SAVING THE LEAGUE
By twos and threes the party drifted toward Davendorp’s resort. It had
at various times been a dance hall, a hotel, a police headquarters, and
at all times a resort for crooked gamblers. It had an evil notoriety,
but though it had been frequently raided in the attempt to put it out
of business, it had always bobbed up again under a new proprietor but
with the same old shady clientele.
It was a rambling sort of structure, to which wings had been added
at various times. The main floor was devoted to pool and billiards,
and there were a large number of tables, for the place did a thriving
business. There were few of the underworld who did not at some time or
other frequent it.
The second floor was a shabby restaurant and saloon, with scores of
tables for drinkers and card-players. On the third floor was a dance
hall, and the fourth was reserved for the use of the proprietor and the
inner ring of the gambling clique where they could lay their plots in
comparative seclusion.
In the corner of this floor the largest room was located. There were
several other rooms strung out in shambling fashion and more or less
connected with each other, so as to afford facility for flight on the
occasion of a raid.
On the night in question the large room held an assortment of men of
hard faces that would have graced any Rogues’ Gallery. Many of them in
fact had already achieved that undesirable fame, and there were others
whose admission had only been deferred.
Joe and Jim were too well known to almost everybody in New York to
venture into the place in their ordinary clothing and with their faces
in full view. They would have been noticed at once, and their plans
would have failed right then and there. They had secured, therefore,
through one of the party who was an actor, some rough clothing and had
had their faces touched up by his hand, so that, as he proudly said
when he stood off and viewed his handiwork, their own mothers wouldn’t
know them.
The rest of the party were not so likely to attract attention among the
large crowd with which they mingled, most of the members of which were
so intent on their own amusements that they gave but fleeting attention
to anything or any one else.
For an hour or so the members of the volunteer posse mingled with
the company, taking at times a part in the various activities of the
resort, but always keeping within reach and sight of each other.
Gradually they moved to the second floor and then to the third. Joe
kept a sharp lookout to see if he could recognize any of the fellows
who had held him in captivity.
For some time his search was fruitless, but at last he caught a glimpse
of one of the rascals slipping up to the fourth floor. He watched his
opportunity, and as silently as a ghost made his way to the same floor.
A hum of voices, rising so high at times that it seemed as if an
altercation were going on, came from the corner room. On tiptoe Joe
moved to the room adjoining. There was no light or sound coming from
it, and after a moment Joe ventured to try the door. It opened, and,
slipping in, he found that it had another door communicating with that
in which the excited discussion was going on.
In a moment Joe slipped down the stairs again. Going from one to
the other of his party, he gave them the information he had gained
and arranged for them to follow him as soon as possible and without
attracting attention. Then he again moved up the stairs and took his
post in the adjoining room, where he was soon joined by the others.
Luck had favored them, for if there had been any lookout originally
posted by the baseball gamblers he had been drawn into the room again
to take part in the excited discussion.
Scarcely daring to draw their breaths, the invaders listened to the
debate.
“You spilled the beans when you let Matson get away from you,” an angry
voice was saying. “Why didn’t you make sure of him when you had him?”
“Aw, cut out the beefing,” growled a sulky voice that Joe recognized
as that of the fat leader of the gang. “I thought he might cave in and
sign that paper and save us all further trouble.”
“You thought!” sneered the other. “You might have known he wouldn’t.
Now the two hundred thousand our gang have bet against the Giants is
as good as lost. How about you other fellows?” he snarled. “You ought
to have had a raft of chances to put him out of the game. What do you
suppose we’re paying you for?”
“We’ve done the best we could,” came a sullen voice that caused McRae
and Robson to give a violent start, as they recognized it as belonging
to McCarney. “We got Lemblow to come on and help us. He was only too
glad to do it, for he thought it would give him a chance of breaking
into the big league. He nearly got Matson when he pushed that pile of
lumber over.”
“And I nearly got his number with a lump of iron on the last Western
trip,” came the voice of Reddy Hupft. “It came within an inch of
cracking his skull.”
“Excuses! Excuses!” snapped the angry boss. “I didn’t give you fellers
ten thousand dollars apiece with a promise of more simply to listen to
excuses. You’re a couple of false alarms, and if you don’t get busy
it’ll be the worse for you. You can’t double cross me and get away with
it.”
