A CLOSE CALL
The Giants were hailed with acclamations by the New York press and
public on their return. The sporting critics agreed that the team had
been “licked into shape” by their astute manager in a surprisingly short
time. One enthusiast even went so far as to hail them as the coming
champions, a thing which vexed McRae, who knew too much of the ups and
downs of baseball to want to claim a pennant before it was won.
He himself had more than one thing to worry about. The team had “got by”
so far through the marvelous pitching of Hughson and Joe. Not only had
they won a large proportion of their games, but they had relieved the
other pitchers when games were all but lost and pulled them out of the
fire. But where he had fondly counted on four first string pitchers, he
suddenly found himself reduced to two who were really pitching “up to
form.”
Markwith had proved to be not nearly so good as in the preceding year.
He still possessed marvelous speed and his curves were breaking well,
but he lacked endurance. Part of this was due, perhaps, to his winter on
the vaudeville stage, with its irregular hours and feverish atmosphere,
and part also to the wonderful record of nineteen straight the season
before. Perhaps the great strain had sapped his stamina. Whatever the
cause, he could not be relied on for a full nine inning game. For six
innings, he would pitch with all his old time skill and power. Then
would come a bad inning and--bang! to an accompaniment of base hits, the
game would go up in smoke.
Hartley also seemed to be going to pieces. His nerves were on edge.
He was sullen, moody and erratic. He had never been any too strong
mentally, and the life he lived had undermined his physical strength.
There were times when he pitched a brilliant game and showed flashes of
his old ability, but these were steadily growing fewer. McRae had by
turns coaxed and threatened, but he had almost reached the limit of his
patience, and Hartley’s stay with the Giants hung by a thread that might
snap at any moment.
A bright element in the outlook was the very evident fact that Jim
Barclay was a “comer.” Twice McRae had ventured to put him in against
the weaker teams. In one case he had won, and in the other held the
enemy to a tie. But he was not yet ripe enough to take a regular turn
in the box. Joe helped him all he could, and Robson, who tried him out
each morning, was sure that in time he would develop into a star.
Joe was jubilant at the success he had met with so far. He felt stronger
and better physically than he had ever felt in his life. His arm was
giving him no trouble, despite the unusual demands made upon it, and he
never shirked or complained if he was called out of his regular turn.
As Robson confided to McRae, they had found a man at last who was a
“glutton for work.”
But Joe had another object of devotion outside of his attachment to his
team, and shortly after the return from the first Western trip he was
lifted into the seventh heaven of delight by the receipt of a dainty
letter in feminine handwriting that told him Mabel was coming to New
York. She did not know how long she should stay, but it would be for
a week at least. Reggie was coming with her. She was not sure at what
hotel she should stop, but if Joe would like to have her do so, she
would call him up by ’phone and tell him where she was stopping.
If Joe would like!
His blood raced wildly a few days later when he took up the telephone
and heard Mabel’s voice.
“Is that you, Joe?” she asked. “This is Mabel.”
“Don’t I know it?” he answered. “Tell me quick where you are!”
“I’m at the Marlborough,” she answered, “but----”
“Yes, I know,” said Joe. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
He raced to the street, hailed a taxi, and in less than the promised ten
minutes stood in the presence of the one person on earth he most wanted
to see.
Joe had thought that it was impossible for her to be prettier or sweeter
than she had been in Goldsboro, but now he knew that he had been
mistaken.
“How impetuous you are!” she pouted. “You didn’t let me finish what I
was saying on the ’phone.”
“I suppose a man dying of thirst is impetuous when he catches sight of
water,” answered Joe. “I suppose----”
But what Joe supposed was destined to remain unspoken at that time, for
just then Reggie, who had been down at the hotel office, came into the
room. If he had only waited five minutes longer! Perhaps even Mabel
could have been reconciled to her brother’s absence, if the blood that
dyed her cheeks was any indication.
“How are you, old chap?” cried Reggie, wholly unaware that he was not
wanted. “I’m no end glad to see you, don’t you know. So glad that you
looked us up. I hope you’ll find time to go around with us a lot while
we’re here.”
“I certainly will if you will let me,” declared Joe, shaking hands with
his friend. “Our team is playing at home all this week, thank fortune.
I want you to be my guest at as many of the games as you care to see,
and in the evenings we can take in some of the plays that are running
in town, or take trips down to the seashore. There’s no better summer
resort after all than little old New York.”
