_McCarthy Balks the Plotters_
It was past two o'clock when McCarthy was awakened from his troubled
sleep by the entrance of Swanson.
"Hello, Silent," said McCarthy sleepily. "What time is it?"
"Past two," said the shortstop, for once seeming unwilling to talk.
"Better get to sleep--you'll be in again to-day."
"Where have you been?" asked McCarthy, wide awake in an instant and
interested.
"Trailing," replied Swanson. "I've found out a few things. Meanwhile
I had a talk with Clancy. You little squarehead, why didn't you tell
him I was with you? Do you want to get yourself in bad by some fool
notion of protecting me? I couldn't tell him what we were doing--but I
told him you were with me, that you weren't drinking, and that you
weren't with Edwards."
"What have you been doing all night?" asked McCarthy, restored to
happiness by the tidings.
"Finding out things. I trailed Williams downtown right after the game.
He had dinner with Edwards in a private room. I couldn't find out what
happened, but Williams came out looking as if he had been jerked
through a knot hole. Then Edwards met that fat party that had you in
his room."
"Is he in it, too?" asked McCarthy.
"Yes--who and what is he?"
"His name is Baldwin. He's a big politician and broker here in the
East and I knew him out West, where he owns a ranch."
"What did he want with you?"
"He wanted me to quit the team and run back home. I told him where he
got off. The idea of asking me to quit the boys now, when they may
need me!"
"I can imagine what you said," laughed Swanson. "Did you kick him on
the shins and try to make him fight?"
"I wanted to," replied McCarthy savagely. "I can't see where he gets
into this affair at all. There's something queer all round."
"Listen, Kohinoor," said Swanson. "Someone wants to beat the Bears out
of this pennant, and whoever it is is turning every trick possible to
beat us. I suspect they've got to Williams and that he is trying to
throw games, and I've been working all night trying to get the goods on
him. We can't run to Clancy with a yarn like that unless we're ready
to prove it. Now go to sleep and get ready to win to-morrow's
game--to-day's, rather."
McCarthy lay staring, sleepless, into the darkness, his brain whirling
as he strove to penetrate the maze of intrigue and plotting of which he
seemed the center. Half an hour passed, then, as he turned in bed, a
sleepy voice from the next bed asked:
"Asleep, Kohinoor?"
"No."
"Then quit worrying. I had a talk with Betty Tabor to-night, and you
needn't worry. She don't believe all she hears."
"What did she say, Silent?" asked McCarthy, sitting up in bed suddenly.
"Aw, go to sleep," responded Swanson, as he rolled over, chuckling at
the manner in which McCarthy had betrayed his interest.
It was nearly noon when Swanson and McCarthy descended to the hotel
lobby in better frames of mind.
Manager Clancy, serious and worried, was talking with a gray-haired man
and a younger man. McCarthy observed them and grew uncomfortable under
their close scrutiny as the three turned toward him and focussed their
eyes upon him. He felt relieved when the smaller man shook his head
positively and was not surprised a moment later when Clancy came
forward toward him and said frankly:
"Forget it, Kohinoor. Case of mistaken identity." He grasped
McCarthy's hand and gave it a crunching grip as he added: "When you get
ready to tell me what you know I want to hear it."
The manager did not attempt any further apology, but McCarthy felt as
if a load had been lifted from his mind.
"I can't make any charges until I have proof," he replied steadily.
"If ever I can back up what I suspect, I'll tell you--first."
"Swanson explained partly," said the manager. "I understand. Get in
there to-day and hustle."
It was the final game of the trip and the Bears, with confidence
renewed, went into it determined to rush the attack and win quickly.
When the batting practice started McCarthy was surprised to find Lefty
Williams pitching to batters. He faced Williams and hit the first ball
hard and straight over second base. Williams was lobbing the ball
easily, as if warming up. Twice Clancy called to him to quit pitching
to batters, and he shouted back that his shoulder felt a little stiff
and he wanted to limber it up easily. McCarthy stepped to the plate
again. Up to that time Williams had not pitched a fast ball, but he
wound up quickly and flashed a fast-breaking ball straight at
McCarthy's head. The third baseman dropped flat and the ball, just
grazing the top of his head, carried away his cap. He knew Williams
had tried to hit him. He remembered his part in the deeper game he and
Swanson were playing, and he decided not to reveal the fact that he was
aware of Williams's intent. He leaped back into batters' position and
yelled:
"Keep that bean ball for the game. You'll need it."
He saw that Williams was white and shaken, and the next ball came
floating over the plate without speed. McCarthy swung at it, without
attempting to hit it. Another slow one floated over the plate and
again McCarthy made a burlesque swing, missing the ball a foot.
