A DOUBTFUL VICTORY
"Who sent you here?" demanded the belligerent individual. "What
business have you got coming poking your nose into my affairs? You'd
better chase yourself sudden."
Instead of exhibiting alarm, Lefty laughed in the man's face. "Don't
make a show of yourself, Mit," he advised. "Bluster won't get you any
ball players; at least, it won't get you this one. I've already made a
deal for Jones."
"You haven't got his name on a contract; you hadn't time. If you had,
Wiley'd told me."
"I made a fair trade for him before I went North."
Into Skullen's eyes there came a look of understanding and satisfaction.
His lips curled back from his ugly teeth.
"You didn't have any authority to make a trade then, for you weren't
manager of the Stockings. You can't put anything like that over on me.
If you don't chase yourself, I'll throw you over the fence."
Sensing an impending clash, with the exception of the mute and the
catcher, the Wind Jammers ceased their desultory practice and watched
for developments. A portion of the spectators, also becoming aware
that something unusual was taking place, turned their attention to
the little triangular group not far from the visitors' bench.
"You couldn't get Jones if you threw me over into Georgia," said
Locke, unruffled. "It won't do you any good to start a scrap."
"Permit me to impersonate the dove of peace," pleaded Cap'n Wiley.
"Lefty is absolutely voracious in his statement that he made a fair and
honorable compact with me, by which Jones is to become the legitimate
chattel of the Blue Stockings. Still," he added, shaking his head
and licking his lips, "flesh is weak and liable to err. If I had seen
fifty thousand simoleons coming my way in exchange for the greatest
pitcher of modern times, I'm afraid I should have lacked the energy
to side-step them. The root of all evil has sometimes tempted me from
the path of rectitude. But now Lefty is here, and the danger is over.
It's no use, Skully, old top; the die is cast. You may as well submit
gracefully to the inveterable."
Muttering inaudibly, Skullen turned and walked away.
"I have a contract in my pocket ready for the signature of Jones," said
Lefty. "Will you get him to put his name to it before the game starts?"
"It will give me a pang of pleasure to do so," was the assurance.
There on the field, envied by his teammates, Mysterious Jones used
Locke's fountain pen to place his signature--A. B. Jones was the name
he wrote--upon the contract that bound him to the Blue Stockings. What
the initials stood for not even Wiley knew. For a moment the mute seemed
to hesitate, but the Marine Marvel urged him on, and the deed was done.
"If you cater to his little giddyocyncracies," said the sailor,
"you'll find him a pearl beyond price. Unless you're afraid Skully
may return and mar your pleasure, you may sit on the bench with us and
watch him toy with the local bric-a-brac. It is bound to be a painfully
one-sided affair."
"Skullen," laughed Lefty, "has ceased to cause me special
apprehension. The contract is signed now."
So Locke sat on the bench and watched his new pitcher perform. When he
walked to the mound, Jones seemed, if possible, more somber and tragic
than usual, and he certainly had his speed with him. Yet neither the
ominous appearance of the mute nor his blinding smoke was sufficient to
faze the Vienna batters, who cracked him for three clean singles in the
last half of the opening inning, and then failed to score because of
foolish base running.
"He seems to be rather hittable to-day," observed Locke. "What's the
matter, Wiley? This Vienna bunch doesn't look particularly good to me;
just a lot of amateurs who never saw real players, I should say."
"That's it; that's what ails them, for one thing," replied the
manager of the Wind Jammers. "They have accumulated together no special
knowledge of Simon poor baseball talent, and so they don't know enough
to be scared. Even the great Mathewson has confessed that the worst
bumping he ever collided with was handed out by a bunch of bushers who
stood up to the dish, shut their blinkers when he pitched, and swung
blind at the pill. These lobsters don't realize that Jonesy's fast
one would pass right through a batter without pausing perceptibly if it
should hit him, and so they toddle forth without qualms, whatever they
are, and take a slam at the globule. Next round I'll have to get out
there on the turf and warn them; I'll put the fear of death into their
hearts. Get them to quaking and they won't touch the horsehide."
