EMPTY BOXES
June had come and the end of school loomed close at hand. So, too,
loomed the final baseball game with Petersburg. It is an unfortunate
thing for ardent athletes that the crowning contests of the year arrive
simultaneously with final examinations! There is no doubt in the
world but that examinations seriously interfere with a whole-hearted
application to sports. Most of the members of the Amesville team were
agreed that something ought to be done about it; such, for instance, as
abolishing the examinations! However, Petersburg was in no better case,
and that evened matters up.
Amesville dropped a couple of games the second week in June, just to
vary the monotony, perhaps, and then came back and overwhelmed Crowell
Academy with a score of 10 to 1. Crowell was a much-heralded team from
a down-State preparatory school, and Amesville did well to pile up the
score she did, especially as, at the last moment, Tom Pollock found
that he couldn’t pitch and Jack Strobe sent word that someone would
have to take his place in left field! Jack, who had been complaining
for a day or two of a sore throat, was, it seemed, prohibited from
playing by an unfeeling doctor. Loomis went into left field and Toby
Williams took the mound, and both performed creditably. In fact, Toby
rather covered himself with glory that day, having eight strike-outs
to his credit when the fray was over. Joe played all through at first,
as he had been doing since the second Lynton engagement, and put up a
rattling good game. Even Frank Foley’s adherents had to acknowledge
that the new first baseman had everything the deposed one had, and,
when it came to batting, a good deal more. Joe didn’t particularly
distinguish himself at the bat this day, but he got a clean single and
a base on balls in four times up. Foley had been used in the last two
contests for an inning or two at second base, but it was generally
conceded that he was now only a substitute, with small likelihood of
getting into either of the two remaining contests.
After the game that Wednesday afternoon Joe hurried to Jack’s house
and demanded audience of that afflicted person. But, to his surprise
and dismay, Mrs. Strobe met him with the information that Jack was
suffering from a severe attack of quinsy and that the doctor had
prohibited visitors, since the disease was more or less contagious. Joe
had to be satisfied with sending a message to his chum. That evening,
however, Jack called him up on the telephone and bewailed his luck. The
only comfort Jack appeared able to derive from the situation lay in the
fact that Frank Foley had not stolen a march on him by playing that
afternoon.
“The doc says I’ll have to stay at home until Monday, at least,” he
said. “I’ll lose Saturday’s game. If Frank manages to get into that and
then should play for an inning against Petersburg, as he’s likely to,
it’s all off! Isn’t that the dickens? Just when I thought I had that
wager cinched, too!”
Joe was properly sympathetic and Jack finally rang off, exacting a
promise from Joe to call up the next day. Aunt Sarah insisted that Joe
should spray his throat after the interview. It didn’t do, she said,
to take risks, and for her part she was far from convinced that folks
couldn’t catch things over the telephone!
When, the next afternoon, on the way to the field, Joe stopped in at
a drug store and called up Jack it was Mrs. Strobe who answered.
Jack, she said, was not so well today and she thought it best for him
not to try to talk. Joe went on to practice feeling rather worried
about his chum, and wasn’t comforted until Mr. Talbot had assured
him that quinsy seldom, if ever, resulted fatally. On Friday there
was no practice for the players, and Joe, rather at a loose-end,
accepted Sidney Morris’s invitation to go to the “movies.” It was well
after five when he reached the Adams Building. Mr. Chester Young was
talking in a low voice with a man who looked to Joe very much like a
bill-collector. Whoever he was, he presently departed with no great
show of satisfaction. The day’s business had been, Joe discovered,
surprisingly poor, the register showing less than nine dollars. And
when Young reminded Joe that it was pay-day, Joe had to dig into his
pocket for enough to make up the difference between the cash on hand
and the amount of the clerk’s wages.
He called up the Strobes on the telephone after supper and talked for
a few minutes with Mr. Strobe. That gentleman announced that Jack was
feeling pretty mean, but that the doctor thought he was doing as well
as could be expected and that he would probably be out and about by
the first of the week. After that Joe settled down to two hours of hard
study in preparation for next week’s examinations, wrote a long letter
to his mother and finally went to bed just as midnight sounded.
In the morning he went back to the news-stand and remained there until
noon. Saturday was usually the best day of the week for business,
possibly because many of the offices paid off their employees then,
and today both Joe and Young were kept busy attending to the wants of
customers. When Joe went home for dinner the sales had already mounted
to over fifteen dollars and gave promise of atoning for the poor
business of the day previous.
The game that afternoon was with Chelmsford High School and was looked
on as more of a practice contest than a real game. It was the last
contest before the Petersburg battle on the following Wednesday, and
Amesville had purposely chosen an easy victim for the occasion. But at
that the home team had to work fairly hard for half a dozen innings
before the game was safely laid away, and, as it happened, it was Joe
who was chiefly instrumental in that ceremony.
