THE WRONG STOOL PIGEON
Skullen and Kennedy attached their names as witnesses. The thing was
done; Lefty Locke--Philip Hazelton was the name he wrote on the
contract--was now manager of the Blue Stockings. He received a duplicate
copy, which he folded and slipped into his pocket.
"Now we're all set for business," said Bailey Weegman. "I
congratulate you, Locke. One time I was afraid you didn't have sense
enough to welcome Opportunity when she knocked. I'll see you later,
Mit, if you're around. We've got to square away now and have a
little conference. Don't cry because you didn't get the job."
"Cry--nothin'!" said Skullen. "I wouldn't have taken it if you'd
handed it to me with twice the salary."
"Old Mit's disappointed," chuckled Weegman, when the door closed
behind him, "but he doesn't want anybody to know it. He'll deny he
came looking for the position, of course."
Kennedy had seated himself, and Weegman drew a chair up to the table,
producing a packet of papers and running them over until he found the
one he wanted.
"Here's a list of the men the Feds have grabbed off us," he said.
"Grist, Orth, Temple, Nelson, Hyland, and Lewis. Grist is no particular
loss, but Temple and Orth knock a hole in the pitching staff. Nelson
was our reliance behind the bat. With Dayly and Lewis gone, the whole
side of the infield is wide open. We ought to be able to fill Hyland's
place in right garden."
"It's a swell team that's left!" said Locke. "And you told me that
Dillon was negotiating with the outlaws."
"He hasn't jumped; he hasn't had the nerve," sneered Weegman,
snapping his fingers. "Instead, he's been howling for a contract.
You'd find him waiting if you didn't sign him until the first of
April." For just a flicker he had actually seemed to betray annoyance
because Pink Dillon had not followed the example of the deserters,
but he ended with a laugh.
"It seems to me," said the new manager, "that I'd better get busy and
try to save the pieces. The men who haven't jumped should be signed up
without delay."
"Of course," agreed Weegman blandly. "You must send out the contracts.
Unluckily, I haven't any blanks with me, but I'll see that you are
furnished with them to-morrow."
"Every day counts, perhaps every hour; by to-morrow we may lose another
good man, or more."
"Not much danger, and you don't want to make the mistake of getting
into a panic and trying to do things in too much of a hurry. We've been
farming some clever youngsters, more than enough to make up a team; but
you should consult with Kennedy about them, and take only the right ones.
You'll have the most trouble getting hold of pitchers."
"Youngsters," said Locke, "are all right; but do you mean to suggest
that we should stop the gaps wholly with men who lack Big League
experience? You know how much show that sort of a team would have in
the race. We've got to make some deals that will give us some players
who have ripened. It'll cost money, too."
"Right there," said Weegman, "is where you're going to need the
check-rein. Charles Collier won't stand for needless extravagance
in that line, I know, and I shall not countenance the purchasing of
high-priced men."
The blood rose into Lefty's face; he tingled to tell the rascal
something, but again a warning flicker of Kennedy's left eye restrained
him.
"There are lots of good youngsters coming on," said the veteran
soothingly. "There were three or four I could have used last season if
I'd had room for them. We'll run over the list and see how they'll
fit in."
For another hour they continued in conclave, and a dozen times Weegman
took occasion to impress upon Locke that he should do nothing definite
without receiving Weegman's approval. When he seemed to feel that he
had driven this into the new manager's head, he excused himself on the
pretext of attending to a pressing matter, and departed, leaving old
Jack and Lefty together. Kennedy quietly locked the door. Lefty jumped
to his feet and began pacing the floor like a caged tiger.
"Never had such a job to keep my hands off a man!" he raged. "Only
for you, I'd--"
"I know," said old Jack, returning and sitting down heavily. "I
wanted to kick him myself, and I think I shall do it some day soon.
He's crooked as a corkscrew and rotten as a last year's early apple.
But he ain't shrewd; he only thinks he is. He's fooled himself. You
never agreed to his verbal terms, and, just as I said, he didn't dare
put them in writing. According to that contract, you've got as much
power as I ever had, and you can exercise it. It's up to you to get
busy. Don't wait for contract forms from Weegman; they'll be delayed.
I have plenty. Wire the old players who are left that contracts will
be mailed to them to-night."
Locke stopped by Kennedy's chair and dropped a hand on the old man's
shoulder.
"And you're going to St. Paul?" he said. "You've been handed a
wretched deal."
"Nix on the St. Paul business, son; there's nothing to it. That wolf
thought I swallowed that guff. Byers is Garrity's friend, and it's
plain now that Garrity's mixed up in this dirty business. It was easy
enough to ask if I'd consider hooking up with St. Paul. By the time
I got round to saying yes, Byers could tell me it was off. This time,
Lefty, I'm out of the game for good." His voice sounded heavy and dull,
and his shoulders sagged.
The southpaw was silent, words failing him. After a few minutes old Jack
looked up into the face of his youthful companion, and smiled wryly.
"You've got a little glimpse of what goes on behind the scenes in
baseball," he said. "The fans that pay their money to see the games
look on it, generally, as a fine, clean sport--which, in one way, it is.
That part the public pays to see, the game, is on the level. There's
a good reason: the crookedest magnate in the business--and, believe me,
there's one who can look down the back of his own neck without trying
to turn round--knows it would spell ruin to put over a frame-up on the
open field. By nature the players themselves are like the average run of
human critters, honest and dishonest; but experience has taught them
that they can't pull off any double deals without cutting their own
throats. People who talk about fixed games, especially in the World's
Series, show up their ignorance. It can't be done.
"But when it comes to tricks and holdups, and highway robberies and
assassination, there's always somethin' doing off stage. What you've
seen is only a patch. The men who run things are out for the coin,
and they aren't any better, as a rule, than the high financiers who
plunder railroads and loot public treasuries. They'll smile in a man's
face while they're whetting the knife for his back. Some of them have
put the knife into Charles Collier now, and they intend to sink it to
the hilt. You've been picked as a cat's-paw to help them pull their
chestnuts off the coals. They intend to fatten their batting average at
your expense, and when it's all over you'll be knocked out of the
box for good. You'll get the blame while they pluck the plums."
"Kennedy," said Locke, his voice hard as chilled steel, "they've
picked the wrong stool pigeon. My eyes aren't sewed up. With your help,
I'm going to find a way to spoil their villainous schemes. I know
you'll help me."
The veteran sprang up, a bit of the old-time fire in his face. "You bet
your life, son! That's why I wired for you to come on, and that's why I
wanted you to pretend to take the hook and sign up with Weegman. I knew
we could work together, and it puts us in position to get the harpoon
into them before they wise up to what's doing. Let's get busy."