RECKLESS DRIVING
In New York, the preparation for the World Series was rapidly taking
form. Little else was thought or spoken of. Pictures of the teams and
players usurped the front pages of the newspapers, crowding all other
news into the background. For the time being the ballplayer was king.
It was generally agreed by the experts that the contest would be close.
Neither side could look for a walkover. The fight would be for blood
from the very start.
On paper the teams seemed pretty evenly matched. If the Red Sox were
a little quicker in fielding, the Giants seemed to have “the edge” on
their opponents in batting. It was felt that the final decision would be
made in the pitcher’s box.
And here the “dope” favored the Red Sox. This was due chiefly to the
accident that had befallen Hughson. Had that splendid veteran been
in his usual shape, it was conceded that New York ought to win and
win handsomely. For Boston could not show a pair to equal Hughson and
Matson, although the general excellence of their staff was very high.
But with Hughson out of the Series, it looked as though Joe’s shoulders
would have to bear the major part of the pitching burden; and though
those shoulders were sturdy, no one man could carry so heavy a load as
that would be.
Thus the problem of New York’s success seemed to resolve itself into
this: Would Hughson have so far recovered as to take part in the games?
And behind this was still another question: Even if he should take part,
would he be up to his usual form after the severe ordeal through which
he had passed?
So great was the anxiety on this score that almost every new edition
of the afternoon papers made a point of publishing the very latest
news of the great pitcher’s condition. Most of these were reassuring,
for Hughson really was making remarkable progress, and it goes without
saying that, regardless of cost, he was receiving the very best
attention from the most skilful specialists that could be secured.
In the meantime the National Commission--the supreme court in
baseball--had met in conclave at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in New York.
They really had little to do, except to reaffirm the rules which had
governed previous Series and had been found to work well in practice.
The Series was to consist of seven games, to be played alternately on
succeeding days in the two cities. The place where the games were to
start would be decided by the toss of a coin. If rain interfered with
any of the games, the game was to be played in the same city on the
first fair day.
The Series was to finish when either of the teams had won four games.
Only in the first four games played were the players to share in the
money paid to see them. This provision was made so that there should be
no temptation for the players to “spin out” the Series in order to share
additional receipts. It was up to each team to win four straight games
if it could.
Of the money taken in at these first four games, ten per cent. was to go
to the National Commission and ten per cent. into the clubs’ treasuries.
The balance was to be divided between the two teams in the proportion of
sixty per cent. to the winner and forty per cent. to the loser.
The players had no financial interest whatever in any money taken in at
other games, which went to the clubs themselves, less the percentage of
the National Commission.
“Hurrah!” cried Jim Barclay in delight, as he broke into the rooms
occupied by Joe and himself.
“What’s the matter?” asked Joe, looking up. “Dropped into a fortune? Got
money from home?”
“We’ve won the toss of the coin!” ejaculated Jim. “New York gets the
first game.”
“Bully!” cried Joe. “That’s all to the good. That’s the first break in
the game and it’s come our way. Let’s hope that luck will stay with us
all through.”
“And just as we supposed, the first game will start on Friday,”
continued Jim. “So that we’ll have about a week for practice before we
have to buckle to the real work.”
“McRae told me this morning that he had almost all the practice team
together now, and that we’d start to playing against them on Monday,”
said Joe.
“It’s up to us to make the most of this little breathing spell, then,”
returned Jim. “I think I’ll take a little run down to the beach
to-morrow. Care to come along?”
“I’ve got an engagement myself to-morrow,” Joe replied. “I’m going for
an automobile ride with Reggie Varley and Miss Varley. By the way, Jim,
why don’t you come along with us? Reggie told me to bring along a friend
if I cared to. There’s plenty of room, and he has a dandy auto. Flies
like a bird. Come along.”
“Where are you going?”
“Out on Long Island somewhere. Probably stop at Long Beach for dinner.”
