A MANAGER’S DILEMMA
Back in his Pullman chair, Lefty tried to forget the unpleasant
encounter in the smoker. He realized that there was no one but himself
to blame for what had happened, and he regretted the impulsiveness
which had made it possible for the disagreeable stranger to drag him
into an altercation. Of course, they were never likely to run into each
other again, Lefty reflected, yet he did not find that possibility one
of unqualified satisfaction. Strangely enough, for one who so disliked
brawls and public rows, he discovered himself wishing for a chance to
take a little of the bumptiousness out of the man who found so much
satisfaction in maligning his own profession.
At length, however, he managed by a determined effort to thrust the
matter from his mind and turn his attention to more important things.
Kennedy, the lately reinstated manager of the famous Blue Stockings,
had wired him to take the first train to Deering, where old Jack spent
the few months of the “off season” on the farm.
No reason had been given for this sudden summons to travel over a
thousand miles, but Locke had been expecting the message for some time,
and was not surprised. It is far from usual for a manager to talk over
details of the club personnel and formation with his star pitcher.
In the present case the two happened to have been thrown together on
more than ordinarily intimate terms in the bush the previous summer,
and Kennedy came to know the young Princeton man as few save his
closest friends knew him. He came also to have a decided appreciation
of Locke’s judgment and ability at sizing up a ball player, and after
their return to the Blue Stockings late in the season the informal
chats inaugurated in the Middle Western town continued at frequent
intervals.
“He’s getting worried about the make-up of the team,” Lefty decided,
propping his chin on one hand and staring out over the flat,
snow-covered landscape, “and wants to talk it over. I’m not surprised.
There’ll have to be several holes plugged before we can think of
starting after that pennant in April.”
The manager of a Big League team is never free from worry and
responsibility. The moment the last game of the season is over he
begins casting about for material to fill gaps and strengthen the team
for the grilling struggle of another season. The opening of that
season is six months away, to be sure, but frequently that time is all
too short for what has to be done. The mere fact of not hearing from
Kennedy had comforted Locke with the belief that everything was going
well. Now, however, it looked as if the manager’s schemes were not
working out quite as he had planned them.
“Wonder where he’s fallen down?” mused Lefty. “There’s third and
center――and more twirlers. I wonder just which particular item is
troubling him the most?”
He continued to ponder the question until the porter, with his
inevitable whiskbroom, approached to perform the parting rites and
pocket the parting quarter. Shortly afterward Lefty swung off the train
at the small station of Deering, made straight for the only waiting
“cutter,” and was presently gliding swiftly over the hard-packed, snowy
road, listening to all the latest neighborhood gossip the driver had to
retail.
It was good to see again the square, old-fashioned white house, with
its wide veranda and the hospitable chimneys, hinting of cheery,
crackling open fires; and even better to meet in the hall that lean,
lanky, awkward figure with the homely, kindly face and the inimitable
smile.
Kennedy was unfeignedly glad to see him, and when the first brief
greetings were over he lost no time in conducting Lefty into his
special sanctum and drawing up two chairs before the smoldering logs.
“Spider’s sick,” he announced laconically, thrusting one hand through
his iron-gray mop of hair, which already stood up like the crest of a
cockatoo.
“What!” gasped Lefty, in the utmost consternation. “Spider Grant?”
It was an idle question. Among the Blue Stockings there was only one
“Spider,” that name being the sole property of the peerless first
baseman and captain of the team. But in his dismay at this thunderbolt
Lefty was not thinking of what he said. The query burst from his lips
quite without conscious volition.
“Uh-huh,” affirmed the manager; “inflammatory rheumatism. Tough, ain’t
it?”
“It surely is,” agreed Locke fervently. “By Jove, that’s the limit! How
long has he had it?”
“Couple of weeks. Didn’t tell me at first, ’cause he didn’t want
to worry me. He’s mighty consid’rit, Spider is.” The kindly smile
flickered for an instant out of the network of worried lines, only to
vanish quickly again. “But I’d a lot rather have known it before, an’
had that much more time.”
Lefty nodded understandingly. Unconsciously his face reflected the
expression of the older man, but with the difference that a faint,
lightening gleam of hope brought to his eyes.
“Look here, Jack,” he said impulsively, “it can’t be so bad. Surely
there’s a chance of his getting over it. He’s not old, and he’s never
had it before that I’ve heard. Perhaps by the time training season
starts――”
“Nix!” put in Kennedy decisively. “I’m taking no chances. He did have
it before, two years ago, an’ never told no one. Got wet hunting, same
as he did this time. No, they never come back――leastwise, not once in a
thousand times――an’ I’m not gambling with them kind of odds. It’s up to
me to dig up a new first baseman, and do it in jig time, at that. You
know I keep two scouts, Carney and Sackett, working the year round; but
every other manager has a bunch of ’em on the rustle, and this digging
up of new material is getting more and more difficult ev’ry year. So
I’m up against it, and it’s close onto the first of February.”
A wry, crooked smile flickered on his lips for an instant, then
vanished.
“But that’s not what I wanted you specially for,” he went on rapidly,
“though of course I want your opinion of my list of eligibles. You’ve
sized up the situation, I reckon. You know why we were licked in the
post-season series.”
Lefty did not answer at once. He had dropped both elbows on his knees,
and, with chin resting in cupped hands, was staring thoughtfully at the
fire.
“Well,” he said slowly at last, “Jack Daly didn’t seem to be covering
third the way he used to; slow in arching ’em over the diamond, you
know. There’s no doubt, too, that old Brock is losing his batting eye,
or something. He hit under two-eighty last season.”
“Exactly. Anything else?”
“You could do with――another twirler on the list.”
“I sure could!” Kennedy’s tone was emphatic. He bent forward suddenly,
his face serious, and emphasized his remarks with upraised finger.
“Lefty, this finding the right sort of men for the pitching staff has
got me guessing some. Carney found a sweet hitter for center field, an’
I reckon we can fill Daly’s place somehow; but this other thing――whew!
When I came back last fall there wasn’t but two first-class twirlers
in the crowd――you an’ Pete Grist. The others was all right in lots of
ways, but you couldn’t depend on ’em. That’s the main reason we lost
the world’s series――I didn’t have enough men I was sure of to put on
the mound. Now, Pete’s an old-timer who can’t last forever; you see
where that puts us. We’ve simply got to find at least two new pitchers
I can rely on, or else drop into second division.”
“That’s right,” Lefty agreed. “Two’s the least you could get along
with. How’ve you made out so far?”
Kennedy shook his head slowly. “Nothing to boast of. Got rafts of
twirlers, you understand, but they’re mostly from the bush, which isn’t
what I wanted at all. I offered all kinds of money for Donovan, of the
Specters, and Hen Wolfer, but nothing doing; they won’t loosen up on
’em. My best bet so far is Sackett’s find, a lad named Savage who was
doing things all last season out West.”
“Great spitball artist, isn’t he?” inquired Lefty. “I seem to remember
reading about him.”
“He’s got something besides a spitball,” Kennedy returned grimly, “or
I’d never have looked at him. I never could see a spitter if a man
could sneak the ball over any other way. I’ve watched this boy work
several times, and I’m pretty sure we can make something out of him. If
I could only find another as promising, believe me, I’d feel easier in
my mind.”