REVELATIONS
There was a constant passing and repassing of people through the lobby,
but not until after five did the advance guard of the Blue Stockings,
consisting of Kennedy, Dalton, Gene Temple, and Ogan, appear. They came
by the main entrance, laughing and joking, at the precise moment that
a broad-shouldered young man, a soft hat pulled down over his eyes,
turned from the register and put a question to the clerk.
“Tethridge?” the latter repeated briskly, turning for an instant to
inspect the keyboard. “Why, he hasn’t come――”
He stopped abruptly, with a sniff of surprise, for the young man,
without a word of explanation, had whirled about, and was making
swiftly for the side corridor. A second later the keen eyes of the
Blue Stockings’ manager sighted him; there was a gasp of astonishment,
checked in its very birth. Then a shout:
“Savage! Grab him, Temple――don’t let him get away!”
For a fraction of a second, Temple, who was nearer the hurrying man
than any of the others, seemed to hesitate. But another roar from
Kennedy, accompanied by a forward rush, spurred him on, and, plunging
through a throng of bewildered loungers, he grabbed the Westerner by
one arm.
With a snarl like that of a trapped animal, Savage whirled on him. “Let
go, you cheap sport!” he cried. “If you don’t, I’ll put the whole crowd
wise to your crookedness――”
He did not finish, for at that moment Kennedy gripped the other arm,
and, with characteristic presence of mind, shoved him through the door
of an adjoining writing room, whence he was followed by the other
members of his squad. Then the door slammed in the face of the crowd of
curious spectators.
There was another door leading to a small reception room, but this Ogan
promptly closed, taking his position in front of it. Kennedy released
his hold on the busher, who stepped back against a table, his chin
high, his eyes insolently returning the manager’s steady, contemptuous
stare.
“So you broke out?” the latter commented scornfully. “Nice one you are
to talk about crookedness! Why, that’s your middle name!”
Savage’s eyes gleamed. “At least I never forged my father’s name,
like that man!” he retorted, with a vicious side glance at Temple’s
flushed face. “Nor passed myself off for an amateur after I’d played
professional ball all summer. Oh, you can’t deny it! I know! Your old
man didn’t prosecute, but it’s the truth, all the same. You didn’t
think to run up against me, I s’pose, after pitching two seasons as
Fred Moore out on the coast, an’ then trotting back East to pretend you
were a sweet young innocent that didn’t even know fellows got money for
playing ball.”
Temple’s face was flaming now, and his eyes were filled with a mixture
of bitter shame and indignation.
“That’s nothing to what I’ve got on you!” he retorted. “It’s past and
gone now.” His eyes swept pleadingly from one face to another. “I
had to earn money to get through, and pitching was the only trade I
knew. The rules of professional athletics are unjust, anyhow. Fellows
do other things for money to help them along in college――waiting,
dishwashing, tutoring, coaching――why shouldn’t they play ball? The
check was a heap worse, but it was that or starve. Since my father
forgave me, I don’t see it’s anybody else’s business.”
He caught his breath, and his eyes returned to Savage’s sneering face.
“You’re a corker to bring up things like this!” he went on bitterly.
“I was in the grandstand the day you pitched against the Atlanta
Tigers. Oh, I know you didn’t see me! I was spread out flat, taking
things easy. But I saw _you_――through a crack in the floor. It was a
nice, wide crack, too, that gave me a fine view of the dressing room
underneath. I saw everything that went on there. I know the game you’ve
been playing, and when I’ve told Kennedy he’ll――”
“Great――cats!” The exclamation came in a gasping gurgle from the lips
of Al Ogan. “Am I seeing things?”
The door had opened and closed. Two men stood with their backs against
it. One was Lefty Locke. The other so resembled in every detail――save
expression alone――the sneering busher leaning against the table that
the result was petrifying.
A tense silence fell upon the room as the dazed occupants stared with
widening eyes and sagging jaws at this apparent miracle. It was the
face of the manager which changed first. His gaze had been shifting
continually from Savage to the newcomer, and back again. Presently the
dark, heavy brows lowered in a scowl.
“So there’s two of you!” he snapped.
A bitter smile flitted across Locke’s lips. “A pretty dual personality,
Jack,” he said quietly. “This has certainly been one on me, all right.”
The newcomer took a step forward, his face serious.
“I know you’ll be furious, Kennedy,” he said slowly. “You certainly
have a right to be, but I――”
“Hold on, there!” The manager’s voice was harsh and angry. “You say you
know all about this game,” he went on, glaring at Temple. “Suppose you
spin out the rest of that story.”
Temple flushed and dropped his eyes. Apparently he would have much
preferred remaining in the background.
“There――isn’t――much more,” he stammered. “I’d dozed off, and when I
came to I heard some one moving around down below. It was Savage, and
I was some surprised that he wasn’t out on the field. Once he went
outside for a minute or two, and a little while afterward the other one
came in.”
“Other one!” ejaculated Kennedy. “You knew there were two, then?”
Temple nodded. “I knew Neil here”――he glanced at the scowling fellow
by the table――“had a brother, Nelson, who was a lot better pitcher,
and when I found him passing under Nelson’s name I guessed there was
something queer about it.”
