_McCarthy Disappears_
Silent Swanson was jabbing billiard balls around the table as if
venting his irritability upon the innocent spheres of ivory.
"Why so cruel to the relics of departed generations of ball players?"
inquired Kennedy, who was cuddled up in cushioned settee watching.
"Waiting for Kohinoor."
"Where has he gone?" inquired Kennedy carelessly.
"Skirting again," explained Swanson. "He ought to be back before
long," added Swanson, jabbing the balls harder and stopping to look at
his watch. "It's five past ten now, and he said he'd cut the call
short."
"Think any sane guy would quit a pretty girl to spend an evening with
you?" inquired Kennedy insultingly, having decided to wile away the
time by ragging his big teammate.
"I've a hunch something is wrong with Kohinoor," said Swanson. "He
told me he'd break away early and shoot me some billiards before train
time. He didn't say just when, but I expected him back by ten."
"Why don't you sue him for divorce if he neglects you?" suggested
Kennedy, again seeking to start an argument.
Swanson consulted his watch with gloomy foreboding and declined to
engage in repartee.
"Better come drag along down to the train," suggested Kennedy. "I'll
buy the gas wagon to haul us. Your little playmate is safe enough."
"I'll hang around here," replied Swanson without spirit.
"All right," Kennedy remarked, rising and stretching himself. "I'm
going to dig along and get into the hay before that old rattler starts.
I want some sleep. Most of the fellows already have gone."
Swanson resumed his gloomy pastime of making fancy shots on the
billiard table. When he looked at his watch again it marked ten-thirty.
He strolled upstairs to the lobby, scanned the writing room and smoking
rooms for a sign of McCarthy and then, with a sudden anxiety, he
hurried to the telephone and called the Baldwin residence number.
"Is this Miss Baldwin speaking?" he inquired, using his off-the-field
manner.
"Is my friend, Mr. McCarthy, there?" he inquired when she responded in
the affirmative. "I was to meet him, and he has not appeared."
"Hasn't he arrived at the hotel?" he girl inquired in quick alarm. "He
left here more than three-quarters of an hour ago. Has something
happened to him?"
"I don't know, miss," said Swanson. "I got anxious waiting for him----
You're sure he left your house that long ago?"
"About that--I'm not certain," she said. "He was only here a short
time."
"I expect he had to wait for a car, or else went straight to the
station without stopping here," said Swanson, striving to quiet the
evident alarm of the girl, although his own misgivings were growing.
"He left the house alone, did he?"
"Who are you? Are you a friend of his?" asked the girl anxiously.
"Yes, I'm Swanson, his chum," replied the shortstop. "You needn't
worry, miss, he'll be all right. I'm sorry I worried you about it."
He hung up the receiver and made a hasty tour of the hotel, descended
to the billiard room, peeped into the bar and hurried through the
writing and lounging rooms.
"Five after eleven," he muttered to himself, as he turned from the
desk. "Kohinoor has found he was late and stayed on the car to the
station. I'll grab a taxi and hurry down."
"If he comes in tell him I've gone," he called to the clerk as he
hurried out.
A quarter of an hour later Swanson hurried into the great train shed
where the train was waiting to bear the Bears on their final trip of
the season. Most of the athletes already had sought their berths to
attempt to get to sleep before the train started, as the ride was a
short one and the hours of sleep too few.
"Kohinoor down yet?" asked Swanson in a low tone, as he came near the
trainer.
"Haven't seen him," replied the trainer. "I put his baggage in his
berth. There's a card game in the smoking room, maybe he's in there."
"I'll watch for him at the gate," said Swanson, "he may turn up yet."
Worried and alarmed, Swanson swung back along the train and took his
stand where he could watch the entrances to the station and the great
clock at the same time. Three minutes remained before time for the
train to start. There was a flurry in the crowd at the gates, and a
man broke through to race for the train. Swanson's heart leaped. He
started to meet the newcomer, then, with a sickening feeling, he saw
that it was not McCarthy, but Williams.
"Seen Kohinoor?" inquired Swanson, as Williams hurried past.
"Not since dinner. Isn't he here?" inquired Williams, stopping and
dropping his grip.
"Haven't seen him," replied Swanson, watching Williams closely for
symptoms of guilt, and finding none.
"I expected it," said Williams nastily. "Maybe that story about him
trying to throw games is straight after all."
"That's what a lot of them will say if he don't show up to-morrow,"
reflected Swanson.
The warning cry of all aboard sounded. The big shortstop hesitated an
instant, and gave a despairing glance toward the gates, just being
closed.
"It won't do for both of us to miss this game," he muttered as he
turned and ran along the platform. The porter was just closing the
vestibule doors and the train was gathering speed as the big shortstop
swung aboard, went into the now deserted smoking room and sank down,
staring blankly out of the window at the rushing lights.
Before the train reached the city of the Blues the news that McCarthy
was missing had spread through the car of the Bears. The consternation
that followed the rumor grew as the berths were made up and it became a
certainty that the third baseman was not with the team. Swanson had
informed Manager Clancy early in the morning of the events of the
preceding evening so far as he knew them. They had not told anyone,
but every member of the team knew, and they gathered in little groups.
Williams was circulating around the car, talking with different players.
"Look at him," said Swanson to Clancy. "He hates McCarthy and he was
the one who told them first that Kohinoor was not with us. He guessed
it when I asked him last night if he had seen him."
"It's queer," the voice of Pardridge came from the berth behind them.
"It's a funny thing that all this sort of trouble in the team started
when that red-headed tramp joined us."
"They'll all be talking that way," said Swanson gloomily. "They wait
for a chance to knock."
"Something may have happened to delay him," said the manager in tones
that showed he did not believe his own hopeful words. "Maybe he went
to the wrong station, or had an accident. Have you looked at the
papers?"
"Yes. Nothing in them about any accident. I'm still hoping he'll be
in at noon, catching that early morning train."
"I hope for a telegram from him anyway, when we get to the hotel,"
replied the manager.
But McCarthy did not show up, nor was there any telegram from him
awaiting when the team reached their hotel.