MIKE COSTIGAN'S DISCOVERY.
Meantime, strange things had happened in Catalpa. The town was in a
ferment on the morning of the great day when the Catalpa nine were to
play their second game with the Calumets. The glory of the first day's
victory shone brightly to encourage the friends of the club as they
loitered towards the telegraph office and clustered under the windows
of the office of _The Leaf_, when the time for calling the game drew
near.
In the office of that influential sheet there was much commotion, as
every printer at the case and every member of the slender editorial
staff, even down to the young lady who wrote fashion articles out of
the Chicago newspapers, was in some way interested in base ball. Those
who were not members of a nine were in training, or were represented
by men who were active players. Therefore, while the expectant crowd
in the street below was hungry for news from the Diamond Field, the
smaller convocation in the printing office above was even hungrier for
the opportunity to hang out the banner of victory which all were sure
would wave from the roof of _The Leaf_ before the day was done.
A few despatches, vague and dealing only in glittering generalities,
as the editor said, were sent early by Albert Heaton and were duly
bulletined by "The Leaflet," as Mr. Downey's office boy was generally
called. There were many inquiries at the telegraph office for news, but
"the lady operator," with needless asperity, referred all applicants to
the editor of _The Leaf_.
Mike Costigan, the telegraph messenger, and Hank Jackson, the
ex-champion of the Dean County Nine, were the greatest trials which
the long-suffering lady at the telegraph desk had to endure. Mike had
put his whole soul, which was large for his small body, into the base
ball championship, and he was ready to weep if the Catalpas should not
return with what he called "the skelps of them Chicago fellers" at
their belts. As for Hank, he pretended to be in momentary expectation
of a telegraphic despatch. As early as nine o' clock in the morning,
he had begun to haunt the telegraph office and demand a message that
did not come. Mike was sure that Jackson would have early news from the
seat of war, and, wisely fearing Hank's heavy hand and rough tongue,
he followed him at a respectful distance, waiting to hear something to
encourage his fond hopes of the Catalpa club.
The lad had been hurrying out with a message to Heaton's flouring
mills, and he bounced up the stairs of the telegraph office, three
at a time, and flew into the room where the hard-worked operator
was rattling at the instrument. A swift look from Mike took in the
whole situation. Henry Jackson was seated on a bench in a corner of
the office, with his back to the door, puzzling over a little book
and a telegraphic despatch. He inspected the pages of the book, then
scanned the message, and then, licking the end of a lead-pencil, wrote
something on the paper containing the despatch.
"Here, hurry with this message, Mike," said the lady in the office,
"and be quick about it; you are always loitering about the corner when
you are wanted."
Almost wild at being sent out before he could get an opportunity to
extract a bit of news from Hank Jackson, Mike flew out on his errand,
astonished the receiver of the message by telling him to hurry up with
his signature, and then went back to the office on the wings of the
wind. Alas! when Mike re-entered the room, breathless and hot, Hank
had departed without leaving any trace of the quality of the news that
he might have received. No, not quite so bad as that, thought Mike, as
he ruefully surveyed the empty bench, for there in a corner, tossed
under the bench on which Henry had been sitting, was a wad of crumpled
paper which the boy's experienced eyes told him was from the telegraph
company's stores of stationery.
Pouncing upon the ragged ball with the hunger of a small boy in
pursuit of information concerning a base ball match, Mike drew forth
a "receiving blank," torn and crumpled, on which was written an
incomprehensible message. Kneeling on the floor, his stubby hands
shaking with excitement, Mike smoothed out the torn despatch, joining
the two larger fragments so as to get the meaning of the words. And
this, after some botheration, was what was revealed to Mike's distended
eyes:--
[Illustration:
Form 2.
MUTUAL UNION TELEGRAPH CO
Errors can be guarded against only by repeating a message back to the
sending station for comparison, and the company will in transmission
or delivery of Unrepeated Messages, beyond the amount of tolls paid
thereon, nor in any case where the sixty days after sending the message.
This is an UNREPEATED MESSAGE, and is delivered by request of the
sender, under the conditions named above.
JOHN G. MOORE, President.
========================================================================
Get all the bet you can against Catalpas they lose game sure
========================================================================
READ THE NOTICE AT THE TOP.]
"Gosh all hemlock!" this was Mike's extreme of profanity, "if Ben
Burton hasn't gone and sold the game!" The lad, who was shrewd beyond
his years, carefully put the pieces of paper inside of his jacket,
buttoned it up tightly, and, after ascertaining that no message was
coming over the wires, and that he might decamp without fear, bolted
out of the office, threw himself downstairs, and darted into Dr.
Selby's shop like a shot.
[Illustration: "MIKE SMOOTHED OUT THE TORN DESPATCH."--Page 178.]
"Here! here! Tom," he gasped, almost beside himself with anxiety
and alarm. "Ben Burton's goin' to sell the game! Leastways, here's
somethin' crooked! Look at it!"
Thomas, who was keeping shop while his father was absent for a moment,
took the paper, with a puzzled look at Mike, then spreading it out on
the counter, scrutinized it carefully, and, as he felt a cold chill
running down his back at the revelation of an unsuspected rascality, he
smote the walnut plank of the counter and cried, "By ginger!" This was
Tom's extreme of profanity.
"Where did you get this?" he demanded of the excited Mike.
"In the office, under the bench there by the stove, where Hank throwed
it. I seen him readin' it, and then lookin' into a little book--one of
them books that has the meanin' of words into 'em."
"Dictionary?" suggested Tom.
"Yes, dictionary, that's what it is. And he'd get a word outen that,
then put it down. I had to get out on a message to 'Squire Dewey, and
when I got back he was gone; but I got the message. Don't you think
it's crooked?"
"Of course I do; and be sure you don't let on to a living soul what you
have seen. We'll circumvent him yet."
Mike rushed back to his post, sober with a sense of the important
secret that he carried under his ragged jacket.
As soon as Dr. Selby returned, Tom laid the matter before him. The
old gentleman was astounded and grieved. No time was to be lost. Tom
must hasten to the telegraph office and send a warning message to
Captain Hiram Porter. The lad hurried away, stopping on the sidewalk
below the office long enough to note Hank Jackson offering "two to
one," as he phrased it, against the Catalpas. The despatch was sent
and Tom sauntered back, half-tempted to take up one of the offers of
the presumptuous and boastful Hank; but he refrained. He knew that the
game of the conspirators had been circumvented. It would be his day's
delight to stand by and see the dishonest scheme recoil upon the heads
of its promoters.
But as the day wore on and despatches from the ball ground (at first
favorable and conclusive proof to the Selbys that they had nipped the
conspiracy in the bud) grew more and more discouraging, Tom became
desperate; he longed for wings that he might fly to Chicago and reveal
the depth of infamy into which one of the club had fallen. Later in the
day, when defeat seemed certain, yielding to the boy's importunities,
Dr. Selby sent a message to Albert Heaton, in care of Judge Morris.
"Where did you send Hiram's despatch to?" he asked of Tom, suddenly, as
if a new suspicion crossed his mind.
"To the Lavalette House, of course. They all stop there!"
"Oh, you idiot!" groaned his father. "They had gone to the ball ground
before your despatch could reach Chicago!"