“IN BAD”
Lefty’s face turned a dull red, for in a flash he had realized how
intolerable the whole affair must seem to Janet Harting. He had assured
her that his engagement at the theater that night was with some of his
teammates, yet here she found him the only escort of a very charming
young woman, of whose identity she could naturally have no idea.
Moreover, Lefty’s being in full dress did not savor altogether of a
stag party. Worst of all, the young man remembered, with a sickening
sense of irritation, how swiftly he and Miss Collier had come to be
on almost chummy terms. An onlooker would never have supposed their
acquaintance to be only a few hours old, and Janet had been sitting
near enough to miss nothing.
All this passed through Lefty’s mind with a rush. For an instant he
had an almost uncontrollable impulse to push his way through to Miss
Harting’s side and explain the innocent facts, which must have looked
so condemning. Then he realized how impossible was the time and place
for explanations, and, pulling himself together, moved slowly on toward
the entrance.
Miss Collier could scarcely have missed the little incident, swiftly
as it had taken place; but apparently she was possessed of tact, along
with a number of other good qualities, for she made not the slightest
reference to it. During the ride uptown she chatted unconcernedly on
various topics, but it must be confessed that she had to uphold the
burden of conversation; about nine-tenths of Lefty’s mind was taken up
with a consideration of his predicament, and with planning a way out of
it.
“Thank you a thousand times, Mr. Locke,” Miss Collier said, when the
car had stopped and he had helped her out. “I’ve had a perfectly
splendid evening.”
“It’s been corking,” Lefty returned, trying to force a little
enthusiasm into his voice. “I’m the one who should be thanking you.”
“I don’t believe it,” smiled the girl, holding out her hand. “Have
Pagdon drive you wherever you want to go. Dad won’t want him yet, I’m
sure. Come and see me some time when you haven’t anything better to do.
We’ll finish our talk about Marquard. Good night.”
Without giving him time to answer she ran lightly up the steps to
the already open door, which closed quickly upon her slim, graceful
figure, leaving Locke to return slowly to the limousine, give the
address of his hotel to the chauffeur, and step frowningly in.
“What a thundering jackass I am!” he muttered, leaning back against
the leather cushions. “Why in Heaven’s name didn’t I cut out the party
and go see Janet in spite of everything? How the deuce did I know that
Collier was going to rope me into a game like that, though――or that
Janet would be there to misconstrue everything? I s’pose she went to
get a glimpse of me. Well, the sooner I chase up there and explain
things to her the better. I wonder if it’s too late to go to-night?”
He glanced at his watch. It was decidedly too late.
“I’ll hike up the first thing in the morning,” he thought. “She’ll
understand that I couldn’t do anything else under the circumstances.”
There was some comfort in the reflection that Janet had plenty of sound
common sense in that shapely little head of hers. Nevertheless, the
more he thought of it, the more Lefty realized what a scurvy trick fate
had played him.
“It certainly must have looked bad,” he admitted to himself as the car
stopped before the hotel. “I wouldn’t blame any girl for getting up on
her ear.”
In the lobby he was met by his three deserted companions, who instantly
let fly a Gatling fire of comment.
“Horning in with the management, are you?” grinned Nelson. “Just the
same, I like your taste, kid. Some class there, all right!”
“You bet!” chimed in Billy Orth. “What do you want to be such a hog
for, though? Might have given somebody else a chance with one of ’em.”
“Spilled the beans that time, old man,” Dalton added significantly.
“Hard luck, boy. Who’d ever have thought the other one would turn up
that way, and pinch you――”
“Oh, go to blazes, the lot of you!” snapped Lefty, his face crimson.
Without another word he strode toward the elevator, leaving Dalton――who
had met Miss Harting in Boston, and shrewdly guessed that there was
something more than passing friendship between the two――eying his
companions with lifted brows.
“Our genial southpaw seems somewhat peeved,” Larry murmured. “Have we
touched upon a raw spot unawares?”
Orth yawned. “Must be in a pretty bad way,” he commented. “I never knew
him to give up like that without a word to say. Let’s hit the hay; I’m
sleepy.”
Rather silently the others followed him toward the elevator. Though
there were no further remarks on the subject, they were all wondering
what had happened to make the usually quick-witted, even-tempered
Locke flare up the way he had at a little good-natured joshing, which
ordinarily would have brought forth nothing more than a grin and a
retort in kind.
The object of their solicitude was thinking pretty much the same thing.
He had scarcely set foot in the elevator before he regretted that silly
burst of temper.
“Looks as if I was bound to make a fool of myself to-night,” he
thought. “I reckon I’m in bad all around.”
He did not sleep well, and was up early. Having hurried through his
breakfast, he dawdled around with a newspaper until eight o’clock, and
then sought the telephone booth. A woman’s voice――Janet’s aunt, no
doubt――answered his call.
“Is Miss Harting in?” he asked quickly.
“Who is this, please?”
“Mr. Hazelton. I won’t keep her for more――”
“I’m sorry,” interrupted the voice, with a curt, crisp intonation
which belied the words, “but Miss Harting is too busy to come to the
telephone.”