“That’s enough,” whispered McRae to the group about him. “We’ve got the
goods on them at last. Half of you go to the outside door, and when you
hear us break through this door do the same to that.”
They did as directed.
There was a moment of tense expectation, and then with a rush McRae’s
party dashed through the inner door. At the same instant the other half
of the attacking party burst into the room from the hall.
There were eight men in the room and they leaped to their feet in wild
alarm at the sudden interruption. But before they could form any plan
for defense the husky young invaders were upon them slugging them
without mercy.
The rascals fought back as best they could, but from the first they
never had a chance. As Joe had surmised, most of them were the heads
of the baseball gambling ring, bloated, overfed, corpulent rascals
who could not stand for a moment before trained athletes. Had they
anticipated trouble and had their hirelings with them, there might have
been a semblance of a fight. But in their physical condition and with
the odds two to one against them, they were simply a joke.
Hupft and McCarney were the only ones capable of putting up a real
fight, and they did their best. But Joe had singled out McCarney and
Jim had tackled Hupft, and they joyously gave them the beating of their
lives.
It was a very battered group of rascals that in less than three minutes
were huddled into a corner, while their captors crowded so closely
about them that escape was impossible.
“Now,” said McRae, whose own knuckles had done valiant work in the
scrap, “we’ve got you fellows exactly where we want you. All of you
ought to be sent up the river and put behind bars where the dogs can’t
bite you. But I’m not going to turn you over to the police.”
There was a stir of relief among the prisoners at this.
“I’m going to stop your dirty schemes for once and for all where
baseball is concerned,” went on McRae, producing a paper. “I got this
ready this afternoon on the chance of copping you scoundrels to-night.
And every one of you is going to sign it, or I’ll have you beaten to a
frazzle on the spot.”
While the rascals glared at him sullenly he read the paper. It
acknowledged that the signers had kidnaped Joe and Jim; that they had
hired thugs to do them great harm; that they had paid ball players to
throw games; and that they had done these things to win large sums of
money that they had bet against the Giants.
The fat man who had been Joe’s captor started forward with a yell
to protest, but Larry smashed him straight between the eyes and he
staggered back, cowed and wilted.
The object lesson was effective, and all of the rascals signed, except
Hupft and McCarney, who were not required to affix their names.
“Now,” said McRae, as he folded the signed document and put it in his
pocket, “that puts a brand on the whole lot of you. The least move
on your part and I’ll make this public and you’ll be in jail within
twenty-four hours.
“As for you traitors,” he added, turning to Hupft and McCarney, a look
of utter contempt in his eyes, “there’s no need of telling you you’re
fired. Your names are a stench in the nostrils of decent ball players,
and I’ll see that you never play in the ranks of organized baseball
again. You’re on the blacklist forever. And I’ll see that Lemblow gets
the same medicine. Now go while the going’s good.”
They slunk out, and none of the Giants ever saw their faces again.
“Now we’ve done our work and we’re going,” concluded McRae, as he
turned to the crooked baseball gamblers. “Remember, one word from you,
one dirty trick, and it will be curtains for you.”
They left the debased and discomfited rascals and filed out into the
night.
“A good night’s work, boys,” were McRae’s last words, as he bade
good-night to the party. “We’ve saved the league!”
* * * * *
It was a jubilant, rejuvenated Joe that occupied the box the next day
and pitched the Giants to victory over the Brooklyns. Not only did he
shut out the boys from over the bridge, but clouted two of the longest
homers that had ever come from his bat. The rest of the Giant team,
with two rookies in place of Hupft and McCarney, played behind him
like the stars they were, and the newcomers more than held their own.
Altogether it was a great day for the Giants and started them anew on
the road to the championship which they were destined to win that year
as they had the year before.
But it was a still greater day for Joe, for in a box as witness of his
glorious victory was Mabel――Mabel who had come on with Reggie that
morning to surprise him. The applause of the crowds was dear to him;
the congratulations of his team mates were dearer still. But none of
these compared with the joy that thrilled him at the words that fell
from the lips of Mabel as he approached the box where she sat, flushed
and sweet as a rose, looking at him with all her soul in her eyes.
“I am _so_ proud of you, Joe,” she said. “So proud!”
THE END
Transcriber’s Notes:
――Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_); text in
bold by “equal” signs (=bold=).
――Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
――Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
――Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.
End of Project Gutenberg's Baseball Joe Saving the League, by Lester Chadwick