TOM FERNALD’S PROPOSITION.
Tom Fernald, the Rockford manager, returned home in anything but a
pleasant frame of mind. He had counted on victory, and defeat had cost
him some good money. Having heard of the result at Seaslope, he also
figured over the standing of the teams, and his anxiousness increased as
he fully realized the critical nature of the situation. He knew enough
about baseball to understand that fortune had favored Rockford in many
instances, and enabled her to retain first place. At one time he had
encouraged Seaslope and rejoiced in her victories over Fairhaven and
Maplewood, little dreaming the team was likely to become a dangerous
antagonist for first position at the end of the season.
He had felt satisfied over the success of Maplewood with a new team,
being confident that Rockford would not suffer through this success. Now
the complexion of things had changed greatly. The loss of two more games
might push Rockford down and make an opportunity for those who had
previously criticised him and his management to say, “I told you so.”
Fernald dropped off the car at the Corndike and came face to face with
Brad Buckhart, of the Fairhavens, as he entered the hotel.
“How do you do, Buckhart?” he nodded. “So you had hard luck yourself,
did you? It must have been a hot game. Twelve innings, was it?”
“Yes, twelve warm ones,” nodded the Texan.
“You did well to hold Seaslope down in such a manner. Didn’t think you
could do it. Those fellows have a hard team to beat over there. How were
the hits?”
“They made one more than we did.”
“And the errors?”
“Neither team made an error to-day.”
Fernald whistled.
“By Jove! that was a great game. What are you going to do to-morrow?”
Brad grinned.
“We’re going to do our level best to make you hump yourself, Mr.
Fernald,” he replied. “We’ll have my pard in the box to-morrow, and you
know what that means.”
“Then Merriwell didn’t pitch to-day?”
“No.”
“I’d like to have a little talk with you, Buckhart,” said the Rockford
manager, taking Brad by the arm. “Let’s sit down over here.”
The Texan wondered why Fernald should wish to talk with him, but walked
over to some chairs in a corner of the office, where they sat down quite
by themselves.
“You’re a pretty good friend to Merriwell, aren’t you?” asked Fernald.
“Sure thing,” nodded Brad.
“And you’re the only catcher on the Fairhaven team?”
“I opine I am. Some of the others might go under the bat, but they don’t
advertise themselves as catchers.”
“There’s no other man on the team who can hold Merriwell, is there?”
“I don’t like to get swelled up in my statements, Mr. Fernald; but I
will say that Dick and I are a whole lot familiar with each other, and
work pretty well together.”
The Rockford manager smiled.
“That’s right,” he confessed. “I have watched you, and you work together
like machinery. Without a catcher behind the bat who knows him
thoroughly and can hold him, Merriwell would not be particularly
effective. Surely he couldn’t use that so-called combination ball. It
would fool a catcher just as much as it fools a batter. Whatever that
combination ball is, it’s a case of luck when a batter hits it fairly.
Of course, I know it’s no combination rise and drop, for that’s
impossible.”
“You think so,” laughed Brad. “I don’t blame you any, Mr. Fernald; but
I’ll bet something some of your players will tell you it is a combined
rise and drop.”
Fernald shook his head.
“I know it’s something mighty odd,” was his acknowledgment; “but reason
teaches me that a ball can’t be thrown in such a manner that it will
curve in one direction and reverse and curve in another. Merriwell
apparently throws a rise to start with, but it’s his style of delivery
that makes the ball seem to rise. He throws it with a rotary movement
that finally turns it into a drop.”
“It certain appears that you’ve figured the thing out to your
satisfaction; but what are you driving at?”
“It won’t make any great difference with your team if we win to-morrow,”
said Fernald softly. “You will still be close enough on our heels to run
us down before the season closes. It will make a big difference to me if
we lose; I’ll have all the cranks in this town on my back. How would you
like to make a good thing out of the game to-morrow?”
The Texan started slightly, then turned slowly and stared at his
companion.
“I sure would like to make a good thing out of it,” he said, in a queer
tone of voice. “That’s natural.”
“Perfectly,” nodded Fernald, fancying he had deftly secured an opening,
and likewise imagining that this sturdy boy was willing to listen to a
proposition. “I want to give you a pointer Buckhart. I am going to bet
on the game to-morrow. There’ll be plenty of chaps ready to back your
team. I am indifferent about making any money, but I don’t want to lose
any.”
