THE BLUNDER
What little conversation passed between the two men as they hurried
toward the Temple house was spasmodic and choppy. Briefly Lefty
explained how he had come to see Savage. The younger man asked no
questions, and was apparently not even curious to know what Locke could
want with him. He seemed, in fact, to be answering mechanically, as
if his brain was all the time occupied with some other phase of the
situation; and, naturally, the Blue Stockings’ pitcher quickly relapsed
into silence.
He himself was in a condition of puzzled doubt and uncertainty which
gave him plenty to think about. Much as he disliked Nelson Savage, he
did not wish to believe that the man would deliberately break into
a house for the purpose of stealing. Not only would it be an act of
incredible folly, but the coincidence of his traveling a thousand miles
to rob the home of Gene Temple was too startling to credit.
Yet, if that were not the true explanation, Temple himself must be an
unmitigated liar, his every action deliberately intended to deceive.
Lefty found this quite as hard to believe, and he decided to reserve
judgment until he had a little more to work on.
“In five minutes I’ll know,” he said to himself as they hastened around
the corner by the concrete bungalow. “It’s one of the queerest things――
Say, Temple, where are you going?”
The last sentence was uttered aloud in a surprised tone, for the blond
young man had turned abruptly in at the bungalow gate, and was striding
up the walk. At the sound of Locke’s voice he slowed down a bit and
glanced over his shoulder.
“Going!” he echoed guardedly. “I’m hustling to pinch this housebreaker
before he makes a getaway”.
Locke caught his breath sharply. “You don’t mean to say you live
_here_?”
“I sure do!” Temple’s tone was puzzled. “Where’d you think I lived?”
A wave of crimson surged over Lefty’s face at the realization of the
blunder he had made.
“But the man said the next corner!” he exclaimed indignantly. “Doesn’t
the idiot know――”
He broke off with a sudden deep chuckle as his keen sense of humor came
belatedly to his rescue. “I was talking about the wrong house all the
time,” he exclaimed. “Wouldn’t that get you!”
His face still puzzled, the younger ball player turned hurriedly and
came back to Locke’s side.
“You mean the house on the next corner?” he asked quickly. “Was that
where you saw this――Savage?”
“Sure thing!” answered Lefty. “Peach of a bull, wasn’t it? But the fool
agent said the next corner, and how was I to know he meant this one?”
Temple’s lips began to twitch and his eyes to crinkle. A second later
he threw back his head and burst into a shout of laughter, genuine,
infectious, yet with a note in it of such relief that Lefty stared at
him curiously. It wasn’t possible that such a chap could have been
nervous at the prospect of tackling a sneak thief.
“I can’t help it,” Temple said half apologetically when the violence of
his mirth had begun to subside. “It seemed to strike me as funny――our
hustling up the way we did. You certainly did get my goat for a bit,
though,” he went on frankly. “I’ve been careless, leaving things
around, and wasn’t keen about having ’em swiped. Besides, I couldn’t
for the life of me make out why anybody’d break into a house so early
in the evening. Of course, since it was at Markham’s you saw him, he
probably didn’t break in at all. Likely he’s a friend of Harry’s.”
“Hum! Possibly, though the whole business still seems rather odd. Who
is this Markham, by the way?”
They were standing together beside the gate. Temple’s manner had
altered amazingly, becoming in a flash light-hearted and jocular.
“Manager of Crawford’s sporting-goods shop,” he answered. “Who’s this
Savage, anyway――pugilist, ball player, or what?”
“A twirler from the sagebrush,” answered Lefty absently.
He was thinking over the affair, and there were certain details which
still seemed peculiar――such, for example, as the assurance which the
fellow showed in moving about the apparently empty house. Lefty had
half a mind to go on to Markham’s and see if he could solve the mystery.
“That accounts for it,” Temple went on. “Harry knows more scrappers
and ball players than you could count in a week. Well, what do you say
to going back? I’d ask you into the house, only it’s like a barn, and
there’s not a thing to eat around. Since the folks left, I’ve only been
showing up to sleep, and sometimes not even for that. You were going to
order supper at Mike’s, weren’t you?”
The Blue Stockings’ pitcher nodded, and swung through the gate beside
Temple, both starting to retrace their steps toward the restaurant.
Remembering Savage’s belligerent attitude at parting, Lefty was not
especially keen about stirring up something very likely to terminate
in a fight. At least, Temple was cleared of all foreknowledge of the
Western twirler, which was the principal thing just now.
It was not until they were seated on opposite sides of the neat table,
and the waitress had taken Locke’s order, that his companion broached
the subject which must have been in his mind for some little time.
“Did you――er――come to Belle View on purpose to――see me?” he asked, with
a touch of embarrassed hesitation.
Lefty smiled. “Yes,” he answered quietly. “I secured you for Jack
Kennedy this afternoon.”
Temple’s eyes widened, and a tide of deep crimson surged to the very
roots of his blond hair.
“You can’t mean――” he stammered, his hands gripping the table edge
with unconscious force. “It isn’t possible that the Blue Stockings
want―― Oh, say!” His face took on an expression of whimsical disbelief.
“You’re kidding me!”
“Not this time. I came East on purpose to get you for Kennedy’s squad.
Saw Jillson to-day, and now you’re a Blue Stocking cub. Hope you’re not
sorry?”
“Sorry!” cried Temple, bringing down one clenched fist with a crash
that made the dishes rattle. “Sorry! Why, I’d rather be that than
anything else on earth! It’s the Big League club that I’ve always put
ahead of all the others, but I never thought―― Do you s’pose there’s a
chance of my making good?”
“If there wasn’t,” returned Lefty briefly, “you’d hardly have been
picked by Jack Kennedy.”
The man’s modesty was refreshing, and his boyish impulsiveness held in
it an inexplicable attraction for the more famous player. Before supper
was over they were chatting together like old friends. When train time
approached Temple helped the Big League pitcher into his heavy coat,
and walked across to the station with him.
It lacked ten minutes or more of train time, so the two paced briskly
up and down the length of the concrete platform, smoking, and making
arrangements for their meeting a few days later to go South together.
“I’d sure like to make the trip with you,” Temple said enthusiastically
as they passed one of the waiting-room windows. “That’ll give me time
to see the folks, and―― Mighty!”
He broke off with sudden vehemence, and, ripping open his coat, glanced
at his watch. Scarcely seeming to look at it, he jammed it back, his
face frowning and troubled.
“Had a date at nine,” he explained rapidly to his companion. “Went
clean out of my head. Say, would you mind if I cut out now? Perhaps I
can square myself yet.”
“Go ahead, by all means,” replied Lefty, thrusting out a gloved hand.
“Good-by. Don’t forget where we’re to meet.”
Temple gripped the pitcher’s outstretched hand and wrung it.
“Not on your life!” he cried. “I’ve got it all straight. Hotel St.
Albans next Tuesday for lunch. Awfully sorry to go this way, but you
understand?”
Without even waiting for a reply, he turned and hurried along the
platform, almost at a run. Lefty was still watching him, a faint smile
on his lips, when the slamming of the station door made him glance
carelessly around.
A square-shouldered, youngish man was standing by the door, pulling
on a glove. His face was in the shadow, but a moment later he picked
up his suit case and strolled directly toward Lefty. The latter
watched him curiously, as one observes a lone fellow passenger at a
country station. Then, as the unknown stepped into the circle of the
nearest arc light, Locke caught his breath, every muscle stiffening
instinctively as if he were bracing himself to withstand an inevitable
shock. An instant later he had regained his composure.
“I hardly expected to see you quite so soon again, Savage,” he drawled
coolly.