them were subpœnas calling them as witnesses before the Grand Jury. Their testimony was not needed, however, as a true bill was found against Bromley, who is an international swindler with many aliases. He is believed to have fled to Mexico. A reward of five thousand dollars is offered for his capture.”
“Maybe this won’t be good news for Jackwell and Bowen,” chuckled Joe, as he folded up the letter.
Joe pitched the next day against the Phillies, and won a hard fought battle. Atkins, the Philly pitcher, was in capital form, and the game was a seesaw affair, first one and then the other getting the lead, and it was not until the ninth inning that the contest was decided.
Farley, the third baseman of the Quaker team, was a “rough house” player, who never hesitated to transgress the rules of the game, provided that he could get away with it.
One of his favorite tricks was to grab the belt of an opposing player as he rounded third base. This was often sufficient to throw the runner off his stride and slow him up for a second, and in a game where fractions of a second often marked the difference between a run and an out, the momentary delay many times permitted the ball to get to the plate before the runner.
He resorted to the same trick also, when the third base was occupied by an opponent and along fly was hit to the outfield. If the ball was caught, the runner, of course, had to touch the bag after the catch before he started for the plate. Just as he started, Farley would grab his belt. The umpire’s eyes would be on the ball to see if it were caught, and Farley could do this with impunity.
It was of little use complaining to the umpire, for that functionary, not having seen the action, could not well punish it. His eyes were his only guide in making decisions.
Twice in this series with the Phillies the Giants had lost in this way what would have been sure runs.
On the day in question, Joe had made a two-bagger and had got to third on a fielder’s choice. There was but one man out, and the proper play at this juncture was a long sacrifice fly to the outfield.
Wheeler got the signal and obeyed orders. He sent out a towering fly that settled into the rightfielder’s hands. The ball had gone high rather than far, which gave the outfielder a good chance to get it home in time to nail the runner.
If Joe was to make the plate, he had to get a quick start and do some fast running. The fly was caught, and Joe broke from the bag just as Farley grabbed his belt. But not for a second did Joe slacken speed. He flew along the base pathat a rattling clip and beat the ball to the rubber by an eyelash.
With the roar that went up from the crowd was mingled boisterous laughter.
Farley was standing at third with a ludicrous look of bewilderment on his face, holding in his hand Joe’s belt. He did not seem to know what to do with it, and shifted it from one hand to another as though it were a hot potato.
Joe had unfastened it on the sly as he stood at the bag, and when Farley grabbed it, it came away in his hand without Joe even feeling it. Farley had braced himself for the pull, and the lack of resistance nearly threw him to the ground. He had to stagger some steps before he could regain his balance.
Peal after peal of uproarious laughter at Farley’s foolish appearance rose from the spectators. If ever there was a case of being “caught with the goods,” Farley furnished it at that moment.
And the merriment swelled up anew when Joe walked out to third, and with his hand on his heart and a ceremonious bow, politely asked Mr. Farley to return his property. With his face flaming red from mortification, Farley threw it to him with a scowl and a grunt, and Joe with a tantalizing grin took his time in putting it on.
“Joe,” said McRae, as he shook his hand, “when it comes to outguessing the other fellowthere’s nobody in the game that can compare with you. You spring things that nobody ever thought of before. To-day’s an instance. More power to you, my boy.”
Though the Giants had made an immense improvement over their previous recent showing, they were still far from the form they had showed on their last Western trip. And a great part of this, Joe had to admit to himself, was due to Jim’s indifferent showing.
It was not that Jim did not try. He was intensely loyal to the team, of which he had been one of the principal supports. But the old spontaneity was lacking. He had to force himself to his work, where formerly it had been a joy to him. And no man can do his best work under those conditions. Twice within the last few weeks he had been batted out of the box.
“Joe,” said McRae to his captain, “on the dead level, what is the matter with Jim? He isn’t the pitcher he was last season or in the early part of this. What ails him?”
“I’ll tell you, Mac,” replied Joe, who saw the opening he desired. “Jim has heart trouble.”
“What?” cried McRae, in consternation. “Did a doctor tell him so?”
“It isn’t a case for a doctor,” explained Joe. “The only one who can cure Jim’s trouble is a certain girl.”