“It certain seems to me that you will either have to make some or lose
some if you bet,” said the Westerner.
“I may win my bets without making any money.”
“I opine that’s impossible, Mr. Fernald. How can you do it?”
“Well, for instance, supposing I had it fixed with some one on your team
that whatever I won should go to him in case I did win. By this I mean
that if Rockford took the game I would hand over my winnings to a member
of the Fairhaven team. It’s absolutely necessary, as I have explained to
you, for us to stay in first position. That will be more valuable to me
than any money I might win. If you can assure me that Rockford will hold
her place by taking that game I will cover all the Fairhaven money that
is pushed at me. You may send bettors to me and keep tabs on the amount
posted. I don’t care how much is put up, as long as I stand no chance of
losing.”
Brad’s left hand was lowered at his side, and he quivered a little as
his fingers closed into a hard, bony fist. Although the man was not
aware of it, in that moment he was in danger of being smitten by that
fist.
“I reckon I understand what you mean, Mr. Fernald,” said the Texan.
“You’re proposing to me that I do something to give Rockford the game?”
“There’s no need to put it thus plainly in words,” said the manager.
“You are sharp enough to understand. Here is your opportunity to make a
big thing. In the most natural manner you can have a passed ball at a
critical point in the game. You can make bad throws to head off men
stealing bases. Such things are done by the best catchers in the
business. They have their yellow days. No need to excite suspicion by
it. Perhaps it might not even be necessary to do anything of the sort.
If Rockford had a good lead, you could play your best game and still be
sure you would get the boodle when the game was over. What do you say,
Buckhart? Can I depend on you?”
“See here, Mr. Fernald,” said the sturdy Texan, “I don’t like to talk
this thing over any more here. There are some people round who have
looked at us right sharp already. We’re attracting attention. If you
will come up to room thirty-seven within ten minutes I’ll give you an
answer. I want a little time to think it over. I’ll be waiting for you
in that room. If you will notice, Whitney, the clerk, is watching us
now. I opine I’ll move.”
Without waiting for Fernald to say whether he would come to room 37 or
not, Brad rose and sauntered away.
As the Texan walked away he looked around the place searchingly. A shade
of disappointment seemed to settle on his face.
“Where are the boys?” he muttered. “Some of them ought to be hanging
round here.”
For a moment he stepped out in front of the hotel. Chip Jolliby was
standing out there with his hands in his pockets, watching the people on
the street. Instantly Buckhart seized Jolliby by the arm and began
speaking to him earnestly, in a low tone.
“Great juj-juj-juj-jingoes!” gasped the tall boy, as he listened.
“Here’s the key to the door,” said Brad, thrusting a key into Jolliby’s
hand. “Get a move on you. Must be plenty of witnesses.”
Then the Western youth turned back into the hotel and ascended the
stairs, whistling carelessly.
Barely had Buckhart disappeared when Jolliby observed a man passing on
the street. With a spring Chip grasped this man’s elbow.
“Hold on a mum-mum-mum-minute, Mr. Blackington,” stuttered the tall lad.
“I wish to sus-sus-see you on important bub-business.”
“What’s that?” asked Uriah Blackington, the former manager of the
Rockford team. “Why, hello, Jolliby! You look excited. Losing that game
to-day at Seaslope must have disturbed you somewhat.”
“You’re sus-sus-sus-still president of the Trolley League, aren’t you?”
asked Chip.
“I believe I am,” nodded the Rockford man. “I wanted to resign, but they
kept me in it.”
“Have you gug-gug-got about twenty minutes to sus-sus-spare?” inquired
Chip.
Blackington glanced at his handsome watch.
“Yes, forty minutes if it’s anything interesting,” he nodded. “What do
you want?”
“Just cuc-cuc-come upstairs in a hurry,” urged Chip. “There’s something
dud-dud-doing—something you ought to know about.”
“What is it?”
“No tut-tut-time to explain now. Pup-pup-please come.”
“Well,” laughed Blackington good-naturedly, “you seem dreadfully anxious
about it, and so I’ll come. Go ahead.”
They entered the hotel and Chip glanced around in apprehension, as they
ascended the stairs, fearing they would be observed. To his relief no
one paid any attention to them. Jolliby led the way to the door of a
room on which he knocked.
