Lefty Locke Pitcher-Manager

CHAPTER XIV

ONLY ONE WAY

The registry clerk stated that no Mr. Kennedy was stopping at the Grand Hotel. Locke was disappointed, for he had expected old Jack would be waiting for him. However, the veteran manager would, doubtless, appear later. Lefty registered, and the clerk tossed a room key to the boy who was waiting with the southpaw’s traveling bag.

As the pitcher turned from the desk he found himself face to face with a man whom he had seen on the train. The man, Locke believed, had come aboard at Louisville. There was something familiar about the appearance of the stranger, yet Lefty had not been able to place him. He had narrow hips, a rather small waist, fine chest development, and splendid shoulders; his neck was broad and swelling at the base; his head, with the hair clipped close, was round as a bullet; his nose had been broken, and there was an ugly scar upon his right cheek. He did not look to be at all fat, and yet he must have weighed close to one hundred and ninety. His hands, clenched, would have resembled miniature battering-rams.

This person had not taken a look at the register, yet he addressed the pitcher by name.

“How are you, Locke?” he said, with a grin that was half a sneer, half a menace. “I guessed you’d bring up here.”

Lefty knew Mit Skullen the moment he spoke. One-time prize fighter and ball player, Skullen now posed as a scout employed by the Rockets; more often he acted as the henchman and bodyguard of Tom Garrity, owner of the team, and the best-hated man in the business. Garrity had so many enemies that he could not keep track of them; a dozen men had tried to “get” him at different times, and twice he had been assaulted and beaten up. Skullen had saved him from injury on other occasions.

Garrity was the most sinister figure in organized baseball. Once a newspaper reporter, he had somehow obtained control of the Rockets by chicanery and fraud. Sympathy and gratitude were sentiments unknown to him. He would work a winning pitcher to death, and then send the man shooting down to the minors the moment he showed the slightest symptom of weakness. He scoffed at regulations and bylaws; he defied restraint and control; he was in a constant wrangle with other owners and managers; and as a creator of discord and dissension he held the belt. And he snapped his fingers in the face of the national commission. The league longed to get rid of him, but could not seem to find any method of doing so.

“Been lookin’ ’em over a little down South,” explained Skullen superfluously. “Not much doin’ this season, but I spotted one pitcher with a rovin’ bunch o’ freaks who had more smoke and kinks than you ever showed before you broke your arm, old boy. And he won’t cost a cent when we get ready to grab him. Nobody’s wise to him but me, either. S’pose you’ve come on to meet Weegman, hey?”

“Where’d you run across this find?” asked Locke casually, endeavoring not to appear curious.

Skullen pulled down one corner of his mouth, and winked. “T’ink I’ll tell youse, old boy. But then Texas is a big bunch o’ the map.”

Texas! The Wind Jammers had come to Florida from Galveston.

“Did you have a talk with this unknown wizard?” questioned Lefty.

“He didn’t talk much,” returned the scout. “Oh, you can’t pump me! I know your old Blue Stocks ain’t got a pitcher left that’s worth a hoot in Halifax, or hardly a player, for that matter; but I ain’t goin’ to help you out–you an’ Weegman. You gotter get together an’ do your own diggin’.”

“Weegman is in Indianapolis?”

“As if you didn’t know! Never had no use for that guy; but, all the same, I advise you to grab on with him. It’s your only chanct for a baseball job; everybody in the game’s wise that you’ll never do no more hurlin’.”

Boiling inwardly, Locke permitted himself to be conducted to the elevator. While he was bathing he thought, with increasing wrath and dismay, of the insolent words of Skullen. The question that perplexed him most was how the bruiser knew anything of Weegman’s business, especially the attempt to sign Locke as a manager. And Weegman was in Indianapolis!

Coming down, Lefty went again to the desk to inquire about Kennedy. He was handed a telegram. Tearing it open, he saw that it was from the Federal manager who had offered him a three years’ contract. It stated curtly that the offer was withdrawn. Skullen was right; the story had gone forth that the star southpaw of the Blue Stockings would do no more pitching. Weegman was getting in his fine work.

Lefty felt a hand grip his elbow.

“Locke!” A well-dressed, youngish man grasped his hand and shook it. It was Franklin Parlmee, who, for a long time, had evinced deep interest in Virginia Collier. Parlmee, with family behind him, and a moderate income, had shown a distaste for business and a disposition to live the life of an idler. Collier had refused to countenance his daughter’s marriage to Parlmee until the latter should get into some worthy and remunerative employment, and make good. For two years Parlmee had been hustling, and he had developed into a really successful automobile salesman.