“Oh, that’s it!” exclaimed McRae with relief. “The girls! The girls! The mischief they make!”
“Don’t forget you were young once yourself, Mac,” said Joe, with a grin. “Now I want to ask you a favor. I have an idea that five minutes’ talk with that girl will set things all right. Why not give Jim a few days off? I don’t ask this simply because Jim is my friend. I think it will be for the good of the team.”
“We’re pretty hard up for pitchers,” said McRae, dubiously.
“I’ll double up while he’s gone,” promised Joe. “I’ll pitch his game as well as my own. I’m as fit as a fiddle.”
“You’re always that,” answered McRae. “Well, have it your own way,” and he walked away muttering again: “The girls! The girls!”
“Jim,” said Joe, later that afternoon, “how about taking a train to-morrow afternoon for Riverside?”
Jim jumped about a foot.
“Do you mean it?” he cried.
“Sure thing,” replied Joe. “I’ve fixed it up with Mac.”
“Glory hallelujah!” shouted Jim. “Joe, you’re the best ever! Where’s that suitcase of mine?”
“At last I’ll know where I stand, anyway,” muttered Jim to himself, as the train sped on toward Riverside. “It wouldn’t have done a bit of good to write to her. Her letters are so vague and unsatisfactory these days. I must see her. Then I’ll be able to tell whether there is anything to this story of my millionaire rival.”
He tried to make himself think that there was nothing in what Reggie had let slip, in what Joe had reluctantly told him. Surely, they had been mistaken. Clara, after all that had passed between them, could not treat him so shabbily!
And yet—the thought made him frown and bite his lip fiercely—where there was so much smoke it seemed certain there must be some fire. Long before he had known definitely of a rival with millions who had been besieging Clara with his attentions, he had thought he sensed a change in her attitude toward him. Her letters had not been so regular. Once or twice he had missedthem altogether. Those that did come had left him vaguely disappointed, unhappy. The reason for his dissatisfaction had eluded him. Then suddenly, it had all become clear. Clara was being won away from him by a chap with more money than he had! He clenched his hands and his mouth became grim. At any rate he would have one satisfaction. He would tell this fellow just what he thought of him, and that in no uncertain terms! Perhaps the chap would give him some excuse for thrashing him. His eyes glinted and his fists clenched.
The swift motion of the train was grateful to him. It seemed to keep time with his hurried thoughts. But the knowledge that every mile of ground they covered brought him nearer to Clara was more terrifying than anything else. He thought of the last time he had boarded a train to go to his sweetheart, and the lines about his mouth grew deeper. He dreaded what he might find at the end of the journey.
He had expected a letter from Clara that morning, had hoped he would get it before leaving. But, as had been the case more and more often in the last few weeks, he had been disappointed, had been forced to start on his trip with no word from her.
He took out a magazine and tried to read. The words were a meaningless blur before hiseyes, and he threw the magazine away from him with an exclamation of disgust. What good was he, anyway? He could not, even for a few moments, force his mind away from his troubles.
And so it was with a mixture of perturbation and relief that he at last came to an alert consciousness of his surroundings, to find himself at the next station to Riverside. He pulled himself together and prepared to face facts. His uncertainty was nearly at an end. It seemed to him that nothing that could happen in the future could be any worse than what he had already been through.
Before the train had stopped at Riverside, Jim had flung himself and his one bag on to the platform. He glanced about him quickly to assure himself that no old acquaintances were around the place, then started off at a brisk pace in the direction of the Matson home.
As he approached nearer his destination, he unconsciously slackened his pace. He had sent Clara no word of his coming. That part had been intentional. Since he was about to find out the truth, it would be far better to take the girl by surprise than to warn her of his coming and so give her time to prepare for it.
Perhaps, he thought bitterly, and his steps lagged still more, Clara would not even care to deceive him with a show of affection. This hatedmillionaire might even have dazzled her to the extent of a broken engagement with him, Jim.
At the thought, new anger kindled in him, and he strode forward with resolution. At the moment, all he cared about was a meeting with his rival. He did not know how soon that desire was to be gratified.
A turn in the road brought him within view of the pleasant Matson home. At the familiar sight of it, something swelled in Jim’s throat. He had felt so a part of that household, had been so wonderfully sure of Clara’s love. Could it be possible that all his faith had been misplaced, all his hopes and dreams only idle and vain imaginings?