“Come in,” called a voice.
“Jingoes!” exclaimed Chip. “Didn’t know there was anybub-bub-bub-body in
there! Jest thought I’d knock and fuf-fuf-fuf-find out!”
He opened the door and stepped in, followed by Blackington, whose
curiosity was greatly aroused by this time.
It was Merriwell’s room they entered, and they found Dick and Ray
Garrett still pondering over the figures representing the standing of
the teams in the league.
“Is it you, Chip?” said Dick. “Why didn’t you come in without stopping
to knock? You don’t have to knock on my door. Oh, hello! I see you have
some one with you. How do you do, Mr. Blackington?”
Dick rose quickly and stepped forward to meet the president of the
league, who shook hands with him cordially.
“Ain’t gug-gug-gug-got no time to chin,” said Jolliby, in a mysterious
manner, holding up the key Buckhart had given him. “I want you
fuf-fuf-folks to keep mighty still. Where’s that dud-dud-door lead to,
Dick?”
As he asked the question he pointed to a door at one side of the room.
“That leads into the next room,” said Dick. “It’s locked.”
“Well, I think we’ll tut-tut-try this key on it,” whispered Jolliby, as
he hurried toward the door.
His manner was so unusual that his companions watched him wonderingly.
The key unlocked the door and Chip opened it a fraction, peering into
the next room.
“All right,” he said, with satisfaction, as he pulled the door softly
to, but did not close it entirely.
“Tut-tut-turn out that light, Dick. Come over here, everybody. Get close
to this door and kuk-kuk-kuk-keep all-fired still. You’re gug-gug-going
to hear something that’ll interest you.”
He checked their questions, and a few minutes later the quartette stood
close by the door, silently waiting and listening.
Within three minutes some one entered the adjoining room. This person
began to whistle, and Dick knew it was Brad Buckhart.
Less than three minutes after Brad entered that room, there came a knock
on his door. On being invited to enter, the person who knocked
cautiously opened the door and looked in.
It was Tom Fernald.
“Walk right in, Mr. Fernald,” invited the Texan. “You see I’m all alone
here. I’m waiting for you. Thought you might wish to talk to me up here
where there’s less danger of being observed or overheard.”
Fernald came in and closed the door behind him.
“What if some one should come here and find us together in this room?”
he asked.
The Westerner sauntered over to the door and turned the key in the lock.
“No danger anybody will git in that way,” he smiled grimly. “Now we’re
alone here, Mr. Fernald, I’m ready to listen to your proposition. I want
you to make it plain so I will understand. I don’t propose to go into
this thing any unless it’s fixed so there will be not the slightest
misunderstanding between us.”
Brad then induced Fernald to again offer inducements to throw the game
on the following day to Rockford.
“It’s a great opportunity for you to make a big thing,” said the tricky
manager of the Rockford team.
“I should say so,” nodded Brad. “Why, according to that offer, if I
could induce people to bet five hundred dollars, or even a thousand, on
Fairhaven, and Rockford won the game, I’d get all the boodle put up to
back our team.”
“I hardly think you could find five hundred dollars,” said Fernald,
“although it’s possible you may. Of course, you will be able to discover
people ready to bet anything from five to fifty dollars, and if you
convince them it’s a sure thing Fairhaven will win there may be one or
two who will risk larger sums.”
The Texan seemed to hesitate. He soberly shook his head.
“I confess I don’t like to do it,” he said. “It’s a whole lot like
stealing money. If any one ever finds it out it would cook my goose. All
my friends would go back on me.”
“How will any one ever find it out?” questioned Fernald. “There’s no
evidence that such a bargain was made between us.”
“That sure is correct,” nodded the Texan. “And for that same reason you
may go back on me some and refuse to hand the money over after you get
your paws on it. I can’t make you give it up. If I tried that I’d be
exposing myself. What assurance have I that you will be square with me?”
“My word!” cried Fernald. “I give you my word!”
Brad hunched his broad shoulders.
“Your word!” he exclaimed, with a short laugh. “Why, I don’t opine the
word of any galoot who will put up such a job is worth a great deal.”
“Come, come, young man, don’t be insolent!” exclaimed Fernald, in
annoyance. “I can’t afford to throw you down after a bargain of that
sort. I have a standing to maintain here. I am taking more chances than
you. If this thing should become known, and it could be proven that I
entered into such a compact, I’d be dropped from the management of the
Rockford team.”