Williams flushed scarlet and stepping quickly back into position he
drove a straight fast ball at the batter. McCarthy was on his guard.
Drawing back slightly he allowed the ball to touch his shirt, and when
Williams, angrier than ever, hurled another fast one at him he stepped
back and drove it to left field for a clean hit.
As he hit the ball he heard Clancy call angrily to Williams to come off
the slab, and the pitcher, white with anger at the contempt the recruit
had shown for his pitching, sullenly obeyed.
"That fellow tried three times to bean you," said Swanson in low tones
as they walked to their positions after retiring runless in the first
inning.
"I know it," said McCarthy. "I coaxed him along. I think we can make
him pitch to-day by telling him that we don't think he can."
The plan was adopted. For two innings the shortstop and third baseman
harassed the pitcher.
Under the running fire of taunts, criticisms and sarcasm Williams
pitched harder and harder, furious at his teammates, and venting his
anger upon opposing batsmen.
"Say, you guys," remarked Kennedy on the bench after the fourth inning.
"Have some pity on me. You've got Adonis so mad he's smashing my mitt
with his speed. Better ease off on him or you'll have him in the air."
The Bears had accumulated two runs and seemed winning easily in the
fifth, when, before a runner was out, McCarthy, cutting across in front
of Swanson to scoop an easy-bounding ball, played it too carelessly,
fumbled and allowed the first batter to reach first base. The error
was common enough, but allowing the first batter to reach a base on an
easy chance was serious at that stage of the game. Williams turned
upon McCarthy and gave him a violent rebuke. McCarthy was not in a
position to respond. He saw that, in spite of his angry words,
Williams seemed pleased by the error. An instant later a drive whizzed
past him and then another screamed by him en route to left field. A
run was across the plate, runners on first and third and no one out.
"Trying to toss off this one?" demanded Swanson angrily. "You big
stiff, pitch ball."
The next batter sacrificed, and again Williams broke the ball low and
inside the plate to a right-handed hitter. The ball came like a shot
at McCarthy, who dived at it. It rolled away toward Swanson, who
recovered just in time to throw out the runner at first, but another
run had counted and the score was tied. Another hit screeched past
McCarthy, another run counted and the Travelers were one run ahead
before the attack could be stopped.
The Travelers held their advantage to the eighth, when, rallying
desperately, the Bears drove home two runs by sheer force of hitting
and the ninth found them hanging to a one-run lead. They failed to
increase their advantage in the first half of the inning and took the
field determined to hold their lead. McCarthy was puzzled. He thought
Clancy knew what was happening on the field and had expected each
inning that the manager would rebuke Williams when they returned to the
bench. Instead Clancy had remained strangely silent.
Tuttle, the first batter for the Travelers in the ninth inning, hit a
fierce bounder down the third-base line. McCarthy, knowing Tuttle to
be a right field hitter, was swung a little wide from the base. He
threw himself out toward the line, his hands extended to the full
limit, and the ball stuck in one outstretched hand. Scrambling to his
feet he threw hard and fast to first, retiring the speedy runner by a
step. The next batter hit fiercely between third and short and
Swanson, by a great play, retrieved the ball back on the edge of the
grass, but could not throw the runner out. The next batter, a
right-hander, hit a vicious single past McCarthy and there were runners
on second and first.
McCarthy felt the next drive would be toward him. He believed Williams
was striving to lose the game, and that he was pitching so as to compel
the batters to hit in the direction of third base so that the baseman
and not he would be held responsible for the defeat. He gritted his
teeth and crouched, waiting, as Watson, the heaviest-hitting
right-handed batter in the league, faced Williams. Crouching, he saw
Kennedy signal for a fast ball high and outside the plate, and then saw
a straight easy ball sail toward the batter, low and inside. Watson
swung. McCarthy saw a flash of light and threw up his hands just in
time to keep the ball from hitting him. The ball broke through his
hands and rolled a few feet away. His hands were numb to the wrists
from the terrific shock. He stood still one trice. Then he saw the
runners were stopped, bewildered. They had lost sight of the ball, so
rapidly had it traveled and had stopped, thinking he had caught it. He
leaped after the ball, framing the play as he touched the spinning
sphere. He could have run back to third base and forced out one, but
instead, as his numbed fingers gripped the sphere, he saw the
possibility of a double play and threw fast and straight to Swanson, on
second base, forcing out the runner coming from first. Swanson,
catching the idea of the play in an instant, hurled the ball back to
McCarthy, who grabbed it and touched out the runner coming from second,
completing a double play that brought the crowd to its feet in applause
and saved the game.
McCarthy heard the cheers, but he was cold with suppressed anger as he
walked to where Williams was standing, and said:
"Williams, you're a d----d crook."