DISCOMFITED CROOKS
It was a terrific blow that Joe gave Tompkinson and the man went down
like a log.
There was a shout of terror from Harrish who hastily sought refuge
behind the table.
“Come here, you dirty crook, and get some of the same medicine!” cried
Joe, advancing upon him.
He was interrupted by a frightened shout from the attendant who had
rushed to the side of the fallen man and was trying to raise his head.
“He’s choking!” he cried. “You’ve knocked his teeth down his throat!”
Joe looked at Tompkinson and saw that he was becoming black in the face.
“Run for a doctor,” he commanded, at the same time throwing himself
down beside Tompkinson.
He held the fellow’s head with his left hand and hastily thrust
his fingers into the rascal’s mouth. Far down, he could feel the
obstruction. He reached still farther, caught it with one of his
fingers and with a great effort pulled it out. It was, as the waiter
had said, a set of false teeth that had been dislodged by his blow.
He propped Tompkinson up against the side of the room, tore his collar
open and chafed his wrists.
“Bring me some water from the table,” he commanded Harrish, who stood
white and shaking.
The latter complied and they dashed the water into Tompkinson’s face.
The treatment was effective, and in a few moments Tompkinson opened his
eyes and looked around. His eyes glowed with malignity as they fixed
themselves on Joe.
“I’ll fix you for this,” he mumbled, as well as he could from the
absence of his teeth.
Joe and Harrish lifted the man to his feet and seated him in a chair.
Hardly had they done so when the waiter returned with the house
physician, the manager, and a policeman, who had been hastily summoned.
They closed the door behind them so as to insure privacy and faced Joe
and Harrish.
“What does this mean?” the manager of the hotel asked sternly.
“Ask him,” said Joe coolly, motioning toward Harrish.
“It means――” began the latter savagely, then checked himself.
“Why don’t you go on?” asked Joe amusedly, knowing full well how
difficult it would be for the crooks to explain.
“I’ll wait and see what the doctor says first,” muttered Harrish, his
face flushing.
In the meanwhile the policeman had moved over to Joe’s side.
“If you’ve done this――” he began grimly.
Then his face lighted up as he recognized the culprit.
“Why, it’s Baseball Joe!” he exclaimed delightedly. “How are you, Mr.
Matson? ’Tis glad I am to see you. Many’s the time I’ve watched you
pitch and seen you paste the ball over the fince.”
“Never thought you’d have to pinch me, did you?” grinned Joe.
“Begorra, I haven’t pinched you yet,” whispered the policeman, with a
wink. “An’ by the same token, I don’t think I’m goin’ to now. Not if I
can annyways git out of it.”
The doctor rose from his examination of the patient.
“Nothing serious,” he announced. “His lip is cut and his throat will be
sore for a while. That’s all.”
“Now I want to know just what happened,” demanded the hotel manager.
“This may be a case for the courts.”
“I knocked the man down,” admitted Joe. “And he’s lucky to have got off
with just that. He can tell you why I did it if he wants to.”
“Jist a little mix-up betwane gintlemen,” murmured Lonergan, the
policeman, minimizing the matter. “’Tis happenin’ every day.”
“Do you want to make a charge against this man?” asked the manager,
turning to Tompkinson.
The latter looked hesitatingly at Harrish.
“My friend and I will confer for a moment,” said Harrish, and bending
over his companion a whispered colloquy ensued.
It ended as Joe had supposed it would. The scoundrels would never dare
to take the chance of the cause of the quarrel being revealed. It would
mean financial damage and social ostracism. No man could live in New
York after it had become known that he had tried to bribe Baseball Joe
to destroy the Giants’ chance for the pennant.
“My friend has been the victim of a felonious assault,” Harrish said
stiffly, “but we do not care to make a charge. You may consider the
incident ended.”
“Glory be!” muttered Lonergan under his breath. It would have been a
sore trial to him to have to arrest the man whom he admired above all
others.
The attendant brought their hats and canes to the crestfallen rascals
and they left the room with much less dignity than they had entered it.
Joe left a moment later, pausing for a moment to shake hands with
Lonergan.
“Keep mum about this, old man,” he counseled. “There’s been nothing
done that you or any other decent man wouldn’t have done in my place,
but I don’t want anything to get in the papers.”
“Trust me, Mr. Matson,” said Lonergan. “Niver a word will any one git
out of me. An’ I’m glad,” he added, with a broad grin, “that it was
some other feller than mesilf that got the crack from that home-run arm
of yours. It must have been a lallapaloozer.”
Jim was reading a book when Joe strode in, and he sensed at once that
something had happened.
“Hello! What’s come o’er the spirit of your dream? Don’t look so spick
and span as when you went out. Anything happened?”
“Met a couple of crooks and beat one of them up,” answered Joe, as he
threw off his coat and donned a lounging jacket.
“Held up by footpads?” asked Jim, in some alarm.
“Not exactly,” grinned Joe. “Footpads take your money, but these
fellows were giving it away. Offered me fifty thousand dollars.”
Jim bounded from his chair.
“Stop talking in riddles,” he adjured him, “and give me the low-down of
the thing.”
Joe described the affair from beginning to end while Jim listened with
interest and growing indignation.
“My, but I’m glad you soaked him!” he exclaimed.
“He’d have gotten more yet if his teeth hadn’t gone down his throat,”
returned Joe. “That was the only thing, too, that saved Harrish from a
thrashing.”
“I guess you’ve made a new record to hang alongside of your other
ones,” said Jim, with a smile.
“How’s that?” queried Joe.
“Why, I guess you’re the first man in history that ever knocked a man’s
teeth down his throat for offering him fifty thousand dollars.”
“I guess that hasn’t happened very often,” admitted Joe.
“You’ll have to be on your guard now,” warned Jim. “You’ve made two
bitter enemies. Those fellows are vindictive, and their money gives
them power. They could easily buy thugs to beat you up, cripple
you――anything for revenge and to get you out of the way.”
“True enough,” assented Joe. “It wouldn’t be the first time enemies
have tried to do me up. Do you remember the live rattlesnake they sent
to me in a box in the hope that it would get me when I opened the box?”
“Will I ever forget it!” exclaimed Jim, with a shudder. “You came
within an ace of getting yours that time, old boy.”
“But I imagine that these fellows will be a little more subtle in
their methods,” mused Joe. “Gunmen and thugs as apt to blab if they’re
caught. Oh, well, we won’t trouble trouble till trouble troubles us.
But I will keep my eyes wide open.”
“You can’t be too careful,” cautioned Jim anxiously. “They’ll have a
double motive now, one to get revenge for the licking and the other to
save that two hundred thousand dollars that they’ve got up against us.”
“They’d better kiss that money good-by,” declared Joe grimly, “for
we’re going to play our heads off to win.”