GETTING INTO ACTION
Locke was for open work and defiance of Weegman, but Kennedy argued
against it.
"You want to get the jump on that snake," said the old man, digging a
package of contract forms for players out of his traveling bag. "He
won't be looking for you to get into action so sudden, and you'll gain
a lap before he knows it. When it comes to fighting a polecat, a wise man
takes precautions. Weegman's gone to send word to his pals of the slick
job he's put over, and he'll be coming back to bother us pretty soon.
We don't want to be here when he comes."
So, for the purpose of conducting their private business, another
room was engaged, and an arrangement made whereby no person, no matter
how insistent he might be, should be told where to find them. Then a
telegraph messenger boy was summoned to that room, and telegrams were
sent to the still loyal Blue Stockings players, stating that contracts
were being mailed for their signatures. Then the contracts were filled
out, sealed, and dropped into the mail chute.
A square meal was ordered and served in the private room, and for nearly
three hours Lefty and Jack talked. They had many things to tell each
other, but their principal topic was the filling of the frightful gaps
made in the team by the Federal raids, and both agreed that the time
had come when the close-fisted financial policy of the Blue Stockings
must be abandoned; players fully as good as the ones lost, or better, if
possible, must be obtained at any cost. Various team combinations that
seemed to balance to a nicety were made up on paper, but how to get the
men coveted was the problem.
"We've got two catchers left," said Kennedy, "but the best of the
pair ain't in the same class as the man we've lost. We've got to have
a backstop as good as Nelson. And when it comes to pitchers--say, son,
is it possible there ain't any show at all of your coming back?"
"I wish I could answer that," confessed Locke. "At any rate, we've
got to have two more first-string men. If this Mysterious Jones I told
you of is anywhere near as good as he looked to--"
"Not one chance in a hundred that he's good enough to carry a regular
share of the pitching the first season, no matter what he might develop
into with experience. The Wolves have been hurt least by the Feds,
and you might pick something worth while off Ben Frazer if you paid his
price. Last fall he offered to trade me that youngster, Keeper, for
Dayly, and since then he's bought Red Callahan from Brennan. That'll
put Keeper on the bench. You know what Keeper is, and I've always
regretted letting Frazer get him off me for five thousand, but it was
Collier's idea. The boy'd look well on our third cushion about now.
But don't lose sight of the fact that it's pitchers we've _got_ to
have."
Locke took the five-fifty train for New York, leaving Weegman, whom he
had succeeded in avoiding, frothing around the Grand in search of him.
Kennedy knew how to reach Frazer by wire, and he had received a reply
to his telegram that the manager of the Wolves would meet Lefty at the
Great Eastern the following night. Between Kennedy and Frazer there had
always existed a bond of understanding and friendship.
Despite the burden he had assumed, the new manager of the Blue Stockings
slept well. It was this faculty of getting sleep and recuperation under
any circumstances that had enabled him to become known as the "Iron
Man."
At breakfast the following morning he received a slight shock. Three
tables in front of him, with his back turned, sat a man with fine
shoulders, a bull neck, and a bullet head. Mit Skullen was traveling
eastward by the same train. Lefty cut his breakfast short and left the
diner without having been observed.
"If he should see me, he'd probably take the first opportunity to wire
back to Weegman," thought Locke, "and I'm going to follow old Jack's
advice about leaving Weegman in the dark for a while."
There was a possibility, of course, that Skullen would come wandering
through the train and discover him, but, to his satisfaction, nothing of
the kind happened. All the long forenoon he was whirled through a
snow-covered country without being annoyed by the appearance of
Garrity's henchman, and he had plenty of time to meditate on the
situation and the plans laid by himself and Kennedy.
But it was necessary to eat again, and shortly before Albany was reached
he returned to the diner, hoping Skullen had already had lunch. The man
was not there when he sat down, but he had scarcely given his order
when the fellow's hand dropped on his shoulder.
"Hully smokes!" exclaimed Mit, staring down, wide-eyed, at the
southpaw. "What's this mean? I can hardly believe me lamps. You
must have left Indianap' same time I did, and Weeg asked me twice if
I'd seen anything of you."
"Weegman?" said Lefty, startled, but outwardly serene. "Is he on this
train?"
"Nix. Last I know, he was tearing up the Grand looking for you. How's
it happened you skipped without dropping him word?"
