ONE IN A MILLION
The clerk of the Great Eastern surveyed with interest the swarthy small
man in the bright green suit and the plaid raglan overcoat, who leaned
an elbow on the desk and jauntily twirled a light cane, puffing at an
excellent Havana cigar.
"Beyond a modicum of a doubt you have me, your excellency," said the
stranger. "I'm the real thing, the only and original Cap'n Wiley. It
is frequently embarrassing to be encumbered by fame, and my modesty
often compels me to travel incog-nit-o; but just now, having a yearning
desire to hobnob with my old college chump, Lefty Locke, I am blushingly
compelled to reveal my identity. When Lefty learns that I am here he
will fly like a bird to greet me. Notify one of yon brass-buttoned
minions to inform him of my immediate proximity."
"Mr. Locke is out at present," said the man behind the desk, winking
slyly at a fellow clerk; "but if you will leave your card--"
"If one isn't sufficient, I'll leave the whole pack of fifty-two. It
is my habit to carry a deck with me for emergencies. Perchance, however,
you can tell me when Lefty is liable to return."
At that moment Locke, coming in, saw the sailor, and hurried forward. The
Marine Marvel teetered to meet him, beaming broadly. They shook hands,
and Locke drew the sailor toward two vacant chairs.
"Jones?" questioned Lefty as they sat down. "Where is he? How is he?"
"He's right here in this little old burg," was the answer. "Nothing
short of his demise could have prevented me from keeping my agreement
to deliver him to you. He is on the mend, and it is probable that he'll
soon be as frisky and formidable as ever. But I have qualms. I fear
greatly that something has happened to cause Jonesy to lose interest
in baseball forever and for aye. Were I in his boots, I'd go on one
long spree that would reach from here to Hongkong, and even farther.
Hold your breath, Lefty, and hold it hard. Jones has come into a modest
little fortune of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars or thereabouts."
"Quite a joke!" said the pitcher.
"I don't blame you for doubting me. In your place I'd have made a
remark a shade more violent. But the seal of voracity is on my lips. I
didn't know it when I saw you last, but at that time he had practically
sold his interest in his Alaska possessions. I have stated the sum he
received for his share in that pretty bit of property."
"Enough to keep him in pin money for some time," replied Lefty, still
skeptical.
"If he could be induced to use it for his own wants he could dodge
becoming a pauper for quite a while. But, Lefty, you can't guess what
he's going to do with it. Excuse me while I sigh. I have argued and
pleaded until my fingers became tongue-tied; but I've failed to move him
from his fixed determination. He is going to give every dollar of that
money away!"
Of course, Locke thought that Wiley was drawing the long bow, as usual.
"I hope he won't overlook his friends when he passes it around," he
said, smiling.
"His friends won't get a dollar!" declared Wiley. "He's going to
give it to his enemies."
This was too much for the southpaw. "Let's cut the comedy," he urged.
The sailor gave him a chastening look. "It isn't comedy; it's tragedy,
Lefty. He believes it his duty. He believes he is bound, as a man of
honor, to do it. Listen and I will elucidate. Did you ever hear of the
Central Yucatan Rubber Company?"
"I don't think so."
"Well, it was a fraudulent concern that flourished like a green bay tree
some seven or eight years ago, and withered like a fragile plant when
the government got after it for fraudulent use of the mails. Like many
such grafting stock-selling companies, it had a dummy board of officers
who appeared to be in control, while the real rogues who were harvesting
the coin kept in the background. Jones was president of that company. He
believed it to be on the level, and he had invested some of his own
money--superficially all he had--in it. When the government got busy,
Jones was indicted as the head of the concern. He was thought to be
the originator of the scheme. The real crook had fixed it so that he
seemed to be one of the innocent victims, and he helped swear Jones
into prison. Jones got five years. He served his time."
At last Locke was impressed. He had never seen Wiley so serious. For
once, the flippant and superficial manner of the swarthy little man
had been discarded; his flamboyant style of speech had been dropped.
Ordinarily he gave one the impression that he was gleefully fabricating;
now, of a sudden, the listener was convinced that he was hearing the
naked truth. It explained the atmosphere of somber sadness, the
appearance of brooding over a great injustice, which had infolded the
mysterious dumb pitcher of the Wind Jammers. For Jones Lefty felt a
throb of genuine sympathy.
"With the unclothed eye I can perceive that you get me," the sailor
continued. "You can imagine how you would feel if you had been sent
to the jug for five years, as punishment for a crime perpetrated by
somebody else. What if the one who concocted the scheme and benefited
by it swore your liberty away and escaped scot-free himself?"
"It was monstrous!" exclaimed the pitcher.
"Precisely so. In prison Jones took a foolish oath. He registered a vow
to pay back every dollar to those who had lost their good money in that
fake rubber company. He didn't know how he was going to do it, but he
was determined that he would. In a way, they were his enemies, for they
had helped prosecute him; the courts had adjudged him guilty, and he felt
that he could never hold up his head as an honest man until those who
had been defrauded got the last cent of coin back. In some way he must
acquire a huge amount of filthy lucre, and acquire it honestly. He
dreamed of gold mines. When the prison spat him forth he made his way
up into Alaska. There his dream came true, for, with his partners, he
located and developed a great mine. They could have sold out a dozen
times, but never for a sum that would permit Jones to accomplish his
purpose with his share of the price. So he held on. And at last a
syndicate made an offer that was sufficient. Jones was notified by his
partners. He accepted. But not until the deal was put through and he had
the certified check for his interest in his clutches did he breathe a
word of it to any one. Then he told me. He was sick, but his success
helped cure him. He was eager to hurry North and set into action the
machinery for distributing that money to the rubber company's victims.
At this very moment he is interviewing a reputable firm of lawyers
and giving them instructions to proceed about the work. He can supply a
full list of the persons defrauded. They'll get back what they lost, and
Jones will find himself poor again--but satisfied."
Lefty's eyes were shining. "In these days of the great American idea of
grafting and fraud," he said, "a man with a conscience like Jones' is
one in ten thousand."
"Say, rather, one in a million, mate. I have reviled him
extemporaneously. I have told him that he is a fool. I'm honest
myself--when it's absolutely necessary. But to part with a scandalous
sum like two hundred and fifty thousand without being positively
compelled to do so--oh, pardon me while I sob!"
"A man with such principles, and Jones' ability to pitch, will not come
to grief. He has a job before him with the Blue Stockings."
Wiley shook his head. "Apprehension percheth upon me, Lefty. Jones has
accomplished the great purpose of his life. It was what fired him and
spurred him on. I regret to elucidate that since that money came to him
he has displayed no interest whatever in baseball. When I sought to
make him talk about it he wouldn't even wigwag a finger on the subject.
Something seems to tell me that he'll never again ascend the mound
and shoot the horsehide over the pentagon."