“I agree with you there, old man,” answered Reggie, “and we’ll be glad
to put the matter to the test. But tonight I want you to stay and take
dinner with us at the hotel.”
And as Mabel seconded the invitation, Joe did not have to be urged very
hard. As a matter of fact, in his present mood it would have taken
something like a crane and derrick to remove him from what had suddenly
become the most interesting place in New York.
They had a most enjoyable dinner and it was only after he had returned
to his hosts’ rooms that Joe broached the subject of Talham Tabbs.
“Have you had any news of your securities?” he asked, when he had Reggie
for a moment alone.
A frown came over his friend’s face.
“Not a blessed thing doing,” he declared. “I’ve run down every clue that
had the least promise to it and I’m just as far away from getting them
back as I’ve been from the beginning. I guess they’re past praying for.”
“Of course, you told Mabel as you promised?” ventured Joe.
“Sure thing,” said Reggie. “I told her that very night. The dear girl
has helped and cheered me up in every way possible. She’s pure gold.”
Joe assented to this with what might have seemed almost unnecessary
emphasis.
“Never give up the ship though, old man,” he encouraged. “We’ll lay that
fellow by the heels yet. Soon or late we’ll nab him.”
“We’ll hope so,” said Reggie, with a faint smile; and as Mabel came over
just then to where they were standing, the theme was changed.
They decided on several ways to pass the week agreeably, and among other
things it was settled that they should visit the Bronx Zoo, of which
Mabel had often heard and which had just been adding largely to its
already wonderful collection.
The next day the Giants were to play the Brooklyns, but when Joe looked
out of the window, he saw that the rain was falling steadily.
“No game today if this keeps up,” was his mental comment.
It did keep up until afternoon, and the game was called off. At two
o’clock it cleared, and Joe called up Mabel and suggested that they
should go to the Zoo that afternoon. Reggie was engaged downtown, but
Mabel complied gladly with the suggestion.
They had passed two delightful hours wandering about in the famous Park
when, just as they were nearing one of the animal houses, there was a
sudden commotion and the crowd scattered in all directions. From within
came the hoarse shouts of keepers, and attendants came running with
ropes and pitchforks.
“Look out!” they shouted. “Run for your lives! Get inside the other
houses! The leopard is loose!”
There was a wild panic, and the crowd rushed frantically for shelter.
The doorways were blocked by a frantic, struggling mob. The screams of
women and frightened children blended with the deeper shouts of the men,
and the result was pandemonium.
Joe saw that there was no chance of getting inside. He seized Mabel by
the arm and hurried down one of the side paths, at the foot of which was
a small toolhouse whose door he saw was open.
They had nearly reached it when Mabel gave a stifled shriek.
“Look!” she cried, and pointed to a clump of bushes at the side of the
path and about twenty feet away.
Joe looked, and for a moment his heart stood still.
Crouching at the foot of the bushes with his tail moving slowly to and
fro, was a large leopard, his yellow eyes glowing wickedly and every
muscle stiffened as he prepared for a spring.
Joe had never carried a weapon, and even if he had had a revolver it is
doubtful whether it would have stopped that huge body if it had come
hurtling toward them. He looked wildly about him after he had thrust
Mabel behind a bench.
At his feet was a jagged piece of rock weighing perhaps a pound. It was
a forlorn chance but his only one.
Like a flash, he stooped, grasped it firmly, and hurled it with all his
might at the leopard. The distance was so short that he could not miss,
and the rock caught the brute in the neck just under the ear. There was
a scream of pain and rage, the topaz glow faded from the eyes, and the
beast collapsed in a crumpled heap.
Joe did not wait an instant. He was not sure whether the brute was
killed or merely stunned. He took Mabel by the arm and half carrying her
got her to one of the gates. He put her into a taxi standing at the curb
and they were whirled downtown to the Marlborough. She was white and
shaken at their narrow escape and Joe himself was by no means calm. If
anything had happened to Mabel! He shuddered at the thought.
“Oh, Joe, you have saved my life!” she exclaimed, when she could speak
coherently. “That horrible brute!” she shuddered.
Joe wanted to tell her why that life was so [see Tr. Notes] precious to
him and to urge that since he had saved it, it fairly belonged to him.
But this would have been taking her at a disadvantage just then and he
contented himself with the warm pressure of the little hand that rested
in his and showed no inclination to withdraw.