CHAPTER XXVIWAS IT A BLUFF?
Kingsbridge was to play at home that day, with Lakeport. It being the middle of the week, the crowd on hand at the hour for the game to begin was not more than one-third as large as the average Saturday attendance.
The enthusiasm aroused by the two clean victories over Bancroft, however, was sufficient to bring out nearly every interested Kingsbridger who could come; and many who knew they should not do so came, temporarily neglecting their business. Soothing a troubled conscience is often the task of the howling fan on the bleachers, and if games were never attended save by those who feel that they have a perfect right to attend, the gate receipts would dwindle frightfully.
Henry Cope arrived as the locals were getting in the last round of practice before the contest started. Hutchinson had his eye out for the storekeeper, to whom he beckoned at once, rising from the bench.
“Well,” said Cope, as he came up, flushed, “how’s things lookin’ to-day?”
“All right, as far as this game is concerned,” replied the manager, in his unenthusiastic way; “but I have something in my pocket that’s got me guessing.”
“Hey? What is it?”
“A letter from Mike Riley, received to-day noon.”
“Oh, is that so?” snapped Cope, instantly deciding that he knew something as to the tenor of that letter. “Well, what’s that bullyraggin’ bluffer got to say? Lemme see it.”
“I’ll show it to you later, when we’re not quite so conspicuous. I can state the gist of its contents accurately, for I’ve read it over several times. Riley asserts that, according to Rule Fourteen of the by-laws of the Northern League, he holds first and undisputable claim to the pitcher who has been working for us under the name of Tom Locke.”
“The dratted snake!” rasped the storekeeper. “He can’t gull me! There ain’t nothin’ to it, Hutchinson, so don’t you let him git ye on a string.”
“Are you sure there’s nothing to it? He demands that we surrender the man to Bancroft atonce, and says he has already notified you of his claim.”
“Oh, yes, he’s notified me, in a way; and I practically told him where he could go. It’s a put-up job to gouge us out of a pitcher that’s got the whole o’ Bancroft scared pea green. We’ve got ’em goin’, and they’re afraid they can’t beat us on the level, so, arter their usual style, they put up a job to weaken us by stealin’ our pitcher. That’s Bancroft out an’ out, and Mike Riley’s a good tool to work the trick for them; but he can’t work it—he can’t, I tell ye!”
“Doubtless you know more about the merits of the case than I do,” said Hutchinson calmly; “for you signed this man who calls himself Locke. Riley says Locke is a Princeton College pitcher by the name of Hazelton. How about that?”
“Riley thinks he’s wise,” returned Cope evasively, “but mebbe he don’t know as much as he’s got a notion he does. Anyhow, whether Locke is Hazelton or not, I’m dead sure Bancroft ain’t got no legal claim to him.”
“I hope you’re right, of course, for Locke seems to be a fairly good pitcher.”
“Fairly good—fairly! Why, he’s a ripper, a bird, a wonder! His match ain’t never pitched the horsehide in these parts.”
“Perhaps not; we won’t argue about that. From his letter, I should judge that Riley really means to put up a fight for Locke, or Hazelton, whichever you choose to call him. He states that, unless the man is immediately released to him, he will make a formal protest to Anson Graham, president of the league, and he has requested me to call the attention of the directors of our local association to the matter.”
“Nothin’ but wind. He won’t push it, for he ain’t got a leg to stand on.”
“He likewise states that, in case we use Lefty again, the protest will contain a request that all games in which Locke plays on any Northern League team except Bancroft shall not be reckoned in the percentage record of such a team. Now, Mr. Cope, if he does push this thing, and the decision should go against us, it would knock the stuffing out of our standing in the league. We are also warned not to use Locke again until the question is settled. Unless you know beyond the shadow of uncertainty that Bancroft can’t establish her claim, we’d better hurry the matter to a settlement, or keep Locke on the bench.”
Henry Cope was greatly wrought up.
“Keep him on the bench! That’s just what Riley’d like to frighten us inter doin’. If hecould only scare us so we wouldn’t dast use Locke for a while he’d have the laugh on us, whether he proved his case or not. He’s full o’ tricks as an egg’s full o’ meat.”
“Well, until the matter is settled, I think we’d better use Locke as little as possible. I don’t believe it would be advisable, under any circumstances, to run him into this game to-day.”
“This game! I should say not! We’ve got other pitchers for games like this. We’ll keep Locke special to down Bancroft. If we can’t hold our own with the rest of the teams with the pitchers we’ve got, we’ll git more pitchers.”
The umpire was ready, and the game was on the verge of starting, so Hutchinson returned to the bench.
Despite his outward boldness, Henry Cope was troubled, for it began to seem that Riley really meant to press his claim, an action that would be foolish unless he could back it up with proof. The grocer sought Tom Locke, and drew him away from the bench.
The young man listened to Cope’s words, frowning a little, the blood slowly mounting into his cheeks.
“They seem determined to make as much trouble for me as possible,” he said. “I have a feelingthat Hutchinson doesn’t like me too much, and there is another individual in town who is doing his prettiest to stir things up. Benton King is the chap I mean. He has sent for a photograph of Paul Hazelton.”
“Has he? Well, what d’ye think o’ that? See here, Bent’s ruther smashed on the parson’s daughter. You ain’t been cuttin’ in on his preserves, have ye?”
“I scarcely know the girl,” answered Locke; but the flush in his cheeks deepened. “Mr. Cope, consider that I’ve been in this town only a few days.”
“I know that, but some o’ you baseball fellers are pretty swift with the gals. They generally git their pick in towns like this, for the gals go smashed on ’em right off. Still, Janet Harting ain’t just that kind; she’s a fine little lady, and she wouldn’t pick up with no stranger in a hurry, whether he played baseball or not.”
“I’d scarcely fancy her foolish or forward. She appears to be a very nice girl, indeed.”
“They don’t grow none better, boy. She’s all right, though her father’d put an everlastin’ end to baseball, if he could have his way. You’re dead sure this man Riley ain’t got nothin’ on ye?”
“I’m practically sure of it. He’s bluffing, Mr.Cope, and he’ll lay down when he finds he can’t drive you.”
There was something in the way this was said, however, that left a vague uneasiness in the grocer’s mind. “Practically sure,” he muttered, as he sat on the bleachers, scarcely paying any attention to the run of the game. “Why ain’t he dead sure? It’s mighty odd that he should be at all onsartin on that p’int.”