THE REASON WHY
Out on the field next morning Lefty Locke threw himself heart and soul
into his work. He was conscious that Manager Brennan was watching his
efforts with the eyes of a lynx, and though that made him slightly
nervous at first, it presently came to have the opposite effect,
stimulating him to greater endeavor.
“Kid ain’t doing bad to-day,” drawled Buck Fargo critically to Jack
Stillman, sitting beside him on the bench. “He certainly was rotten in
the game, though. I wonder what ailed him? Don’t seem like one glass of
beer would knock a fellow out like that.”
“Depends on what’s in it besides the beer,” the newspaper man replied
impulsively.
The big backstop straightened up and flashed a keen glance at him.
“What do you mean by that?” he demanded shortly.
Stillman hesitated an instant, his face slightly flushed, “I suppose
I shouldn’t have said anything about it,” he returned slowly. “Lefty
didn’t want it to get out, but I can’t see any harm.”
And forthwith he proceeded to enlighten Fargo concerning the trick
which had been put over on Lefty the night Brennan was in Fort Worth.
When he had finished, the catcher made some vividly picturesque
comments. Then he relapsed into a thoughtful silence. Finally he turned
curiously to his companion.
“What’s the trouble between Elgin and Locke?” he asked briefly. “Don’t
tell me if it’s a secret, but it sure looks to me as if that was at the
bottom of the whole muss.”
“There isn’t a doubt of it in my mind,” Stillman answered. “Elgin hates
Lefty like poison, and has every reason in the world to do him dirt.
It happened when we were all at Princeton. Elgin was pitching on the
varsity――pitching mighty good ball, too. He and Lefty had always been
rivals, but Lefty couldn’t go out that year because of the back work he
had to make up on account of an attack of typhoid. Just the same, Elgin
seemed to have it in for him, and he never lost any chance to sneer
about him to other men, and make things generally disagreeable.
“Well, about the middle of the season a chap named Bob Ferris had his
pocketbook, watch, and a lot of little trinkets stolen. Somebody swiped
’em out of his room while he was at a lecture. He and Lefty were great
friends and were in and out of each other’s rooms all the time. Ferris
couldn’t find a single clew as to who had taken the stuff, but a few
days later Lefty came in from a recitation unexpectedly and caught
Bert Elgin in the hall right outside his door. He didn’t say anything
then, but went in and looked the room over. Nothing seemed out of place
except a table drawer which was a little way open. When he jerked it
out, there were two of the stolen scarfpins lying right on top of a
notebook belonging to Ferris, which he would probably have come in to
get that very afternoon.”
“The cur!” rasped Fargo. “He put ’em there a-purpose to throw the blame
on Locke.”
“Exactly. Lefty followed Elgin to his room, told him what he’d found
out, and started to give him a nice comfortable thrashing. In the
process of the scrimmage a watch fell out of Elgin’s pocket. It was
Ferris’ watch. Lefty told Ferris afterward that the sight of it made
him ashamed to be soiling his hands on such a mucker. He let up right
away, told Elgin that unless the stolen goods were returned in
twenty-four hours he’d go to the dean and tell him everything, and got
out. Ferris was in New York that day, but when he got back next morning
the stuff was all on his bureau.”
Fargo stared at him an instant. “Well?” he queried sharply. “Is that
all? Didn’t they put anybody wise to what the sneak had done?”
Stillman shook his head. “No. He’d have been fired out of college, and
there wasn’t anybody to take his place on the nine. Lefty and Ferris
talked it all over and decided to keep still for the sake of the
varsity.”
“Humph!” grunted the big backstop. “I’ll be hanged if I’d have done
it!” He paused a moment, interlacing his strong, brown fingers. “Well,
there ain’t any doubt that’s what started things going here,” he went
on. “Elgin’s sore as a boil, of course, to have Locke around, knowing
what he does about this stealing. How he worked this dope trick gets
me, though.”
The newspaper man started to explain his theory of the waiter’s
complicity, but in the midst of it the manager roared out an order to
Fargo to get into the game and limber up some. The big backstop obeyed
and was kept busy for the rest of the morning. Later on, however, he
sought Stillman again, to hear the remainder of the story.
When it had been told he made no comment. His face showed plainly,
however, that his interest was aroused to an unusual degree; and the
reporter congratulated himself on having secured a valuable ally for
Lefty.