“Will she be at home―― Hang it all! She’s cut off.”
Lefty slammed up the receiver, and sat scowling for a moment at the
instrument.
“Might think I’d committed a crime,” he growled at last. “Won’t even
give me a chance to say a word in my own defense.” His jaw squared
stubbornly. “I’ll make her listen to me,” he went on. “I’ll go up there
and see her, whether she’s at home or not. I’ll go now, too.”
This was easier said than done. Emerging from the booth, Lefty was
waylaid by Spider Grant, captain of the team, who wasted a good half
hour in desultory discussion of their chances for winning the third
game of the series from the Specters that afternoon. It might have
continued for an hour and a half had not Locke departed unceremoniously
in the very midst of one of Spider’s most elaborate arguments.
“If hot air would win the game, we wouldn’t need to go out to the
park,” he muttered grumpily as he leaped aboard an open car.
Of course there was a block; equally of course, Lefty fretted and fumed
and wasted his good energy and invention in uncomplimentary remarks
about the road and its operators. He was compelled to walk the last
twelve blocks. When he at last arrived at the apartment house his
mental condition was far from enviable.
“Not at home,” said the maid, with cool brevity.
As she started to close the door Lefty placed one foot over the sill,
with apparent carelessness. His earnestness of purpose was dimming the
brightness of his manners.
“Are you sure?” he asked suspiciously. “I only want to see Miss Harting
for a minute.”
“Indeed!” sniffed the girl. “Well, you’ll have to wait some time before
you get the chance. She and Mrs. Manning are leaving on the night train
for the Adirondacks.”
“The Adirondacks!” gasped Lefty. “To-night!” He stood staring at the
maid for a moment in utter dismay. “But I _must_ see them before they
go. Haven’t you any idea where they are now?”
“No more’n a fly,” returned the girl, evidently softened a little by
his distress. “They went right after the trunks was took――shoppin’, I
s’pose. Anyhow, Mrs. Manning said they wouldn’t be back.”
How Lefty went through the rest of the morning he did not know. What
had been started by a trivial trick of chance seemed to be growing more
serious every moment. Evidently Janet believed the worst of him. It
was equally evident that she was determined to give him no opportunity
to explain the mix-up. Her behavior hurt Lefty desperately. It seemed
unfair and unjust that she should have so little faith in him, in spite
of appearances.
For several hours he wandered about the shopping district, in the
vague hope that somehow he might run across the girl. Failing in that,
he lunched in gloomy solitude, then made his way to the ball park.
For six innings he sat on the bench in grim silence while “Slick”
Lumley held down the Specters to a shut-out score. Slick was one of
those pitchers who are unsurpassed when they are good, but who seldom
last through an entire game. Evidently Carson did not propose to run
any chances of his blowing up this time, for at the beginning of the
seventh, with Lumley showing sudden wildness, he took him off the mound
and substituted Billy Orth.
It was during that inning that Lefty got up from the bench to stretch
his legs, and became aware for the first time of the presence of Miss
Collier in the box with her father. She nodded cordially, and it seemed
only natural for him to step up and say a few words to her.
The few words lengthened into a prolonged conversation. The club owner
had a good many questions to ask about Lefty’s father, and Virginia
herself was so bright and cheery and interesting that the young pitcher
was raised from the depths of despondency in spite of himself.
For three innings he stood leaning against the rail of the box. Toward
the end he was talking and laughing almost as if he hadn’t a thing on
his mind to worry him. Several times his glance wandered back into the
stands to where sat a young man of about his own age, who seemed much
more interested in the party in the box than in the game. The fellow’s
expression was so bitter, and he stared so fixedly at the famous
southpaw, that Lefty wondered if he had ever met the chap before, or
whether it was simply one of those curious dislikes certain fans seem
to take to a player every once in a while.
Locke was still wondering when Orth struck out the last man, winning
the game by a score of two to one, and the crowd began to pour out of
their seats to jam the aisles and runways.
The next second Lefty gave a start, and the color drained swiftly from
his face. He had caught a brief, fleeting glimpse of a girl who had
been seated well back in the lower stand. Her face had been invisible
all through the game, but now, as she arose and stepped into the aisle,
he saw it clearly for an instant before she was swallowed up in the
mob. It was the face of the girl he had been seeking all day in vain.
Before he realized what he was doing, he had leaped for the nearest
gate, and swung it open. Then he stopped, with a groan. It would be
like hunting a needle in a haystack to try and find her in this crush.
She might leave at any of a dozen exits before he could reach even one
of them.
For a moment he stood there, a scowl on his face, bitterness in his
heart. Why had she come to the grounds at all? Was it to see him
without the chance of being seen? Well, she had accomplished her
purpose with a vengeance; she had beheld him chatting and laughing
intimately with the same girl she supposed he had taken to the theater
last night.
With a groan of disappointment and mental pain, Lefty whirled around
and tramped sullenly across the field toward the clubhouse. He did not
give a single backward glance at the charming Miss Collier. He had
forgotten her very existence in the irritation and trouble which this
new complication had brought upon him.