The house was coming nearer, seemed to be rushing to meet him. With every step he dreaded more to know the secret it was hiding from him.
He had reached the gate, had swung it open noiselessly. The porch steps invited—the steps where he and Clara had often sat in the twilight, dreamily planning their life together. But for some reason he avoided them.
He had no desire to see any one but Clara just then, and instinct told him he would find her in the garden. So to the garden he turned, hungrily drinking in the fragrance of the flowers, the ache at his heart more poignant as each new and familiar object met his eye.
He heard voices and stopped still. One of them was Clara’s. She was laughing lightly at some pleasantry directed to her in a deep, masculine voice.
At the sound, Jim suddenly saw red. All the anxiety, the worry, the heartache of the last few weeks, took toll at once. With a grumble of wrath away down in his throat, he almost ran the remaining few feet that hid from him the two in the garden.
Clara was sitting on a rustic bench. She wore a pretty dress of rosy material that matched the color in her cheeks. She was looking up at a blond giant whose attitude expressed complete devotion. The giant was speaking in the deep, musical voice which had so infuriated Jim.
“Miss Matson, I’m going to Europe in a few days and I must know if I have any chance at all with you. It isn’t possible for me to go on this way——”
“Good afternoon,” said Jim, in a voice of suppressed emotion. “Sorry to intrude.”
Joe had taken the first occasion to see Jackwell and Bowen alone after he had received the letter from Dallas.
“I’ve learned that there were papers out against you in Dallas in connection with that oil swindle,” he said, with an assumed expression of gloom.
“Then they were after us, just as we thought!” exclaimed Jackwell, in alarm, while Bowen turned pale.
“They were after you all right, but only as witnesses,” laughed Joe, tossing them the letter. “Read that.”
The expression of relief and happiness that came to both, as they scanned the welcome lines, was good to see.
“I’d rather have that than a million dollars!” cried Jackwell, his face fairly beaming with delight.
“We can’t thank you enough for such good news,” said Bowen, equally jubilant.
“That’s all right,” said Joe. “I had a hunch right along that you fellows were on the square. All the thanks I want now is to have you play the game. You’ve been doing well lately, and I want you to keep it up.”
“That isn’t a circumstance to what we’re going to do,” promised Jackwell, and Bowen nodded assent. “From this time on, just watch our smoke.”
And Joe had no reason to complain of their work for the rest of the season. With the incubus removed that had been lying on their spirits, they played like wild men, and their work soon enthroned them as favorites with the Giant fans.
Now the Giants were really climbing again, and the grounds began to be crowded as in the days of old. The games were played “for blood” from the ring of the gong.
And what put the capsheaf on Joe’s satisfaction was that Jim came bursting in upon him one morning like a whirlwind, his face radiant, and sheer delight in living shining in his eyes.
Joe sprang up to greet him, and Jim grabbed him and whirled him around the room until both of them were gasping for breath.
“For the love of Pete, Jim!” expostulated Joe, laughingly.
“I’m a curly wolf!” shouted Jim. “I eat catamounts for breakfast and pick my teeth with pinetrees! Where are those Cubs and Pirates and all the rest of that riffraff? Lead me to them! I want ber-lud!”
“You’ll get your chance,” answered Joe, grinning. “Now sit down and try to be sensible for a minute.”
“Sensible!” scoffed Jim. “Who wants to be sensible? I’m happy!”
“And so am I,” laughed Joe, “because of the news you bring.”
“I haven’t told you any yet,” countered Jim.
“Yes, you have,” declared Joe. “You’ve told me everything. I know that everything’s all right between you and Clara.”
“Clara!” repeated Jim, dwelling on the name. “Clara! Say, Joe, that sister of yours is—is— Oh, well, what’s the use? There isn’t any word in the English language to describe her. She’s—she’s——”
“Yes, I know,” laughed Joe. “I’m her brother. Now, old boy, take a minute to get your breath, and then tell me the whole story.”
So Jim perforce had to restrain his ecstasies and get down to earth, while Joe listened happily to all the details of the visit that had swept away the last shadow of misunderstanding between his sister and his dearest friend.
