CHAPTER XVIIGUILE
“Really?” exclaimed Janet Harting, her eyes sparkling. Then she laughed. “It’s luck you didn’t tell father. He has an idea that professional ball players aren’t quite respectable.”
Bert Elgin bent slightly forward, a hurt expression in the eyes fixed upon her face. During the fifteen minutes in which he had labored strenuously to ingratiate himself with her father, and succeeded beyond his hopes, he had gathered, by skillful probing, the impression that the older man was just the sort to look askance on professional athletics. Not a hint of this now appeared on the surface, however. His voice was regretful, with just the proper touch of indignation in it.
“I hope you don’t share his prejudice, Miss Harting?” he said quickly.
“Not at all,” the girl hastened to assure him. “I adore baseball, and could never understand why a man shouldn’t take it up just as he would any other profession. It’s much better paid thanmany, and I’m sure it must be a great deal pleasanter than being cooped up all day in a stuffy office.”
Elgin’s sigh of relief was unmistakable. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear you say that,” he returned, his face clearing. “Your father is a clergyman of the old school, and I can quite understand his prejudice. But professional baseball to-day is very different from what it was in his time. There isn’t a cleaner, decenter sport going, or one more free from crookedness. Of course, there are people who look down on it. There are even players”—his voice took on a sneering tone—“who go into it under fictitious names, but they’re cads and bounders. I notice they’re not ashamed to draw their salary checks on the dot. I’ve played ball ever since I left college, and I can truly say, Miss Harting, that I’ve never once had reason to regret my choice of a profession.”
For a moment there was silence. The girl’s cheeks were faintly flushed and she was plucking absently at the fringe hanging from the upholstered chair arm.
“I’m sure you haven’t, Mr. Elgin,” she murmured presently. There was another momentary pause before she raised her eyes to his face. “Ibelieve that what you say about a man’s playing under a false name is generally true, but don’t you think that once in a while there may be a perfectly good reason for it?”
The pitcher shrugged his shoulders. “Once in a thousand times, perhaps,” he admitted. “It’s easy enough to invent a plausible reason, but I’ve noticed invariably that fellows do it because they’re ashamed, not of playing professional ball, but of having their friends know it. There’s an instance of this right here in the Hornet squad, a chap who graduated from Princeton the year after I did. He tried making his living as a lawyer, fell down hard, and then took up baseball. There isn’t an earthly reason why he shouldn’t use his own name, and yet he’s masquerading as Tom Locke.”
“Locke!” the girl gasped, staring in startled amazement. “You don’t mean to say that Phil Hazelton ishere?”
Elgin’s jaw dropped most realistically, and he drew his breath sharply.
“You—know him?” he faltered.
“Of course I do. Why, he pitched all last summer for the Kingsbridge team. That’s where I’ve always lived, you know, until father’s health began to fail, and he was sent South by one of hiswealthy parishioners. Philip Hazelton is a perfectly splendid fellow, and we’re great friends.”
Elgin’s face was the picture of confusion. “I—beg your pardon, Miss Harting,” he stammered. “I—I had no idea—you knew him, or I should never have mentioned his name.”
His expression was so contrite that the girl laughed merrily.
“Of course you didn’t,” she returned. “How should you when I haven’t even told you where I lived? I’ll forgive you, though, for otherwise I might never have known he was here. I’m sure, Mr. Elgin, if you knew Phil Hazelton as well as I do you’d admit that he was the thousandth man you spoke of a while ago who has a perfectly legitimate reason for not playing under his own name.”
“Very likely,” Elgin returned hastily. “I don’t doubt that you’re right.”
His voice was quite lacking in conviction, however. It was the tone of one agreeing out of mere politeness and because he was anxious to get away from a disagreeable subject.
Miss Harting, being keen of perception, noticed this, and her smile faded.
“You don’t really mean that?” she said abruptly.
Elgin spread out his hands depreciatingly. “Iwish you wouldn’t,” he returned. “A fellow can’t help having his opinions, you know. Let’s change the subject.”
“But I don’t want to change the subject,” she retorted warmly. “I insist on your telling me why you don’t agree with me.”
The pitcher’s long lashes drooped over his eyes, and he bit his lip.
“I knew Hazelton very well at college,” he began slowly. “We were friends until—certain things—came up which showed me—” he threw back his head, and looked her full in the eyes. “I can’t do it!” he burst out. “Please don’t ask me, Miss Harting. I’ve said more now than I should have. No matter what my opinion of him may be, I won’t talk about a fellow behind his back.”
His attitude of manly embarrassment was so well done that the girl was completely deceived. She was angry at herself for having led the conversation into this channel, but her estimation of this man who would say nothing against another with whom he was evidently not on friendly terms, increased by leaps and bounds.
They chatted on various other topics for a little while, but the conversation could not fail to be slightly constrained, and Elgin soon took his leave.
After he had gone Janet Harting returned to the parlor and stood for a space leaning thoughtfully against the mantel.
“It’s absurd!” she exclaimed aloud presently. “There’s been some misunderstanding between them. I won’t believe that Phil is anything but straightforward and absolutely honorable. He couldn’t do or think a mean thing. I’ll forget that I ever heard a whisper against him.”
But this was not quite possible. In spite of her determination, a nagging little doubt returned more than once to trouble Janet Harting. Somehow, she could not forget that Bert Elgin had known Hazelton at college—known him for years probably, with chances for seeing phases of his character which the intimate life at a big university alone can give; while her own acquaintance with that selfsame individual was limited to nine brief months.