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LEFTY LOCKE PITCHER-MANAGER
by
BURT L. STANDISH
Author of "Lefty o' the Bush," "Lefty o' the Big League,"
"Lefty o' the Blue Stockings," "Brick King, Backstop,"
"The Making of a Big Leaguer," etc.
Illustrated by Charles L. Wrenn
[Illustration: Lefty had sprained his ankle so seriously that he required
assistance to walk from the field. (_See Page 103_)]
Publishers
Barse & Co.
New York, N. Y.--Newark, N. J.
Copyright, 1916
By
Barse & Co.
LEFTY LOCKE, PITCHER-MANAGER
Printed in the United States of America
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I An Unexpected Offer 11
II Something Queer 20
III The Federal Policy 28
IV The Magnetized Ball 37
V A Man of Mystery 48
VI Peculiar Behavior 56
VII The Test 64
VIII At Necessity's Demand 72
IX Torturing Doubt 79
X The Only Door 86
XI Burning Speed 93
XII Too Much Temptation 103
XIII The Perplexing Question 113
XIV Only One Way 120
XV Signing the Manager 132
XVI The Wrong Stool Pigeon 139
XVII Getting into Action 146
XVIII The First Deal 155
XIX A Fleeting Glimpse 165
XX A Riddle to Solve 175
XXI The Man Ahead 180
XXII A Doubtful Victory 186
XXIII All Wrong 194
XXIV Wheels Within Wheels 202
XXV Hidden Tracks 210
XXVI Not Much Show 219
XXVII The Suspended Ax 226
XXVIII The Gage of War 233
XXIX The Jaws of the Trap 240
XXX One Against Three 248
XXXI Light on a Dark Spot 255
XXXII One Chance 266
XXXIII One in a Million 274
XXXIV Weegman's Proposal 281
XXXV The Shattering Stroke 288
XXXVI The Test of Mysterious Jones 296
XXXVII The Return of Lefty 308
LEFTY LOCKE, PITCHER-MANAGER
CHAPTER I
AN UNEXPECTED OFFER
Lefty Locke gave the man a look of surprise. The soft, bright moonlight
was shining full on Weegman's face, and he was chuckling. He was always
chuckling or laughing outright, and Locke had grown tired of it. It was
monotonous.
"What do you mean?" the pitcher asked. "Tinware for Kennedy! I don't
believe I get you."
Weegman snapped his fingers; another little trick that was becoming
monotonous and irritating. "That's poor slang perhaps," he admitted;
"but you've been in the game long enough to understand it. Collier is
going to tie the can to old Jack."
Lefty moved his chair round on the little vine-covered porch in order to
face his visitor squarely. Frogs were chorusing in the distance, and the
dynamo in the electric power house on the edge of the town kept up its
constant nocturnal droning.
"I could scarcely believe you meant just that," said the star slabman
of the Blue Stockings soberly. "Being Charles Collier's private
secretary, and therefore to a large extent aware of his plans, I presume
you know what you're talking about."
"You can bet on it," laughed Weegman, leaning back and puffing at his
cigar. "I'm the man Collier left to carry out his orders regarding the
team. I have full instructions and authority."
"But I'm sure Kennedy has no inkling of this. I correspond with him
regularly, and I know he expected a new contract to sign before Mr.
Collier went abroad. He wrote me that the contract was to be mailed him
from New York, but that he supposed Collier, being a sick man, forgot
it at the last moment."
Weegman took the cigar from his mouth, and leaned forward on the arm of
his chair. "A new manager of the right sort is hard to find," he stated
confidentially, "and Collier wasn't ready to let go all holds until he
had some one else in view at least."
Locke uttered a smothered exclamation of incredulity. "Do you mean to
tell me that Charles Collier was handing old Jack Kennedy a deal as
deceitfully crooked as that?" he cried. "I can't believe it. Kennedy
has been a faithful and loyal manager. Three years ago, when Collier
secured the controlling interest in the club, his bad judgment led
him to drop Kennedy and fill his place with Al Carson. You know what
happened. Carson made a mess of it, and old Jack was called back at
the last moment to save the day. He did it and won the championship
for the Blue Stockings by a single game. Since then--"
"Come now!" chuckled Weegman, snapping his fingers again. "You know
you were the man who really won that championship by your air-tight
pitching. Why do you want to give somebody else the credit? Kennedy
merely went in as a pinch hitter--"
"And pounded the only run of the game across the rubber. No matter how
air-tight a pitcher's work may be, to win games the team behind him has
got to hit. Kennedy was there with the goods."
"That's ancient history now. What has he done since then? As a player,
he's a has-been. He's lost his eyes so that he can't even bat in the
pinches now. His sun has set, and he may as well retire to his farm and
settle down for old age."
"He hasn't lost his brains," asserted Locke warmly. "Playing or pinch
hitting is a small part of a manager's business. Once since then he's
copped the bunting for us, and last year it was hard luck and injury
to players that dropped us into third position."
"I don't blame you," said Weegman good naturedly. "You ought to
stand up for him. It shows the right spirit. He gave you your
chance--practically plucked you from the brambles. But," he supplemented
disparagingly, "he was desperately hard up for twirlers that season.