"I'm going to see my folks, who live in Jersey," Locke answered,
truthfully enough.
"But you'll stop in the big town to-night? Where do you hang out?"
"Usually at the Prince Arthur." This was likewise true, although the
southpaw had now no intention of putting up there on this occasion.
Mit looked at his watch. "We must be pulling into Albany," he said. "I
want to get a paper. See you later."
"Go ahead and shoot your telegram to Weegman," thought Locke. "Any
message sent me at the Prince Arthur is liable to remain unopened for
some time."
He had finished his lunch and was back in the Pullman when Skullen found
him again. The man planted himself at Lefty's side and passed over a
newspaper, grinning as he pointed out an item on the sporting page:
Even though it was rumored that old Jack Kennedy was to be let
out, the selection of Locke as his successor is a surprise. As
a pitcher Locke has had an amazingly successful career and
has made an enviable reputation, but he has had no managerial
experience, having come to the Big League directly from the
bushes. Whether or not he has the stuff of which capable
managers are made is a matter of uncertainty; but, with the
Blue Stockings badly chewed to pieces by the Feds, Collier
might have been expected, had he decided to drop Kennedy,
to replace the veteran with a man of some practical knowledge
in that line. The policy of the Stockings for the last year or
two has been rather queer, to say the least, and the effect
upon the team can be seen in its present rating.
That was the final paragraph. Collier, sick and absent in Europe, was
credited with the deal; not a word about Weegman. The rascal, pulling
the wires, was keeping himself in the background. For a moment Lefty
thought of Jack Stillman, a reporter friend, and felt a desire to give
him some inside information which, in cold type, would be pretty certain
to make the interested public sit up and take notice. But the time was
not ripe for a move like that, and he dismissed the thought.
Still grinning, Skullen jammed his elbow into Locke's ribs. "How do
you like that?" he inquired gloatingly. "That's the way them cheap
newspaper ginks pans you out when they get a chance."
The southpaw was suddenly attacked by an intense distaste for the
company of Tom Garrity's coarse hireling. He handed the paper back
in silence. But the feeling of dislike and antagonism was evidently
felt by Skullen, for, after a few minutes' silence, he got up and
walked out of the car; and, to his satisfaction, Lefty saw no more of
him during the remainder of the journey.
An uncomfortable storm of rain and sleet was raging when New York was
reached shortly after nightfall. A taxi bore Locke to the Great Eastern,
where he learned that Frazer had not yet arrived. Having registered,
he took the elevator for his room on the seventh floor, and, as he
was borne upward, a descending car, well filled with people, slipped
silently past, and Lefty caught a momentary glimpse of their faces
through the iron grillwork. One face he saw quite plainly, that of a
charming young woman in her early twenties--a face he recognized at once.
"Virginia Collier!" gasped Lefty, in astonishment.
He did not leave the car; back to the main floor he went. After hastily
looking around for the young woman he sought, he made inquiries at
the desk. He was informed that no Miss Collier was stopping in the
hotel. Still confident that he had not been mistaken, and thinking it
probable she was dining there with friends, he had her paged. Even when
the report came that no one answered to the name, he did not give up.
From various vantage points, he spent at least twenty minutes looking
over the people at dinner in the main dining room, the grill, and
the palm room. At the end of that time he was confident that Charles
Collier's daughter was not dining at the Great Eastern.
"Of course," he admitted to himself, "it's possible I was mistaken,
but I would have sworn it was Virginia."
He went up to his room and prepared for dinner, burdened by the
conviction that he had been baffled; that fate had played him a
trick. He would have given much for fifteen minutes' conversation with
the daughter of the Big Chief, and he was impressed with the belief
that he had passed her almost within an arm's reach.
This feeling was followed by one of uncertainty regarding Frazer. Old
Jack had assured him that the manager of the Wolves would meet him at
the Great Eastern, and he had relied on Kennedy without attempting to
get into direct communication with Frazer, and perhaps, after all, he
would not come.
"Then I'll have to run him down," considered Lefty. "And I want to
get to him before Weegman can get to me. If I don't, he'll be sure to
try to ball up any deal I attempt to put across."
Choosing to eat in the grill, he notified the desk where he could be
found should any one ask for him. But he had scarcely begun on the first
course when he heard his name spoken, and looked up to find Ben Frazer
smiling down upon him.