DID HE REMEMBER?
After a hearty supper, at which the new hand met Mrs. Malone, Kennedy
invited him out onto the veranda, where they sat while Jack puffed at
his pipe.
“You don’t smoke?” said Kennedy.
“I don’t think so,” was the reply.
“Drink?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been a wild one in my day, pal. Hit the high
places, and hit ’em hard. Cards were my trouble. I was thinking I’d
like to find three or four good sports and get up a little game.”
“Well, you won’t find them round here,” growled old Jack, puffing
savagely at his pipe. “Nothing doing, Left――er――Stranger.”
The other betrayed no disappointment.
“We’ll just sit and talk things over comfortable like,” said Kennedy,
glancing at him sidewise. “How’d you get the notion you wanted to go to
farming?”
“It wasn’t my notion; it was the pill slinger’s.”
“You don’t look like there’s been anything the matter with your health.”
“I’m pale. That comes from confinement.”
“You’re brown as an Injun――or a baseball player.”
Lefty rubbed his head. “I know what I’ve been told,” he said, with a
slight touch of resentment.
“Well, don’t swaller everything the doctors hand out to you. How do you
like my ranch?”
“It’s very comfortable. I like it here, only I seem to miss something.
It’s quiet.”
“That’s the way I feel. You see, when a man has been in the hot of Big
League baseball year after year, it’s a big change to settle down this
fashion. But we all have to take up something after we’ve had our day
at the game. If I’d ever married it might ’a’ seemed different.”
“You never married?”
“No,” said old Jack, a trifle sadly; “slipped up on that play. Made an
error, and another fellow fanned me out. You know, it’s mighty easy to
lose in a game like that if you don’t keep on your toes all the time. I
don’t often talk about it, but I don’t mind telling you how it was.”
Lefty said nothing, and the old manager continued:
“She was the only dame I ever got really smashed on, a little,
dark-eyed Irish girl by the name of Madge. Met her after a game in
which I was pretty near the whole show, having made two homers, a
three-bagger, and a single. She was just bubbling over with enthusiasm,
and when she turned them eyes of hern on me, and handed me a smile with
her teeth shining like polished chinyware, I just felt that it was all
up with me. I was like a busher in his first Big League game, all cold
and hot and shaky and queer clean down to my toes. I knew in a jiffy
that she was the one for me.
“Well, there ain’t no need to string the story out,” he went on. “I
rushed her for all I was worth when the team was playin’ to home.
Things went along swimmin’, and we had it arranged somehow before I
ever knowed just how it come round that we would play the big game
together on the same team. That is, we was going to get spliced some
time, and I didn’t care how soon the job was done. She had another guy
that was rushing her, too, before I hove in on the horizon; but I had
his groove, and he was fanning every time he stepped up to the plate.
“Now, listen to me, and hear how the whole game went wrong in the
ninth inning. My sister Kitty comes on to see me unexpected, and, of
course, I spreads myself to give her a good time. Madge didn’t know
nothing ’bout it, and she sees me blowin’ Kit off to cabs and theaters
and feeds, and a-kissin’ her good-by when I had to send her home one
night sudden on account of an unexpected turn. What did that little
hot-headed, black-eyed girl do? She just writ me a red-hot letter,
tellin’ me what she thought of a deceivin’, heart-breakin’, double-dyed
wretch like I was, and announcin’ that she was leavin’ town. She
didn’t leave no address, either. At first I took it as a kind of joke,
thinkin’ I could straighten things out all right with Madge. But next
thing I heard, within a week, she was hooked to the other guy, and I
was down and out in the series.
“I ain’t never struck one like Madge since, and I ain’t likely to; so,
you see, here I am――an old bach. It’s tough on a man when a girl throws
him that fashion, with no chance to explain; but I’ve always tried to
console myself by sayin’ that one who’d do such a thing would likely
keep a guy in hot water the most of the time when she got him. It’s
poor consolation, but it’s all I’ve got.”
Lefty was frowning as he gazed through the faint purple shadows toward
the little lake, on which the afterglow of the sunset was reflected,
and he stirred uneasily, passing a hand across his forehead. After some
moments of silence, he said:
“Seems to me I’ve heard of a similar case.”
