SIGNING THE MANAGER
Weegman came in boldly. His manner was ingratiating, yet somewhat
insolent, and he chuckled as he saw the look of surprise on the face
of Lefty Locke. "Well, well!" he said. "Here we are! This is first
rate. Now we can get together and do things."
To the southpaw's increasing astonishment, Kennedy stepped forward
quickly, seized Weegman's hand, and shook it cordially and heartily.
"I wired for Locke," said the old manager. "I felt sure I could talk
sense into his head. Didn't like to see him make a fool of himself and
let a great opportunity slip through his fingers just because of a false
notion about loyalty to me. But I didn't expect you before to-morrow."
Lefty was a trifle bewildered. Kennedy had known Weegman was coming
to Indianapolis; in fact, had arranged to meet him there. Collier's
representative beamed on Locke.
"Sorry I couldn't wait to see the finish of that game in Fernandon,"
he said; "but I saw enough to satisfy me. You did well to beat the Wind
Jammers with that bunch of half invalids behind you, and your own arm
all to the bad. Still, Wiley sort of handed you the game."
"The score was three to two," reminded Lefty.
"The Wind Jammers couldn't hit. They were a lot of freaks, a burlesque
baseball team." Weegman turned again to old Jack. "If you can talk some
sense into Locke, you'll succeed where I failed. I wasted time, money,
and breath on him; gave him up then. Let me tell you a joke." He began
to laugh, and the southpaw writhed inwardly. "Who do you think wants
to manage the Blue Stockings? You can't guess? Well, it's Skullen;
yes, Mit Skullen. Actually came after the job. Got me cornered and
gave me a great game of talk, trying to convince me that he could fill
the bill. I was listening to his spiel when I caught a glimpse of you
two passing the door of my room. Called the desk and asked the number
of your room. Then I shook old Mit and came around. The idea of Mit
Skullen managing a Big League club! Isn't that funny?" His whole body
shook with merriment as he spoke.
Kennedy seemed to be amused also, and joined in Weegman's laughter.
"Wonder what Tom Garrity would say to that? Skullen must have forgotten
his old nemesis, John Barleycorn. It was John that put him down and out
as a prize fighter and a ball player."
"He says he hasn't looked at the stuff for four months. You should
have heard him trying to convince me that he had the makings of a great
manager."
Lefty knew Weegman was lying regarding the nature of the private
consultation that had been held in a nearby room. But Kennedy seemed to
be unaware of this.
"You wouldn't take Skullen under any conditions, would you?" asked
old Jack.
"I wouldn't have him if he was ready to pay to manage the team. Collier
would lift my scalp if I fell for anything like that. But I've got a
line on a good man if--if--" He faltered, and looked at Locke, smiling.
"We'll settle that right here," declared Kennedy, with a growl.
"Locke's the lad. I haven't had time to talk to him much, but I was
telling him before you came in that he'd have to accept. As for me,
a Class AA team ain't so worse. You're dead sure I can hook up with
St. Paul?"
"I wired you about the proposition from Byers. He wants you, but he
wasn't going to try to cut in on us. Did you send him word?"
"Not yet. Decided to have my talk with Lefty first."
"I've always liked you, Kennedy," said Weegman. "You've been a great
man in your day. You're a good man now, but it needs younger blood,
especially in this fight against the Feds, confound them! About so often
a team needs to change managers, especially when it begins to slip.
The Blue Stockings began to slip last year, and the Feds have given us
a push. Locke's young, and he's got the energy to build the team up.
Working together, we can put it on its feet again. He'll have the very
best counsel and advice. He's a favorite with the fans, and he'll be
tolerated where you would be blamed. He'll come through and win out.
Of that I am certain. The Feds will blow before the season's over, and
the woods will be full of first-class players begging for jobs. Next
season should see the Stockings stronger than ever, and the man who's
managing the team's bound to be popular. He'll get a lot of credit."
Lefty had taken a chair. He opened his lips to speak, but stopped when
he caught a warning sign from old Jack behind Weegman's shoulder.
"Is that contract ready for the boy?" asked Kennedy.
"I've got it in my pocket."
"Then nail him right now. Push it at him, and we'll make him sign.
Don't let him get away."
Weegman produced the document. Then, for a moment, he seemed to hesitate,
flashing old Jack a look and giving Locke a hard stare.
"You understand the conditions?" he said, addressing the latter.
"Yes," answered Lefty, "you made them plain enough for a child to
understand when you talked to me in Fernandon."
"Course he understands," cut in Kennedy. "He told me, and I told him
to grab on without makin' no further talk. Just as you say, Weegman,
with proper advice he can swing the thing. It looks pretty big to him,
and he's doubtful. Let him look at that paper."
He took it from Weegman's hand and looked it over himself. It was
practically the same sort of an agreement old Jack had signed himself
when he took control of the team, and the name of Charles Collier,
properly witnessed, had already been affixed to it. With the contract
in his possession, along with Collier's power of attorney, Weegman could
sign up any one he chose to manage the Blue Stockings. For a fleeting
instant Kennedy's face was twisted into an expression of rage, which,
however, Collier's private secretary did not catch.
Locke saw that flash of anger and understood; old Jack was playing the
fox, and losing no time about it.
"Skullen will do for the other witness," said Weegman, going to the
room telephone. "He'll feel bad, of course, but I told him he didn't
have a show in the world." He called the operator and gave the number
of a room.
While Weegman was engaged, Kennedy handed the agreement over to Locke.
"You sign it just as it is," he directed. "You've had your talk with
Mr. Weegman, and you know what he said to you. You don't have to chin
it over any more."
By this time Weegman had got Skullen on the phone and asked him to come
round to Kennedy's room, giving him the number. Locke sat grimly reading
the contract until Skullen knocked at the door.
"Maybe you'll feel bad, Mit," said Weegman, admitting the man, "but
you know I told you there wasn't a show in the world of me signing
you up as manager. It's settled with Locke, and I want you to witness
him put his autograph to the paper. Now don't make a growl, but do as
you're wanted."
Skullen kept still as directed, but he looked as if Weegman's first
words had surprised him a trifle.
Kennedy had produced a fountain pen and thrust it into Locke's hand.
"Sign right here, son," he urged. "Let's see how pretty you write."
"Wait!" cried Weegman, his eyes on the southpaw, who had promptly
moved up to the little table. "You haven't forgotten our talk? You
understand?"
"I haven't forgotten a thing," asserted Lefty, boldly and swiftly
writing his name. "There it is!"