Chelmsford had two runs and Amesville three when the last of the sixth
started. Amesville had been playing raggedly and batting weakly
against an easy pitcher, and only the fact that her opponent had been
unable to do much with Tom Pollock’s delivery had kept her ahead. Tom
gave place to Carl Moran in the fifth and, ultimately, Carl retired
in favour of Toby Williams. In that last of the sixth Sam Craig, who
was batting in third place owing to Jack’s absence, got to first on
a scratch hit. Hale was an easy out, third to first, and Peddie was
passed. The watchers were eager for runs and when Joe went to the
plate, swinging his bat, there came cries of “All right, Lucky! Smash
it out!” “Bring ’em in, Lucky! Make it a homer!” Joe had never made
a home-run in his life and didn’t expect to now, but when, after the
runners had attempted a double steal and got away with it, he found a
nice, straight ball coming right for the middle of the plate, Joe took
a little longer swing, put a little more strength into it, and the deed
was done! It was a long way around those bases, he thought, but he
didn’t have to hurry after he got to third, for the ball had gone into
the left corner of the field and rolled up against the fence! He jogged
across the plate finally to the laughing applause of the stands and was
thumped on the back by hilarious team-mates.
Perhaps Coach Talbot thought Joe had done enough for one afternoon,
for, when the seventh inning began, Joe found, to his surprise, that he
was superseded at first base by Frank Foley!
“I’m glad,” he said to himself, “that Jack can’t hear of it. He’d
probably have a relapse and die!”
Joe watched the rest of the game from the bench and tried not to be a
little bit glad when Foley failed to capture an easy infield fly. The
game finally ended with the score 7 to 3, and he walked back to town
with the rest and reached the Adams Building at a little after five
to find, to his surprise, that the stand was deserted. Supposing that
Young would be back in a moment, Joe went behind the counter and waited
on a customer. But no Mr. Chester Young appeared, and when Joe rang
up the sale and so viewed the drawer of the cash register he thought
he knew why! There was not a cent in it except the dime he had just
dropped there!
His first sensation was, oddly enough, one of satisfaction over the
fact that his original impression of the shifty-eyed young man had
been, after all, correct! But that satisfaction didn’t last long. The
realization that he and Jack had been barefacedly robbed of at least
twenty-five dollars took its place and Joe’s countenance became grim.
To add insult to injury, he reflected, Young had had the cheek to
demand his wages on the eve of his flight――and get them! Inquiry of
Walter, the elevator boy, elicited the information that Mr. Chester
Young had complained of feeling unwell and had announced that he was
going over to the drug store for some medicine. That had been, as near
as Walter could recall, about a quarter to five. It might have been a
little before that. Walter evidently had no suspicions and Joe didn’t
enlighten him.
The exodus from the building was under way now and for a good half-hour
Joe was busy selling papers and cigars and cigarettes, together with
an occasional box of candy. But he had plenty of time for thinking,
and long before the elevators had brought down their last loads he had
determined his course. A hasty survey of the stock in sight showed
conclusively that the stand had done a phenomenal business since
morning, but it was not until he thought to look under the counter that
the real extent of Mr. Young’s depredations came to light.
On the shelves they kept anywhere from thirty to sixty dollars’ worth
of cigars, cigarettes and other goods for which there was not room
above. At first glance everything seemed all right, but when Joe
picked up a box of “Adams Building” conchas and, bringing it to light,
discovered it to be quite empty, he knew what to expect of the rest
of the stock. When he had pulled all the boxes and packages out their
contents would not have fetched two dollars! Only one cigar box held
cigars, and then only a handful. Evidently Mr. Young had craftily
replaced the full boxes with empty ones and, not having enough of the
latter, had been forced to put in one from the case that still held a
few cigars. It was the same with the cigarette cartons. Only one was
not absolutely empty.
Joe surveyed the litter behind the counter and tried to think it out.
At first he couldn’t understand what use the cigars could be to Young.
Of course, he might take them away to another town and sell them, but
eight boxes of them, as well as several packages of cigarettes and
smoking tobacco, would make rather a conspicuous bundle to carry.
Then a light broke on him and he quickly lifted the receiver from the
telephone instrument on the counter and called up Meyers and Fink.
Fortunately, they were still open, and after a moment Joe got the
information he expected.
“Yes, that clerk of yours came in here about three o’clock today with
seven boxes of cigars and some cigarettes and smoking tobacco. Said
you were overstocked and wanted to return them. We paid him cash for
them. We were going to credit them, but he said you wanted the money.
Anything wrong?”
“How much did you pay him?” asked Joe.
“Forty-six dollars and something; I’ll give you the exact amount if
you’ll wait a minute.”
“Thanks, that’s near enough,” replied Joe. “I’ll be around to see you
Monday. Good-night.”
“Forty-six from them,” reckoned Joe, “about twenty-five from today’s
sales and, unless I’m mistaken, a knock-down yesterday of perhaps five
more. About seventy-five dollars altogether. That’s going to make an
awful dent in this month’s profits if we don’t get it back! But,” he
added grimly to himself as he locked up for the night and turned the
light out, “I think we will!”