“You were right, Joe, when you said that five minutes’ talk, face to face, would wipe out all misunderstanding,”said Jim. “Why, in less than five minutes after I saw her I was the happiest fellow on earth. If you could have seen the way she flew to me!”
“What about that Pepperil?” asked Joe.
“Never was in it for a minute,” declared Jim, happily. “Of course, the poor man was in love with her; but you can’t blame him for that. Who wouldn’t be? As a matter of fact, I think he was trying to propose to her at the time I got there. But she forgot he was alive when she saw me. You see, she’d simply tolerated him for the sake of your father’s invention that Pepperil had arranged to finance. She couldn’t be rude to him for fear of injuring the deal, though he bored her to death. What with the nuisance of his hanging around there and your father’s anxiety about his invention and your mother’s sickness and the cares of the household bearing down upon her, the poor girl was nearly crazy. Told me that when she sat down to write to me her head was in such a whirl that she hardly knew what she was writing. That’s why her letters sometimes seemed so abstracted and unsatisfying. But now the deal has gone through, your mother’s getting steadily better, Pepperil’s sailing for Europe, and we’re going to be married as soon as the baseball season is over.”
“Fine!” cried Joe, his eyes beaming.
“And to think that I ever doubted her for a minute!” Jim berated himself. “Joe, I’m the meanest hound dog that ever lived. I’m not fit for such a girl. Why, Joe, she’s——”
“Yes, I know,” interrupted the grinning Joe. “Write me a letter and describe her perfections in that. But honestly, Jim, I’m as happy as you are.”
“You can’t be!” declared Jim. “It isn’t possible for any one to be as happy as I am.”
“Well, only a little less happy,” corrected Joe. “And there’s some one else that will be just as happy as I am. Mabel will be in the seventh heaven. She’s worried herself sick.”
“Too bad.”
“Feel fit to pitch now?” asked Joe, after a while.
“Fit?” cried Jim. “That’s no word for it. Bring on your teams. They’ll all look alike to me.”
And Jim proved in the games that followed that this was no idle boast. He was superb, the old invincible Jim, toying with his opponents and turning in victory after victory. McRae rubbed his eyes and Robbie chortled in glee.
“Sure, Mac, ’twas the best thing you ever did, letting Jim off to see that girl of his,” said Robbie. “’Tis a new man he is since he came back.”
The Giants were now like a team of runawayhorses. They could not be stopped. With their pitching staff going at top speed, the team played behind them like men possessed. At home or on the road made no difference. The Giants were simply bent on having that pennant, and they strode over everything in their way.
They kept their stride without faltering, and in the last weeks of the season were rapidly closing in on the Chicagos, who were struggling desperately to maintain their lead.
On the last Western trip, their strongest opposition was encountered in Pittsburgh, and they had to exert themselves to the utmost.
The first game resulted in a Giant victory by a close margin, the visiting team just managing to nose through after a terrific struggle.
Just after the game had ended, Jackwell made a sudden rush for the grandstand. Bowen, to whom he had shouted, was close behind him.
Joe and Jim followed to see what it was all about, and found a stout, red-faced man in the grasp of the two athletes, while a policeman was edging his way through the crowd.
“Arrest this man!” cried Jackwell, to the officer. “He’s a swindler. His name is Bromley, and he’s wanted in Texas. Detectives have been searching all over the country for him.”
The man denied it, but Jackwell persisted. The officer turned uncertainly to Joe.
“I don’t know the man,” said Joe. “But I know that the federal agents are after a man named Bromley. If this isn’t the man, he can easily establish his identity at headquarters. These men seem to be pretty sure of him.”
The officer put his hand on the man’s arm.
“Better come with me and see the Chief,” he said, and the man, still protesting, was led away. Later, federal agents identified him as the man wanted, and Jackwell and Bowen split the five thousand dollar reward between them.
“Glad those boys have settled their account with that rascal,” remarked Joe, after the crowd had dispersed.
“Yes,” replied Jim. “I wish we could say as much.”
“You mean with the McCarney crowd?”
“Just that. My blood fairly boiled when I saw those scoundrels in the stand this afternoon.”
“Were they there?” asked Joe.
“Very much there! Heads close together and talking all the time. Probably hatching up some other plan to down you. I tell you, Joe, you’re in danger every minute that you’re in this town!”
