PERPLEXED
The brazen, barefaced manner in which Lefty Locke denied his identity
and professed that he had never even seen a game of baseball was simply
staggering. For old Jack still refused to believe the man could be any
one save Locke himself.
What was Lefty’s object? Surely he ought to know that he could not fool
his old manager by such a silly subterfuge and barefaced falsehood.
That he was trying to “put over” a puerile joke did not appear
possible, and certainly there was no twinkle of mirth in his steady
eyes, no smile upon his sober face.
There was something behind the young pitcher’s denial of his identity
which Kennedy could not understand, something which confused as well
as annoyed him. He was mustering his wits to begin all over again when
suddenly the new arrival said:
“I trust you’ll excuse me, pal. I’ll have to wash up before supper,
which I see is in progress now.” He glanced in the direction of the
open doors to the dining room and turned to the clerk. “Can I have my
room now?” he asked.
“Your luggage?” questioned the clerk significantly.
“I haven’t any. I’ll pay a day in advance. How much?”
“Three dollars.”
Producing a roll of bills, the man peeled off a two and a one and
shoved them across the desk, whereupon the clerk handed the key over to
a boy, who invited the guest to follow him.
They had not disappeared before Kennedy was surveying the register, on
which he found written: “Robert Stranger, N. Y.”
“Well, wouldn’t that freeze you stiff!” he muttered.
He was still muttering to himself when Landlord McLaughlin appeared.
“What’s the matter now, Jack?” inquired the sporting proprietor of the
Central House. “You’re growlin’ like a dog with a sore ear. Same old
trouble ’bout pitchers, I s’pose?”
“I came in to consult with you about that southpaw, Mercer, we’ve been
trying to get holt of for a week. I’ve got him to state his terms at
last.”
“Good,” said McLaughlin.
“Bad,” said Kennedy. “He wants sixty a week and board. We can’t afford
it, Peter, in this little crossroads town. It’ll take us over our
salary limit, too.”
“We’ve got to have a fust-class pitcher at any price. You said so
yourself. Ain’t there no way to hire him and keep under the salary
limit?”
“Only one way. We can release one of our other pitchers, along with
the utility man we’re keeping on the bench for emergencies. If a pinch
comes I can go into the game myself.”
“Your plan seems all right to me, and I’m for it. We can get along
without Heines. Three pitchers is all we’ve had, anyhow, and they’re
enough. I say, nail Mercer. We’ve got to have somebody quick. I just
heard to-night that Bristol’s signed a new twirler for the Buccaneers.
You see, Hank don’t propose to let you git the bulge on him.”
“Did you hear the name of Bristol’s new pitcher?”
“Yep, but it sorter slipped me. It was Eagan or Elywin, or something
like that. I’ll bet he’s a ripper.”
“He’s probably a good man if Hank’s signed him at this late day.”
“Well, you see where that puts us. You see what we’re up against. We
can’t expect to get no Big League pitcher now.”
“I don’t know ’bout that,” returned Kennedy in a low tone, his eyes on
a man who was descending the stairs, and who turned at once toward the
dining room. “There goes one.”
“Hey? What?” spluttered the landlord.
“There goes one of the cleverest young portside pitchers it has been my
luck to see work in a game in the last three years.”
“Hey?” spluttered Peter once more. “That feller there? The one just
goin’ into the dining room?”
“That’s the man.”
“What you giving me, Jack?”
“Straight facts.”
“Why, what’s he doin’ round here?”
“I dunno. That’s what gets me.”
“Who is he?”
“He registered as Robert Stranger, but he played under me with the Blue
Stockings, using the name of Tom Locke. He was generally called Lefty.”
Landlord McLaughlin was in a sudden sweat of excitement.
“Played under you? Then you know all about him.”
“I reckoned I knew a lot about him,” said Kennedy; “but in the last ten
minutes I’ve sorter changed my mind. Brennan, of the Hornets, got him
through a scout early in the season, but Brennan sized him up wrong
and let him go unconditionally. I’d been after him before that, and
I gave him a try-out. He was there with the goods. When I quit, with
the exception of Grist, he was the most dependable pitcher the team
had. Since then something has happened to him. I dunno what ’tis, but
I could tell by the papers that he was goin’ wrong. He was in that
railroad smash the other day. After the smash he wasn’t to be found.
Now he’s here.”
“Well, if you have a talk with him he’ll clear things up, of course.
He’ll explain it all.”
“I’ve had a talk with him. Instead of explaining, he pretended he
didn’t know me. Peter, he denied that he was Lefty Locke and claimed
his name was Stranger, under which he has registered here.”
“Jerusalem!” breathed McLaughlin. “That’s mighty funny. How do you
figger it?”
“I can’t get only one solution. It must be he didn’t pull well with the
new manager. I know Carson, and he’s rough on a man he don’t cotton to.
Lefty was suspended shortly before that railroad smash-up. When that
came he improved his opportunity to duck. Fool thing to do, but it must
be just what he done, Peter. Mebbe he plans to lay low until Carson
gets in a hole and needs him desperate. Then, perhaps, he’ll wire
Carson and try to make terms. It don’t seem to me that the Lefty Locke
I knew would try any such jinks as that, but you never can tell what a
man will do.”
“By goudy!” said Peter. “If that’s what he’s up to, mebbe we can get
him to do some pitching for us while he’s waitin’ to pull the thing
off. We’d make Bristol go some. Why don’t you try it, Jack? You oughter
be able to make a deal with him, if anybody can.”
Kennedy shook his head. “I dunno,” he growled, “I dunno ’bout that.
Why, he just said not only that he’d never played, but that he’d never
as much as seen a game. He’s got me guessing. I’m afraid I can’t make a
deal with him.”
“Then _I’ll_ try,” announced Landlord McLaughlin. “Wait till he comes
out from supper. Leave it to me.”