CHAPTER XLVIHOW IT ALL HAPPENED
Cheer after cheer went up from the throng of visiting fans. Hats and canes and newspapers were thrown into the air with careless abandon. Men brought their fists down on shoulders and heads of persons they had never seen before; and these persons merely pushed out the tops of crushed derbies, and grinned.
Down from the stands they poured like a cataract, yelling Locke’s name. They caught and surrounded him before he could flee to the shelter of the clubhouse.
Jack Stillman was one of the first to reach the field. Though he longed to hurry over to Lefty and shake his friend’s hand, there was something more important which must be done first. He headed straight for Brennan, who, with gloomy countenance, was about to leave the field.
“Wait a second, Jim,” the reporter called swiftly. “I’ve got something to tell you. You fired Lefty Locke because you thought he was a quitter,” he went on when they came together.
“You needn’t rub it in,” snapped the sorely tried manager. “If that’s all you’ve got to say—”
“It isn’t,” returned Stillman quickly. “Locke said he never wrote that fake telegram which called him away from Ashland the day of the game he was to pitch. He told the truth. It was sent by one of his own teammates, who hated him and wanted to put him in bad.”
“What?” exploded the stocky manager. “I don’t believe it!”
The reporter pulled a folded paper from his pocket and handed it to Brennan. “There’s the proof,” he said quietly.
The manager jerked it open and cast his eyes hurriedly down the sheet. Wrath clouded his face.
“Elgin!” he growled throwing back his head. “Where is he? Just let me— Hey, you Elgin! Come here!”
His voice and manner had drawn several curious players near, among them Buck Fargo. The disgruntled pitcher, hearing his name uttered in that tone, came reluctantly over, expecting a call-down for his work on the slab. What followed was totally unexpected.
“You can pack!” Brennan snapped, eying thefellow with a look of scathing contempt. “I’m going to send you down to the ‘Lobsters.’ They want a pitcher, and they can have you—for keeps, if I can’t sell you.” The Lobsters were a much scoffed-at minor league club.
Elgin’s jaw dropped and his face flamed scarlet. “You’re going to send me down to the—the Lobsters?” he stammered.
“I am. I’ve found out the dirty trick you played on Locke in Ashland, and I wouldn’t have a scoundrel like you on my team if you was the best pitcher in the country—which you ain’t, by a long shot.”
For an instant the pitcher stood staring at him, an indescribable expression on his face. He cast a single swift glance at the players standing around. Then, without a word, he turned and walked hastily away through the gathering crowd.
“Good riddance!” growled Brennan.
He stood chewing meditatively on the stub of an unlighted cigar. After a moment he shrugged his shoulders and pushed his way through the crowd to where Lefty and a few of the Blue Stockings were hemmed in by the throng.
“You did a fine job, kid,” he said gruffly, thrusting out a square, stubby hand. “Shake!”
Without hesitation Lefty gripped his fingers.Brennan’s treatment had caused him some bitter hours, but this was no time to harbor resentment. The short manager turned to Kennedy, his mouth twisted in a wry smile.
“You can kick me good and hard, Ken,” he said. “I sure fell flat on this deal.” His eyes twinkled, and the smile broadened to a grin. “I sort of think this boy belongs to me. I had the first rights to him, and I reckon I’ll pull him back now.”
“Not if I know it!” laughed Kennedy. “You were thick enough to release him unconditionally. He belongs to me now, and you bet he’s going to stay.”
But old Jack could not foresee the approaching wave of change that was to leave him stranded as a baseball manager. Nor was Lefty Locke, in spite of the splendid beginning he had made, to find it all fair sailing in the Big League. With Kennedy retired and Lefty missing, following his suspension by the new manager, the Blue Stockings were destined to have their troubles in the fight for the pennant. How old Jack and the young southpaw star returned to the field of battle barely in time to save the day is dramatically told in “Lefty o’ the Blue Stockings,” the third volume of The Big League Series.
Brennan chuckled a little over Kennedy’s retort,and then turned to Lefty, his face suddenly serious.
“I’ve found out about that fake telegram,” he said, in a low tone. “Jack Stillman ferreted out the truth, and the Hornets won’t have any further use for Elgin.”
He walked away without waiting for a reply, leaving Lefty almost bewildered at the events which were coming so thick and fast. In the midst of everything, however, he kept thinking of Janet and wondering whether there was any possible chance of her coming down upon the field.
The question was swiftly answered by the appearance of Jack Stillman, elbowing his way through the crowd.
“Some pitching for a starter in the Big League, old man,” he laughed, his face glowing; “you were pretty fair! I can’t keep you now, though; there’s somebody over by the stand who wants a word with you. See you in the clubhouse, later.”
Taking his friend by the arm, he piloted him through the throng, now beginning to stream toward the gates, to a point from which he could see the girl he had been thinking about so much. She stood near one of the lower boxes of the center stand, a slim, graceful figure in a blue tailor-made gown. At a little distance her friends weregathered, watching the animated scene interestedly.
Janet herself was talking earnestly to Buck Fargo, but her eyes were quick to spy out Lefty as he approached. The glad smile she gave him was something to be treasured long in his memory.
“Lefty!” she exclaimed, in a low voice, which vibrated with emotion. She took a quick step forward; their hands met. “I can’t tell you how glad and proud I am—and sorry.”
The man held her hands for an instant. His face was puzzled.
“Sorry?” he repeated. “What have I done to make you sorry?”
Her lovely eyes were fixed earnestly on his. Fargo had slipped away.
“Nothing,” she returned hastily. “What you have done is splendid—wonderful! It’s what I did that makes me sorry. Mr. Fargo has just told me everything, and I hate myself when I think how I—liked that dreadful Mr. Elgin—and tried to make you friends, and—and—”
She stopped abruptly and bit her lip. Lefty looked around. Never before had he detested a crowd with such intensity. His eyes flashed back to hers, and something in their expressionbrought a vivid rush of crimson flaming to her face.
“You mustn’t think about it,” he urged softly. “You weren’t to blame, and, anyway, it’s all over now. Everything’s turned out right. Please forget it.”
His fingers tightened about hers. Her lids drooped. They had forgotten the crowd pouring out of the field. The clatter and tramp in the swiftly thinning stands, the last few cheers from the departing rooters, fell upon deaf ears. In that single moment they were conscious of nothing else in the whole wide world but just each other.
THE END
Transcriber’s Notes:Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.Inconsistent hyphenation and compound words were made consistent only when a predominant form was found.
Transcriber’s Notes:
Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
Inconsistent hyphenation and compound words were made consistent only when a predominant form was found.