HOW IT ALL HAPPENED
Cheer after cheer went up from the throng of visiting fans. Hats and
canes and newspapers were thrown into the air with careless abandon.
Men brought their fists down on shoulders and heads of persons they
had never seen before; and these persons merely pushed out the tops of
crushed derbies, and grinned.
Down from the stands they poured like a cataract, yelling Locke’s name.
They caught and surrounded him before he could flee to the shelter of
the clubhouse.
Jack Stillman was one of the first to reach the field. Though he
longed to hurry over to Lefty and shake his friend’s hand, there was
something more important which must be done first. He headed straight
for Brennan, who, with gloomy countenance, was about to leave the field.
“Wait a second, Jim,” the reporter called swiftly. “I’ve got something
to tell you. You fired Lefty Locke because you thought he was a
quitter,” he went on when they came together.
“You needn’t rub it in,” snapped the sorely tried manager. “If that’s
all you’ve got to say――”
“It isn’t,” returned Stillman quickly. “Locke said he never wrote that
fake telegram which called him away from Ashland the day of the game
he was to pitch. He told the truth. It was sent by one of his own
teammates, who hated him and wanted to put him in bad.”
“What?” exploded the stocky manager. “I don’t believe it!”
The reporter pulled a folded paper from his pocket and handed it to
Brennan. “There’s the proof,” he said quietly.
The manager jerked it open and cast his eyes hurriedly down the sheet.
Wrath clouded his face.
“Elgin!” he growled throwing back his head. “Where is he? Just let me――
Hey, you Elgin! Come here!”
His voice and manner had drawn several curious players near, among them
Buck Fargo. The disgruntled pitcher, hearing his name uttered in that
tone, came reluctantly over, expecting a call-down for his work on the
slab. What followed was totally unexpected.
“You can pack!” Brennan snapped, eying the fellow with a look of
scathing contempt. “I’m going to send you down to the ‘Lobsters.’ They
want a pitcher, and they can have you――for keeps, if I can’t sell you.”
The Lobsters were a much scoffed-at minor league club.
Elgin’s jaw dropped and his face flamed scarlet. “You’re going to send
me down to the――the Lobsters?” he stammered.
“I am. I’ve found out the dirty trick you played on Locke in Ashland,
and I wouldn’t have a scoundrel like you on my team if you was the best
pitcher in the country――which you ain’t, by a long shot.”
For an instant the pitcher stood staring at him, an indescribable
expression on his face. He cast a single swift glance at the players
standing around. Then, without a word, he turned and walked hastily
away through the gathering crowd.
“Good riddance!” growled Brennan.
He stood chewing meditatively on the stub of an unlighted cigar. After
a moment he shrugged his shoulders and pushed his way through the crowd
to where Lefty and a few of the Blue Stockings were hemmed in by the
throng.
“You did a fine job, kid,” he said gruffly, thrusting out a square,
stubby hand. “Shake!”
Without hesitation Lefty gripped his fingers. Brennan’s treatment
had caused him some bitter hours, but this was no time to harbor
resentment. The short manager turned to Kennedy, his mouth twisted in a
wry smile.
“You can kick me good and hard, Ken,” he said. “I sure fell flat on
this deal.” His eyes twinkled, and the smile broadened to a grin. “I
sort of think this boy belongs to me. I had the first rights to him,
and I reckon I’ll pull him back now.”
“Not if I know it!” laughed Kennedy. “You were thick enough to release
him unconditionally. He belongs to me now, and you bet he’s going to
stay.”
But old Jack could not foresee the approaching wave of change that
was to leave him stranded as a baseball manager. Nor was Lefty Locke,
in spite of the splendid beginning he had made, to find it all fair
sailing in the Big League. With Kennedy retired and Lefty missing,
following his suspension by the new manager, the Blue Stockings were
destined to have their troubles in the fight for the pennant. How old
Jack and the young southpaw star returned to the field of battle barely
in time to save the day is dramatically told in “Lefty o’ the Blue
Stockings,” the third volume of The Big League Series.
Brennan chuckled a little over Kennedy’s retort, and then turned to
Lefty, his face suddenly serious.
“I’ve found out about that fake telegram,” he said, in a low tone.
“Jack Stillman ferreted out the truth, and the Hornets won’t have any
further use for Elgin.”
He walked away without waiting for a reply, leaving Lefty almost
bewildered at the events which were coming so thick and fast. In the
midst of everything, however, he kept thinking of Janet and wondering
whether there was any possible chance of her coming down upon the field.
The question was swiftly answered by the appearance of Jack Stillman,
elbowing his way through the crowd.
“Some pitching for a starter in the Big League, old man,” he laughed,
his face glowing; “you were pretty fair! I can’t keep you now, though;
there’s somebody over by the stand who wants a word with you. See you
in the clubhouse, later.”
Taking his friend by the arm, he piloted him through the throng, now
beginning to stream toward the gates, to a point from which he could
see the girl he had been thinking about so much. She stood near one
of the lower boxes of the center stand, a slim, graceful figure in a
blue tailor-made gown. At a little distance her friends were gathered,
watching the animated scene interestedly.
Janet herself was talking earnestly to Buck Fargo, but her eyes were
quick to spy out Lefty as he approached. The glad smile she gave him
was something to be treasured long in his memory.
“Lefty!” she exclaimed, in a low voice, which vibrated with emotion.
She took a quick step forward; their hands met. “I can’t tell you how
glad and proud I am――and sorry.”
The man held her hands for an instant. His face was puzzled.
“Sorry?” he repeated. “What have I done to make you sorry?”
Her lovely eyes were fixed earnestly on his. Fargo had slipped away.
“Nothing,” she returned hastily. “What you have done is
splendid――wonderful! It’s what I did that makes me sorry. Mr. Fargo has
just told me everything, and I hate myself when I think how I――liked
that dreadful Mr. Elgin――and tried to make you friends, and――and――”
She stopped abruptly and bit her lip. Lefty looked around. Never before
had he detested a crowd with such intensity. His eyes flashed back
to hers, and something in their expression brought a vivid rush of
crimson flaming to her face.
“You mustn’t think about it,” he urged softly. “You weren’t to blame,
and, anyway, it’s all over now. Everything’s turned out right. Please
forget it.”
His fingers tightened about hers. Her lids drooped. They had forgotten
the crowd pouring out of the field. The clatter and tramp in the
swiftly thinning stands, the last few cheers from the departing
rooters, fell upon deaf ears. In that single moment they were conscious
of nothing else in the whole wide world but just each other.
THE END
Transcriber’s Notes:
――Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
――Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
――Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
――Inconsistent hyphenation and compound words were made
consistent only when a predominant form was found.