“I suppose I am,” replied Joe, impressed by the earnestness of Jim’s tone. “It’s up to us to keep our eyes open. Luckily, we have only three more days to stay here. All I want is to have them keep away from me till the season’s ended. Then the tables will be turned, and I’ll get after them.”
Joe and Jim changed into their street clothes and came out of the clubhouse. All the other men had gone, except Iredell, who had not quite finished dressing.
“Dandy weather,” remarked Joe, as they lingered for a moment on the steps. “What do you say, Jim, to a little auto ride to-morrow morning, along the Lincoln pike? Splendid road and fine scenery.”
“I’m on,” assented Jim. “I’d like nothing better.”
The weather was perfect the next day, and shortly after breakfast the chums hired a speedylittle car and set out for their ride. The machine purred along smoothly, with Joe at the wheel, and as travelers were comparatively few at that early hour, they had the road largely to themselves, and on the long stretches could let the car out to an exhilarating speed.
“This is the life!” exclaimed Jim, jubilantly, as he settled back in his seat and drew in long breaths of the invigorating air. “It does a fellow good sometimes to— Look out, Joe! Look out!”
His shout of alarm was torn from him by a great motor truck that came darting at high speed from a side road that had been partially concealed by trees and underbrush.
It came thundering down upon the little car as though it were bent on annihilating it.
Joe’s quick glance took in the danger, and he swerved sharply to one side. Not sharply enough, however, to escape the impact altogether. The truck caught the car a glancing blow that hurled it like a catapult against a fence at the side of the road, which at that point ran along the edge of a deep ravine.
The car crashed through the fence, and had it not been that one of the wheels struck the trunk of a tree, would have plunged headlong into the gulch. The blow slewed the machine around, where it hung partly over the edge.
Jim had been thrown against the windshield and his hands were cut by the flying glass. Joe had clung desperately to the wheel, and though badly shaken up, had sustained no injury.
Without waiting to see the extent of the damage, the truck had gone on at breakneck speed. By the time the young men had leaped to the ground, the truck had vanished around a turn in the road.
Joe and Jim looked at each other, pale with anger.
“Are you hurt, Jim?” asked Joe, as he saw the blood on his comrade’s hands.
“Only scratches,” was the reply. “And I’m so thankful I’m not dead that I don’t mind little things like that.”
“It’s almost a miracle that we’re not lying at this moment at the bottom of the ravine,” said Joe, soberly. “What do you think of those fellows? Did you ever see such reckless driving?”
“It wasn’t reckless,” declared Jim, grimly. “It was deliberate. That fellow was trying to run us down.”
“What?” exclaimed Joe.
“Just that,” reiterated Jim. “Did you see the man who was driving?”
“No,” said Joe. “I only saw the truck. I was too busy trying to get the car out of the way to notice the driver.”
“Well, I saw him,” said Jim. “That is, I saw part of him. He had his coat drawn up and his cap pulled down so as to hide his face. But I caught sight of the biggest pair of lob ears I ever saw on any man. Does that mean anything to you?”
“Lemblow!” exclaimed Joe.
“Lemblow,” assented Jim. “And probably the rest of the gang were in the truck back of him. I tell you, Joe, those fellows are out to do you. They failed in their first attempt, and so they tried this.”
“And they came mighty near putting this across,” said Joe. “But how on earth did they know we were going on this ride? We didn’t mention it to anybody.”
“No,” agreed Jim, “not directly. But when we first spoke of it yesterday afternoon, we were on the clubhouse steps. Iredell was still in there, dressing, and the door was open.”
“By George, you’ve hit it!” cried Joe. “Jim, the time has come for a showdown. We won’t wait till the end of the season. We may not see the end of the season if this kind of thing is allowed to go on. I’m going to get even with those scoundrels before we leave Pittsburgh.”
“I’m with you till the cows come home,” declared Jim. “I’m aching to get my hands on them. But how are you going to do it?”
“By shadowing Iredell,” replied Joe. “It’s a dead certainty that he’ll meet the rest of the gang to talk things over before we leave the city. We’ll keep him in sight every night from now on and follow him to their meeting place. Then we’ll trim the bunch.”