“But you kept your mouth shut because of what he knew about you,”
growled the manager. “Go on.”
“I hadn’t any idea they were so much alike. When I saw them together
in the dressing room under the stand I was stunned for a minute. I
gathered from their talk that they had planned to make a shift that
night, but Neil was half full, and insisted on going out then to finish
the game. Said if Nels didn’t agree he’d go out anyhow. So he got his
way. They changed clothes, and Nels went out through the gate in the
fence, while the other walked out on the field. That’s all, I think.”
“All!” Kennedy repeated harshly. “I should hope so!” He turned to
Nelson Savage with a heavy scowl. “You’re the one I hired, ain’t you?”
he snapped. “I thought so. You deliberately turned my offer over to
this miserable brother of yours, didn’t you? Well, what did you do it
for? You must have known what he was. What was the game?”
Nelson Savage winced a little, clenching his hands tightly behind his
back.
“I did it because I wanted him to have one more chance,” he explained,
in a low tone. “He’d been going to the bad for a long time, but he can
pitch when he’s right. I hoped a chance like that, and being down here
in training where he couldn’t drink, would make him pull up. I even
gave up baseball myself, much as I hated to, and accepted an offer to
go on the road for a sporting-goods house.”
He hesitated an instant, and caught his lip between his teeth. “It
wasn’t any use. When I came down through the State, I stopped off
to――see a friend, and also to learn how he was making out. I discovered
that Neil had got in with a shark named Tethridge, who was training
some race horses over at Livermore’s place, across from Tulane. He’d
evidently been supplying my brother with liquor, for when I slipped
over there I found Neil so intoxicated he could hardly move. He was as
bad next morning, and there was nothing to do but take his place until
he could sober up. He seemed perfectly content to lie around doing
nothing, but finally I simply had to cut out and attend to work or lose
my job. So I looked him up, and told him he’d have to come back. I’d
planned to make the shift after the game, but――well, you’ve heard about
that. I know what a poor trick it was to play on you, Kennedy, but I
was trying to save my brother. If I can ever make it up to you in any
way at all, I’ll be mighty glad.”
During the recital, to which the others listened with absorbed
interest, Neil Savage had preserved his attitude of sneering composure,
unmoved. Now he straightened languidly, and yawned.
“Now that the Sunday school sentiments have all been expressed,” he
drawled insolently, “I don’t suppose there’s any particular use of my
hanging around.”
For a second Kennedy did not answer. He was looking at the other
brother, and the expression of appeal in Nelson’s eyes would have moved
a much harder-hearted person than old Jack.
“All right; you can beat it,” he said shortly. “I might suggest that in
the future Georgia would be a good State for you to avoid.”
“Thanks for the advice,” was the nonchalant reply. “I had the same
notion myself.”
Without further comment, glancing neither to right nor left, he moved
toward the door. Lefty stood aside to let him pass, his look eloquently
expressing the indignation which was consuming him. Nelson Savage, his
eyes fixed rather wistfully on his brother, took an impulsive step
forward as Neil passed, and then drew back, his face white. The door
opened and closed with a slam which had in it a sense of finality as
absolute as the word at the end of a tale. The pause that followed was
broken by Kennedy.
“You’re a fool, young man,” he said, “to monkey with a brother like
that; but I reckon you’ve had your lesson. You can pitch, and I believe
you can make good in professional baseball. Mebbe, after this, you
won’t care to tie up with me, but perhaps I can get you a try-out with
Ben Frazer, manager of the Wolves. He’s got a catcher, Brick King,
that he’s been trying to trade for a twirler, but I don’t want any of
his lemons. Still,” he added, “everything considered, I ought to have
first shot at you. If you’ve got a full line of the goods I’ve seen a
few samples of, I might give you a chance to put your John Hancock to a
Blue Stocking contract. Would you?”
Savage’s face lightened. “Would I?” he cried. “Just give me that
chance!”
With the departure of Neil Savage, happening to glance toward the door
of the small reception room, Lefty was surprised to see it ajar, and,
standing in the opening, the figures of Janet and Celia.
How long they had been there he did not know, but without delay he
walked swiftly over. Miss Berkeley’s face was serious; the gray eyes,
fixed so intently on Savage, held a glint of tears in them. She did not
speak or even turn her head when the southpaw, his expression somewhat
stern and accusing, drew Janet back into the other room.
“You knew all the time,” Lefty said briefly, his brows drawn down in a
frown.
She put one hand lightly on his arm, and raised her anxious,
questioning eyes. “Celia told me about it,” she explained hastily, “but
made me promise never to breathe a single word――even to you. Surely you
won’t blame me for keeping that promise?”
For a second the frown struggled for existence before it was swept away
by the light which illumined Lefty’s whole face.
“Perhaps I’ll forgive you――if――”
His hand had found hers. He bent nearer, looking into the depths of
those wonderful violet eyes. His voice sank to a murmur, so low that no
third person could possibly have heard and understood.
THE END
Transcriber’s Notes:
――Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
――Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
――Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved, for example,
Douro/Duoro.
――Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.