“Is that right?”
“Certainly it’s right. Let me whisper something to you that I have never
mentioned to any one before. Really I don’t care a rap whether Rockford
wins the pennant or not, but for the present I must keep my team at the
head of the league. I must do it in order to satisfy the people here who
have backed the team. If I can keep Rockford at the front up to within a
few days of the finish I will be well satisfied. More than that, I will
agree with you now to throw two of our last games in return for this one
to-morrow.”
“Why should you do that?” asked Brad, in a puzzled manner. “I don’t see
how that would benefit you.”
“I will explain it. I am betting on my own team now, and I risk money
for the purpose of making money. If I can keep Rockford ahead till near
the finish of the season, there will be plenty of Rockford people ready
to back us to win the pennant, and they’ll back us good and heavy. I’ll
not let any of them suspect the game I’m playing, but I’ll have some
good men ready with my money to bet that Rockford does not win the
pennant. I shall bet heavily, too. Then I’ll throw the important games
that will cause us to drop into second place. If your team can keep
close onto our heels, you will go into first place and get the pennant.
It will be a good thing for Fairhaven, as it will create enthusiasm over
there and lead the islanders to put a team into the league next year. So
you see, my boy, you’re not damaging your own team by entering into this
agreement with me about the game to-morrow. The loss of one game now
will mean your final advancement.”
Brad stood with his feet quite wide apart, and his hands on his hips,
watching the crafty rascal all through this speech.
“Well, you’re sure a first-class schemer!” exclaimed the Texan. “I’ve
heard before that such things happen in professional baseball, but I
didn’t suppose there would be a chance for such a deal in a league like
this. I opined every team in the league would be out for blood and ready
to capture the pennant, if possible.”
“That’s the way it used to be in this league,” retorted Fernald; “and it
was a disadvantage to the league, for Rockford had a way of always
winning the pennant, and the smaller places grew discouraged. If
Rockford loses this year by a game or two she’ll be right back in the
league next year as fierce as ever. If Fairhaven loses, it’s likely
she’ll be discouraged and won’t try it another year. So you see I’m
really willing to do a generous thing.”
“Yes, a heap generous!” nodded Brad, with a touch of sarcasm he could
not repress. “But do you consider it honest sport? Do you think it right
to fool the backers of your team in such a manner? Without doubt some of
those backers will bet their money that Rockford takes the pennant.
Besides putting up their money to support the team, they’ll lose their
bets at the end of the season and be mighty sore over it.”
“They are a lot of easy marks, anyhow!” snarled Fernald. “I don’t see
that you’re called on to worry about them. The principal thing you care
about is to come out on top, isn’t it?”
“I certain should like to see Fairhaven come out on top,” confessed
Brad. “Still I am some afraid you’re inclined to fool me. Without a
witness to our agreement I can’t be satisfied that you will stand by the
whole of it. That being the case,” he added, walking toward the door
that opened into the adjoining room, “I will just call in a witness or
two.”
Having said this, he suddenly flung the door wide open.
Into the room stepped Dick Merriwell, followed by Ray Garrett.
“These yere gents are my witnesses,” said the Texan. “They’ve heard our
little agreement at my invitation.” Then he paused, for Uriah
Blackington followed Dick and Ray into the room, with Chip Jolliby at
his heels.
The face of Blackington was like a thundercloud. He pointed an accusing
finger at Fernald as he cried:
“So this is the kind of a man you are! I’ve always been inclined to
think you a crook, although you’ve escaped detection until now!”
Fernald had turned pale, and for a moment or two he stood quite still,
apparently thunderstruck and overcome. Suddenly he wheeled toward
Buckhart, his fist clinched, and his teeth gleaming between his
back-drawn lips. With the intention of striking the Texan, he made a
single step.
In a twinkling Dick and Ray Garrett were between Brad and Fernald.
“Let him come! Let him come!” palpitated the Western lad. “I’ll give him
his medicine good and plenty.”
“Better not raise a disturbance, Mr. Fernald,” said Dick quietly. “It’ll
be a bad thing for you. A row here will cause this whole matter to come
out, and if you’re not ridden on a rail and tarred and feathered after
that, it will surprise me.”
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