“Good dope!” ejaculated Jim. “And now let’s get this car out to the side of the road where the owners can send for it. There’ll be a good-sized dent in our bankrolls by the time we get through paying for the damage.”
They took care not to speak of the incident to any one, and at the game that afternoon showed no antipathy or suspicion in regard to Iredell. Several times they noticed the covert glances of that individual directed toward Jim’s scratched hands—glances in which malignity was mingled with disappointment—but they gave no sign, and conducted themselves exactly as usual.
But not for a moment was Iredell out of their sight without their knowing where he was. All their faculties were intent upon using him as an unwitting guide to the rendezvous of the gang.
For a time after supper, Iredell hung around the lobby of the hotel. It was nearly ten o’clock before he sauntered carelessly into the street, where Joe and Jim were ensconced in the shadow of convenient doorways.
Iredell walked along slowly at first, glancingabout from side to side, but as he saw nothing to arouse his suspicion, he quickened his steps and soon was making rapidly for the outskirts of the city. Joe and Jim followed at some distance, keeping in the shadows as much as possible.
In a little while they found themselves in a cheap quarter of the city, not far from the bank of the Allegheny River. Factories and slag heaps alternated with shabby dwellings, dimly lighted stores, and low resorts.
Standing in a lot, with no houses for a considerable distance on either side, was an old one-story shack. From its battered and dilapidated appearance, it seemed unfit for human habitation. But that some one was in it was indicated by the light from a smoky oil lamp that threw a flickering beam through the open window.
Iredell pushed his way along the weed-grown path and knocked three times. After a moment the door was opened and Iredell entered.
Joe and Jim waited for a brief time, and then, with the stealth of Indians, crept up near the open window. Bushes were growing all around the house, and behind these the two friends crouched. The brushwood was so thick that they were perfectly safe from detection, while at the same time they had a clear vision of the room and its inmates.
They had no difficulty in identifying the latter.Hupft, McCarney, Lemblow and Iredell were seated around a table, engaged in an excited conversation.
There was practically no other furniture in the room than the table and chairs. It was evident that none of the gang lived there, but that they had picked out an abandoned house where they could meet in security and talk with freedom.
There was no attempt to lower their voices, and the unseen listeners had no difficulty in hearing every word that was said.
“So we’ve made another flivver,” growled McCarney, pounding the table angrily with his fist.
“Seems so,” said Iredell, moodily. “They turned up at the game this afternoon just as though nothing had happened. Barclay had some scratches on his hand, but Matson was unhurt. At least he didn’t show any signs of injury.”
“I’m beginning to think we can’t down that fellow,” muttered Hupft. “No matter what we do, he comes up smiling.”
“Nonsense!” snarled Lemblow. “He’s had luck, that’s all. The pitcher that goes to the well too often is broken at last. There’s luck in odd numbers, and the third time we’ll get him.”
Joe felt in his pocket and took out an object that was roughly oblong in shape. He gripped it tightly in his hand and waited.
Jim, who had noted the action, reached out and touched his friend’s arm.
“What’s the game?” he whispered.
“You’ll see in a minute,” returned Joe. “When I start, you follow me.”
“Lemblow’s right,” cried McCarney, rising to his feet, his face inflamed with passion. “We’ve failed twice, but the third time we’ll get him. We’ll get him so hard——”
He never finished the sentence.
Something whizzed through the open window with terrific force and caught him right between the eyes. Taken by surprise, and partly stunned by the force of the blow, he went down heavily to the floor.
With startled shouts, the other three leaped to their feet and stood staring at the table on which the missile had fallen. Iredell leaned forward, took one look and jumped back with a terrified yell.
“It’s a rattlesnake’s head!” he screamed in horror.
His shriek was echoed by the other rascals as they fell back from the table, trembling as though with palsy.
The next instant, Joe and Jim, who had jumped through the window, were upon the rascals, dealing out blows with the force of trip-hammers. Iredell went down from a terrific right on thechin, and lay motionless. Hupft and Lemblow tried to fight back, but their nerves were so unstrung and they had been so overwhelmed with surprise at the sudden onslaught that their efforts were pitiful. Joe and Jim, all their pent up indignation putting double strength into their muscular arms, gave them the beating of their lives, until they cowered in a corner, covering their faces with their hands and whimpering for mercy.