“Sure, I’ll come,” said Jim readily. “But don’t think I’m not on to your
curves, you old rascal. You want me to engage Reggie in conversation so
that you can have Miss Varley all to yourself.”
“Nonsense!” disclaimed Joe, flushing a trifle.
“Well, then,” said the astute Jim, “I’ll let you have the front seat
with Reggie, while I sit back in the tonneau.”
“Not on your life you won’t!” said Joe, driven out into the open.
“All right,” grinned Jim resignedly. “I’ll be the goat. When do we
start?”
“Reggie will have the car up in front of the Marlborough at about ten,
he said. We’ll have a good early start and make a day of it.”
“All right,” said Jim. “Let’s root for good weather.”
They could not have hoped for a finer day than that which greeted them
on the following morning. The sun shone brightly, but there was just
enough fall crispness to make the air fresh and delicious.
Reggie was on time, nor did Mabel avail herself of the privilege of her
sex and keep them waiting. The girl looked bewitching in her new fall
costume and the latest thing in auto toggery, and her rosy cheeks and
sparkling eyes drew Joe more deeply than ever into the toils. Jim’s
mischievous glance at them as they settled back in the tonneau while he
took his seat beside Reggie, left no doubt in his own mind how matters
stood between them.
Whatever else Reggie lacked, he was a master hand at the wheel, and he
wound his way in and out of the thronging traffic with the eye and hand
of an expert. They soon reached and crossed the Queensboro Bridge, and
then Reggie put on increased speed and the swift machine darted like a
swallow along one of the magnificent roads in which the island abounds.
Beautiful Long Island lay before them, dotted with charming homes and
rich estates, fertile beyond description, swept by ocean breezes,
redolent of the balsam of the pines, “fair as a garden of the Lord.”
Jim, like the good fellow and true friend that he was, absorbed Reggie’s
attention--that is, as much of it as could be taken from the road that
unrolled like a ribbon beneath the flying car--and Joe and Mabel were
almost as much alone as though they had had the car to themselves. And
it was very evident that neither was bored with the other’s society.
Joe’s hand may have brushed against Mabel’s occasionally, but that was
doubtless due to the swaying of the car. At any rate, Mabel did not seem
to mind.
At the rate at which they were going, it was only a little while before
they heard the sound of the breakers, and the great hotel at Long Beach
loomed up before them.
Reggie put up his car and they spent a glorious hour on the beach,
watching the white-capped waves as they rushed in like race horses with
crested manes and thundered on the sands. Then they had a choice and
carefully selected dinner served in full view of the sea.
“Some hotel, this,” remarked Reggie as he gazed about him. “Make a dent
in a man’s pocketbook to live here right along.”
“Yes,” agreed Jim. “They give you the best there is, but you have to pay
the price. Reminds me of a story that used to be told of a famous hotel
in Washington. The proprietor was known among statesmen all over the
country for the way he served beefsteak smothered in onions. One man who
had tried the dish advised his friend to do the same the next time he
went to Washington.”
“But onions!” exclaimed his friend with a shudder. “Think of one’s
breath.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” replied the other. “When you get the bill it
will take your breath away.”
Reggie laughed, and, as the afternoon was getting on, ordered the car to
be brought around. They had thought to go out along the south shore as
far as Patchogue, before turning about for home.
They were bowling along on the Merrick Road in the vicinity of Bay
Shore, when an automobile behind them came rushing past at a reckless
rate of speed. It almost grazed Reggie’s car, and the quick turn he was
obliged to make came within an ace of sending the car into a ditch.
“My word!” cried the indignant Reggie. “Those bally beggars ought to be
pinched. A little more and they’d have smashed us.”
“Half drunk, most likely,” commented Jim. “They’ll kill somebody yet if
they keep that up. By Jove, I believe they’ve done it now!”
From up the road came a chorus of yells and shouts. They saw the flying
automobile hesitate for a moment and then plunge on, leaving a limp and
motionless form sprawled out in the road behind it.