You were sort of a lucky guess on his part. Save for the fact that
he's never been able to win a world's championship, old Jack's
been picking four-leaf clovers all his life. He's too soft and
easy-going for a manager; not enough drive to him."
It was Lefty Locke's turn to laugh, but his merriment held more than a
touch of irony. "Jack Kennedy has won pennants or kept in the first
division, at least, with teams that would have been fighting for the
subcellar under any other manager. When meddlers have not interfered
he's always been able to get the last ounce of baseball out of every
man under him. While he has handled it the club has always been a big
paying proposition. What he has done has been nothing short of miraculous
considering the niggardly policy forced upon him by those in power.
It's the lowest-salaried team in the league. We have men getting
twenty-five hundred or three thousand who should be drawing down twice
as much, and would be with any other winning Big League club. Only a
man with Kennedy's magnetism and tact could have kept them going at
high pressure, could have kept them from being dissatisfied and lying
down. What they've accomplished has been done for him, not for the
owners. And now you tell me he's to be canned. There's gratitude!"
"My dear man," chirruped Weegman, "baseball is business, and gratitude
never goes far in business. Granting what you say may have been true in
the past, it's plain enough that the old man's beginning to lose his
grip. He fell down last season, and now that the Feds are butting in
and making trouble, he's showing himself even more incompetent. Talk
about gratitude; it didn't hold Grist or Orth, and now it's reported
that Dillon is negotiating with the outlaws. You know what that means;
our pitching staff is all shot to pieces. If the players were so
true to Kennedy, why didn't they wait for their contracts?"
"How could Jack send them contracts when he hasn't one himself? If
he had the authority now, perhaps he could save Dillon for us even yet.
Billy Orth is hot-headed and impulsive, and he thought he wasn't given
a square deal. As for Grist, old Pete's days are numbered, and he
knows it. He was wise to the talk about asking waivers on him. It was a
ten-to-one shot he'd have been sent to the minors this coming season.
With the Federals offering him a three-year contract at nearly twice
as much as he ever received, he'd have been a fool to turn it down.
All the same, he had a talk with Kennedy before he signed. Jack couldn't
guarantee him anything, so he jumped."
"That's it!" exclaimed Weegman triumphantly. "There's a sample of
Kennedy's incompetence right there. He should have baited Grist along,
and kept him away from the Feds until the season was well under way,
when they would have had their teams made up, and probably wouldn't
have wanted Pete. Then, if he didn't come up to form, he could be let
out to the minors."
Lefty's face being in the shadow, the other man did not see the
expression of contempt that passed over it. For a few minutes the
southpaw was too indignant to reply. When he did, however, his voice
was level and calm, though a trifle hard.
"So that would have been your way of doing it! Grist has had hard luck
with all his investments; I understand he's saved very little. He's a
poor man."
Weegman lolled back again, puffing at his cigar. "That's his lookout.
Anyway, he's not much loss. But these confounded Feds aren't through;
they're after Dirk Nelson, too. What d'ye know about that! Our best
catcher! They seem to be trying to strip our whole team."
"Knowing something about the salaries our players get, probably they
figure it should be easy stripping."
Suddenly the visitor leaned forward again, and gazed hard at Locke. He
was not laughing now. "Have they been after you?" he asked.
"Yes."
"I thought likely. Made you a big offer?"
"Yes."
"What have you done?"
"Nothing."
"Good!" exclaimed Weegman. "It's a good thing for you that you kept
your head. They're outside organized ball, and any man who jumps to them
will be blacklisted. All this talk about the money they have behind them
is pure bluff."
"Think so?"
"I know it. They're plunging like lunatics, and they'll blow up before
the season's over. They haven't got the coin."
"Then how does it happen they are signing players for three years, and
handing over certified checks in advance for the first year, besides
guaranteeing salaries by bank deposits for the full tenure of contracts?"
"Oh, they've got some money, of course," admitted Weegman lightly;
"but, as I say, they're spending it like drunken sailors. When the
Feds explode, the fools who have jumped to them will find themselves
barred from organized ball for all time; they'll be down and out. The
outlaws may hurt us a little this year, but after that--nothing doing.
Just the same, I own up we've got to put a check on 'em before they
rip the Blue Stockings wide open. That's what brings me down here to
Fernandon to see you."
"Really!" said Lefty interestedly. "You seem to be shouldering a lot
of responsibility."
"I am," chuckled Charles Collier's private secretary. "It was all
arranged with Mr. Collier before he sailed. He left me with proper
authority. I am to sign up the manager for the team."
"Is that right?" exclaimed Locke, surprised. "Then, according to
your own statement, if you want to save the Blue Stockings from being
riddled, you'd better be about it."
"I am," said Weegman. "That's why I've come to you."
"For advice?"
"Oh, no!" He laughed heartily. "I don't need that. I know what I'm
about. I've brought a contract. I want you to put your name to it. Your
salary will be advanced fifteen hundred dollars."
"The Feds offered to double it. As a pitcher--"
"You're not getting this extra money on account of your pitching,"
interposed Weegman promptly. "I'm offering you the increase of salary
to assume the additional duties of manager."