But such a program didn't suit Locke. "If all Jones has is his speed
and the fear it inspires, he won't travel far in fast company. You ought
to know that, Wiley. Big League batters will knock the cover off the
fast one unless a pitcher puts something else on it. Sit still once, to
please me, and let's see what Jones can do without the assistance of
your chatter."
"It's hardly a square deal," objected the Marine Marvel. "The jinx
has been keeping company with us ever since we struck Fernandon. From
that occasion up to the present date, Anno Domino, we haven't won a
single consecutive game. Such bad luck has hurt my feelings; it has
grieved me to the innermost abscess of my soul."
"Do you mean to say that these country teams have been trimming you,
with Jones in the box?"
"Alas and alack! I can't deny it unless I resort to fabrication, which
I never do. The Euray Browns tapped Jonesy for seventeen heart-breaking
bingles, and the Pikeville Greyhounds lacerated his delivery even more
painfully. My own brilliant work in the box has been sadly insufficient
to stem, the tide of disaster."
Locke frowned. What success, or lack of it, Wiley had had as a pitcher
was a matter of no moment; but the statement that amateur teams of
no particular standing had found Mysterious Jones an easy mark was
disturbing. Was it possible that he had been led, with undue haste, to
fritter away good money for a pitcher who would prove worthless in
the Big League? True, the mute had seemed to show something in the
Fernandon game, but in similar contests Lefty had seen many a pinheaded,
worthless country pitcher give a fine imitation of Walter Johnson in
top-notch form. The test of the bush was, in reality, no test at all.
Throughout five innings the southpaw succeeded in restraining Wiley, and
during that portion of the game the Viennas found Jones for nine singles
and two doubles, accumulating four runs. Only for bad judgment on the
paths they might have secured twice as many tallies. In the same period
the local pitcher, using a little dinky slow curve, held the visitors
to one score. The mute seemed to be trying hard enough, but he could not
keep his opponents from hitting.
With the opening of the sixth, Wiley broke the leash of restraint.
"I've got to get out and get under," he declared. "You can't expect
me to sit still and watch my barkentine go upon the rocks. Here's where
we start something. Get into 'em, Schepps! Begin doing things! We'll
back you up, for in onion there is strength."
Schepps led off with a hit, and immediately the Wind Jammers, encouraged
by Wiley, leaped out from the bench, dancing wildly and tossing the bats
into the air. Locke smiled as he watched them. He had seen Big League
teams do the same thing in an effort to drive away the jinx and break a
streak of bad luck. But although Lefty smiled, he was not wholly happy.
"If Jones is a quince," he thought, "I've wasted my time trying to
brace up our pitching staff. Even Mit Skullen will have the laugh on me."
His anxiety had led him to come straight from New York to Vienna, without
stopping at Fernandon. He had sent a message to Janet telling her that
he would be home the following day.
The Wind Jammers kept after the local twirler, and succeeded in pounding
two men round to the registry station. Then Wiley did some wigwagging to
Jones, and the gloomy mute nodded assurance. After which he walked out
and fanned three batters in a row.
"You see, Lefty!" exulted the Marine Marvel. "That's what he needs.
Give him proper encouragement, and he's there with the damsons."
"Temperamental or yellow, which?" speculated the southpaw. "Either
sort of a pitcher is worthless in pinches."
The visitors failed to continue their hitting streak in the seventh.
Whether or not Jones was disheartened by this, he let down in the last
half of the inning, and Vienna added another score, Wiley's warnings
having no impression upon them. Nor did the mute show any remarkable
form in the remainder of the game, which terminated with the score six
to four in favor of the locals.
"The old jinx is still with us," lamented the dejected manager of the
Wind Jammers. "Wouldn't it congeal your pedal extremities!"
"It is enough to give one cold feet," admitted Locke. "But with Jones
doing any real pitching to-day four tallies would have been sufficient
for you."
Picking up his overcoat and traveling bag, he started to follow the
well-satisfied crowd from the field. As he approached the gate, Mit
Skullen stood up on the bleachers and singled him out. Mit's face wore
a leering grin.
"You're welcome to that lemon, Locke!" he cried. "I wouldn't take
him now for a gift. You've got stung good and proper."
Lefty walked on without replying.