CHAPTER XXXIVGIVEN THE LIE
The calmness of the speaker had its effect on the trembling young fellow, who stood there, hands clenched, breast heaving, slowly beginning to realize that it was his duty to do nothing that would humiliate the girl and involve her in the speculations of scandal-loving tongues.
“Let me out now,” he said, after a few moments, “and I’ll meet Hazelton as he is coming back. Miss Harting’s name shall not be mentioned.”
“That’s a bit more reasonable, but further thought ought to convince you that there’s nothing but folly in getting into a fist fight with him, in which you are sure to come off second best. Why give him the satisfaction of whipping you? You know it’s more than an even gamble that he would.”
Hutchinson looked sharply at King.
“Now, listen to me. You say the girl hates a liar, and he has sworn in her presence that he isnot Hazelton,” said the manager. “If you prove to her that he lied, isn’t it likely she’ll drop him like a hot flatiron? In that way, you’ll protect her, all right, and you’ll put the blade into him, after which any comparison on her part between you and the man who tried to deceive her will be decidedly to your advantage.”
“Yes,” admitted King, “perhaps so, but to think of him trying to carry this thing through in such a brazen—”
“He has simply besmirched himself, and his sojourn in Kingsbridge will be brief. Mike Riley has in his possession a letter from Paul Hazelton, which, as it is an effort to jack Riley up in the matter of salary—Riley having made Hazelton an offer to pitch for Bancroft—will establish Bancroft’s prior claim to the man. As near as I can learn, old Cope got Hazelton by paying him a preposterously big sum.”
“If he goes to Bancroft, he’ll still be pitching in the league and appearing regularly in Kingsbridge.”
Hutchinson permitted a frosty smile to fade across his face. “He’ll never pitch for Bancroft or any other team in the Northern League. Riley is sore. I am telling you in confidence that we have talked the matter over and agreed that Hazeltonshall be suspended indefinitely for tricky work. That will put an end to his meteoric career in these parts. All that was needed was proof positive that the man was Hazelton, and I have it.”
“When will he be suspended?”
“Some time this present week, when a meeting of the league association will be called in Bancroft especially to consider his case. Doubtless you know that Riley has already served notice on us that all games won by Kingsbridge with Locke on the mound will be protested. As a pitcher around here, the fellow is as good as a dead one this minute. He has killed himself in college baseball, also.”
“Which serves him right. But what will Kingsbridge do for a first-class pitcher?”
“I have one man coming, and another on the string. The first one I expect to arrive by Tuesday or Wednesday, at the latest. If I am left to manage this team, with no interference from Cope, I’ll manage it right. He has messed things up beautifully and given us a bad start.”
They talked until the scheming manager saw that King, though brooding, had calmed down; then, satisfied with what he had accomplished he unlocked the door.
Hutchinson descended the stairs with King. At the foot of the flight they encountered Tom Locke, just coming from the hotel office in company with Larry Stark. The pitcher had been telling Stark something, and both men were laughing. Believing he knew what Locke had been saying, and that it concerned Janet Harting, the lumber magnate’s son was again obsessed with white-hot anger.
“You’ll laugh out of the other side of your mouth in a day or two, Hazelton!” he rasped.
“I beg your pardon,” Tom returned, flushing. “My amusement does not concern you, King; and will you be good enough to call me Locke?”
“No, I will not; I’ll call you by your right name, which is Paul Hazelton. Deny it here, if you have the nerve.”
“Very well, I do deny it.”
“Then you’re a liar!”
He did not wait for the retaliation the insult seemed certain to bring, but leaped, with the final bitter word, at the accused man’s throat. Stepping sideways like a flash, Locke caught him as he sprang, whirled him round, slammed him up against the near-by partition, and held him there. The quickness and strength of the pitcher was amazing.
Instantly Stark sprang to part them, exclaiming:
“Don’t hit him, Tom—don’t hit him!”
“I haven’t any intention of hitting him—this time,” answered Locke. “But that was a nasty word he used, and he should be more careful.”
Hutchinson took a hand. Two or three other men came quickly from the office and joined in holding the struggling, panting lumber king’s son in check, Locke having released him and permitted himself to be pushed back.
“I say he’s a liar!” shouted Benton. “He knows he lies! I’ll prove it for everybody. Take your hands off me, and I’ll fight him here or anywhere else. I dare him to meet me like a man! He hasn’t the courage! He’s a coward!”
“You’re plumb anxious to get your face broke, ain’t ye?” snapped Larry Stark. “You wouldn’t last a minute with him. What’s eating you, anyhow?”
The hotel proprietor indignantly announced that he did not propose to have a fight in his house.
“I’m surprised, Mr. King, that you should start trouble here,” he said. “I ask you, as a gentleman, to quit it.”
“All right, Mr. Sawyer,” said Bent. “As youhave put it up to me that way, it goes. Take your hands off me, everybody. I won’t touch him again—here.”
“I didn’t notice that you touched him at all,” grinned Stark.
“But,” declared King, smoothing his rumpled coat and straightening his necktie, “I’m not done with him, as he is due to find out. I’ll get him yet, and get him good.”
After giving Locke a parting look of venomous hatred, the young man turned toward the open door and passed out.