“I s’pose there’s lot of similar cases,” replied Kennedy, giving a pull
at his pipe, which had gone out during the narration. “I was young,
and it broke me up bad. I played so rotten that my manager got sore,
and put me on the bench. I took to hittin’ the bottle, too. Drank
altogether too much until a friend gave me a talking to and showed me
what a dumb fool I was. Then I tried to forget it and get back into
form again. I succeeded, too, and I’ve stuck to baseball steady, saving
my dollars, with the idea of having something to live on when my days
at the game was finished. I am out of it now, though I’m managin’ this
little Deering team. Kinder got pulled into that. I wouldn’t if it
hadn’t been for Hank Bristol, who’s managin’ the Buccaneers. He sorter
rubbed me the wrong way, and it’s my object now to beat him out if
there’s any way to do it. To beat him, I’ve got to have another A-one
pitcher, and I need a left-hander.” Lefty was silent.
“I know the very man I’d like to have,” Kennedy went on musingly. “He
come out of the bush this year. Brennan, of the Hornets, had him in
the South to start with; but Brennan also had another promisin’ young
slabman by the name of Bert Elgin. It seems that the left-hander and
Elgin had some sort of a mix-up at college, and they didn’t cotton to
each other a great deal. Elgin put up some sort of a dirty job on the
other chap, and made him look like a quitter and a useless pup. Brennan
was fooled, and dropped him.
“I’d been after him before that, and he comes to me after being handed
the can by Brennan. I sent him out into the bush with a team from which
I could pull him in any time I wanted to, and he made good out there.
My pitchers started cold, and didn’t get into the game just right, so
I sent out a hurry call for the southpaw, and he joined the team just
in time to pitch in our first game against the Hornets. I took a chance
on spoiling him by shovin’ him into that game. Had to do it, you know,
though I hated to. The proper way to break in a pitcher is to work him
against a weak team, and give him confidence by a good chance to pull
off a win to start with. It was hard on him, rammin’ him into that game
against the Hornets, but he come through with flying colors, and he
pitched against Bert Elgin, too.
“There was a reporter named Stillman who had it in his noddle that
Elgin was responsible for what my left-hander got from Brennan, and he
chased the thing down and got the proof, which he hands out to Brennan
hisself. That was Mr. Elgin’s finish in Big League company. Brennan
sent him down into class C company, but he didn’t last even there.
Nobody seemed to have much use for him, and I dunno where he’s faded to.
“Now,” continued old Jack, squaring round until he could watch his
companion without turning his head, “if I just had that left-handed man
of mine for about two weeks I’d bury the Buccaneers. We beat the Boobs
to-day, but they’re the weakest bunch in this league. After the game
I heard that the Bucks had beat the Stars, and gone into first place
by a small margin. We play Bristol’s team in Hatfield to-morrow. I’ve
figgered the percentage out to-night, and if we could take a fall out
of ’em we’d be tied with ’em to-morrow night.”
“I presume that’s all very interesting to you,” said Lefty, unmoved;
“but, having never cared in the slightest for baseball, you’ll pardon
me if I don’t enthuse.”
Kennedy made a queer sound in his throat. “Look a’ here,” he snapped,
“was you ever in a railroad smash-up?”
“Never,” was the slow answer, coming after a moment or two of breathless
silence.
Old Jack dropped his pipe, and groped for it.
“Why do you ask?” questioned the other.
“Oh, nothing――nothing,” mumbled Kennedy. “I’m going to turn in pretty
soon. You can go to bed any time you want to. We get up ruther early
here on the farm.”
“Think I’ll turn in now,” said the other, rising.
In his chamber, half an hour later, having made sure that Lefty had
really gone to bed, Kennedy paced up and down a while, his forehead
corrugated by a deep frown.
“It gets me!” he finally exclaimed, beginning to undress. “I can’t
quite make up my mind whether he’s faking or really don’t remember. If
that last is the case, he ought to have treatment by a doctor.”