JANET HARTING WONDERS
Lefty did not devote much more thought that night to Bert Elgin and
his doings. Just before supper a letter arrived which drove every
other idea from his head. For a second or two he stood staring at the
familiar handwriting, wondering how in the world Janet had found out
where he was. When he hastily slit the envelope and took in the meaning
of the few lines on that single sheet of paper, his astonishment knew
no bounds.
First he gave a long whistle. Then a wide grin overspread his face.
It did not much matter what had brought the girl to Ashland, the fact
remained that she was here and that he would see her that night. That
was all that really counted.
He ate his supper hurriedly, oblivious for the first time to the
continued coldness of his companions. His thoughts were elsewhere.
Afterward he hastened up to his room and changed his clothes. Half an
hour later he was running up the steps of the house on High Street.
Janet received him alone, her father having retired directly after
dinner. To Lefty she seemed prettier than ever, and there was no
mistaking her pleasure in seeing him. After the first greetings were
over, they sat down on the sofa, each eager to hear all about the
other’s doings.
“Father hasn’t been very well all winter,” the girl explained in answer
to Lefty’s first question. “You remember my writing to you how he
kept catching colds so easily, and couldn’t seem to shake them off?
His rheumatism was worse than it had ever been before, too, and I was
beginning to get really worried about him when one day, about a week
ago, Cyrus King came in, and told father he’d arranged for us to go
South and stay till spring. You know that gruff, positive way he has?
Well, he’d planned it all out before he said a word to us, insisted on
paying our expenses, and wouldn’t even let us thank him. Of course,
he has quantities of money, and he and father are such old friends I
didn’t mind much taking it from him.”
“It was good of him!” Lefty said warmly. “But how in the world did
you happen to pick on Ashland to come to? That’s what I don’t quite
understand.”
“We didn’t. At least, that’s not where we’re going to settle down.
Doctor Lansing knew about some wonderful mineral springs at Billings,
farther south in the State, and advised us to go there. We’ve only
stopped off here for a week or ten days to see father’s old friend, Mr.
Forsythe.”
Lefty nodded and leaned back, his muscular fingers linked loosely over
one knee.
“I see. But what gets me is how you knew I was here. You could have
knocked me down with a feather when I got your note. I suppose you must
have seen my name in some paper that listed me as one of Brennan’s new
recruits.”
She shook her head. Her lips were half smiling, but her eyes were fixed
on his face with an odd sort of intentness.
“No,” she returned quietly. “Mr. Elgin told me.”
“Elgin?” Locke repeated incredulously. “You can’t possibly mean Bert
Elgin? I know you can’t mean that man!”
Annoyed by the astonishment and involuntary disapproval in his voice,
she drew herself up the least bit. If there was one quality on which
Janet Harting prided herself it was her judgment, and she had never
allowed any one save her father to criticise a person on whom she chose
to bestow her friendship.
“Why not?” she retorted. “I like him very much. Besides, he was the
means of saving father and me from a serious accident.”
She went on briefly to tell how the acquaintance had come about, and
Lefty listened in frowning silence, gnawing his under lip with firm
white teeth.
Perhaps it was just as well that he had been prevented from giving
vent to that first natural outburst of indignation which leaped
up within him. The discovery that Elgin, of all men, had made the
acquaintance and apparently won the liking of this girl filled him with
intense anger. The cur wasn’t fit even to speak to her, and in that
moment Lefty detested him as never before. Only the impossibility of
interrupting Janet kept him from pouring out an impulsive account of
what he knew about the scoundrel, and the even more contemptible things
he suspected.
But, with the passing of that first throb of anger, Locke felt that
this would merely make matters worse. Certain as he was in his own
mind of Elgin’s complicity in the plot against himself, he had no real
proof, and anything he might say against the man would seem like the
product of jealousy.
“He came to call last night,” the girl concluded, “and father was
quite charmed with him.” She hesitated an instant, and then went on
slowly: “I’m afraid you’re not very good friends, are you, Phil?”
“Oh! You gathered that, did you?” Lefty said stiffly. “I suppose he
blackguarded me to beat the band.”
“He did nothing of the sort. He never said a word against you. I simply
got the impression from his manner, and thought it was a pity you
shouldn’t be on better terms.”
“That’s out of the question,” Lefty retorted shortly. He was perplexed
over his inability to let her know exactly what sort of a man Bert
Elgin was, and that added no little asperity to his manner. “We could
never be friends.”
Janet sighed a little. She was very human, and where is the girl who
is not thrilled by the thought of reconciling old enemies and healing
old sores by her influence? She did not give up hope of some day
accomplishing it in this case. She only realized that nothing more
could be done at present, and, womanlike, tucking it away in her mind
for future use, changed the subject abruptly.
“You really didn’t deserve to have me write you,” she said more
lightly, “after the way you’ve neglected me lately. You must have got
my last letter over two weeks ago, and I haven’t heard a word from you
since.”
“I know it,” Lefty acknowledged. “I ought to have written, but
everything came about so unexpectedly, Janet, that I put it off till
I could have something definite to tell you. Just because I’m with a
Big League team now doesn’t mean I’ll stay. I’ve got to make good, and
there were two or three things at first which handicapped me so that I
had very serious doubts of ever doing it. I did write you a long letter
last night, though, but naturally I sent it to Kingsbridge. You’ll
probably get it in a week or so.”
“Yes; all my mail is forwarded. But of course you’ll make good, Phil. I
don’t see how you can have any doubt of it. Just look at the wonderful
way you pitched last summer.”
Lefty smiled whimsically. “It’s very nice of you to think that, Janet,”
he said. “But there’s a lot of difference between last summer and now.
This crowd is one of the fastest in the country, and I’ll have to be
on the jump every minute of the time to keep up with them. I really do
think I have a show, though, and that’s what made me write to you.”
“I’m sure you have,” the girl returned positively. “Do you have any
games? I’m crazy to see you pitch.”
“There’s a short practice game every day, but I don’t know how soon
they’ll give me a chance on the slab. I’ll tell you what: If I find I’m
going to be used, I’ll tell you or send you word, and you can come out
to see the game. If that doesn’t happen before you leave here, you’d
better come, anyway; for the playing is worth seeing.”
“Good!” returned Janet. “I’d love to come, and I can bring Jean
Forsythe. She’s awfully nice, and crazy about baseball.” She paused for
an instant, and then went on, more slowly: “I should think, now that
you’re in the Big League, Phil, you’d play under your own name. You’re
not ashamed to, are you?”
“Great Scott, no!” Lefty exclaimed. “What put that notion into your
head? You know how impossible it was to use my own name last summer,
and, now that I’ve made what reputation I have under the name of Locke,
it wouldn’t be good policy to change. You should remember that I have
a father, also, who is strongly prejudiced against baseball, and I see
no need of dragging the name of Hazelton into it. There’s not much in
a name, anyhow. Many fellows take a different one, or have one thrust
upon them by the fans.”
There was a note of finality in his voice which made the girl realize
the futility of continuing the subject. She was wise enough not to
try, but after he had gone she could not help remembering Bert Elgin’s
scornful remark that a professional could always find plenty of
plausible excuses for playing under a name which was not his own.