“By Jove!” said Parlmee. “I didn’t expect to run across you here, old man. I’m mighty glad to see you. Perhaps you can tell me something about Virginia. What has Mrs. Hazelton heard from her?”

The man seemed worried and nervous, and his question surprised Lefty.

“If any one should know about Miss Collier, you are the person,” returned the pitcher. “Janet has scarcely heard from her since she sailed with her father. We supposed you were corresponding with her regularly.”

Parlmee drew him toward a leather-covered settee. “I’m pegged out,” he admitted, and he looked it. “Business forced me to run on or I’d not be here now. I’m going back to New York to-night. Do you know, I’ve received only two letters from Virginia since she reached the other side, one from London, the other from Eaux Chaudes, in France. The latter was posted more than a month ago. It stated that Virginia and her father were leaving Eaux Chaudes for Italy. Since then no letters have come from her.”

“Do you mean to say you haven’t an idea where Miss Collier and her father are at the present time?”

Parlmee lighted a cigarette. His hands were not steady. “I haven’t an idea where Charles Collier is. As for Virginia, she cabled me that she was sailing on the Victoria, which reached New York four days ago. I was at the pier to meet her, but she didn’t arrive, and her name was not on the passenger list.”

Lefty uttered an exclamation. “That was strange!”

The other man turned on the settee to face him. “The whole thing has been queer. I had practically overcome Mr. Collier’s prejudice and won his entire approval. Then he broke down; his health went to the bad, and his manner toward me seemed to change. I had an idea he went abroad more to take Virginia away than for any other reason. Anyway, I knew there was something wrong, and the two letters I got from her added to that conviction. Her father was trying to get her to break with me! There was another man whom he preferred.”

“Another!”

“Yes, Bailey Weegman.”

Locke gave a great start, as if he had received an electric thrust. “Weegman!” he cried guardedly. “That scoundrel! Collier is crazy, Parlmee!”

“Now you’ve said something! I believe the man’s mind is affected. Business reverses may have done it.”

“Do you know that he left his baseball interests practically in the control of Weegman?”

“No; but it doesn’t surprise me. In some way, that scoundrel has got a hold on him. Weegman has tried hard to undermine me with Virginia. I’ve always disliked him and his detestable laugh. Who is he, anyway? Where did he come from, and what are his antecedents?”

“You’ll have to ask somebody else.”

“It’s Virginia I’m worrying about now,” said Parlmee, tossing aside his half-smoked cigarette.

“But if she was contemplating sailing for the United States with her father–”

“Her cablegram to me didn’t mention her father. I got the impression that she was sailing alone.”

“Alone! Great Scott!”

“And she didn’t sail! Where is she? What happened to her? Do you wonder I’m rattled? I’ve made arrangements so that I can have a month, if necessary, to dig into this business. If that isn’t enough, I’ll take all the time needed. It’s the deuce to pay, Locke, as sure as you’re a foot high.”

“In more ways than one,” agreed Lefty. “I could tell you some other things, but you’ve got enough to worry about. We must arrange to keep in touch with each other. I presume I’ll go back to Fernandon when I get through here.”

“Here’s my New York address,” said Parlmee, handing over his card, and rising.

Five minutes after they separated old Jack Kennedy arrived, dusty and weary from his railroad journey. His shoulders were a trifle stooped, and he looked older by years, but his keen eyes lighted with a twinkle as he grasped Locke’s hand.

“I knew you’d beat me to it, Lefty,” he said. “Wouldn’t have called on you to make the jaunt, but I had to chin with you face to face. Let’s talk first and feed our faces afterward.”

The veteran registered, and they took the elevator. Carrying Kennedy’s traveling bag, a boy conducted them. A bar boy, bearing a tray that was decorated with drinks, was knocking on a door. Within the room somebody called for him to enter, and he did so as Locke was passing at old Jack’s heels. By chance Lefty obtained a glimpse of the interior of that room before the door closed behind the boy. Two men, smoking cigars, were sitting at opposite sides of a table on which were empty glasses. They were Mit Skullen and Bailey Weegman.

Left together in Kennedy’s room, Locke told the old manager what he had seen, and immediately Kennedy’s face was twisted into a wrathful pucker.

“You’re sure?”

“Dead sure,” replied Locke.

“Well, it sorter confirms a little suspicion that’s been creepin’ inter my noddle. The Blue Stockings are up against somethin’ more’n the Feds, and the Feds have chewed the team to pieces. Within the last three days they’ve nailed Temple, Dayly, and Hyland. There’s only the remnants of a ball club left.”

Locke was aghast. “Gene Temple, too!” he cried. “The boy I found! I thought he would stick.”

“Money gets the best of ’em. Why shouldn’t it, when them lads ought to have been tied up before this with Blue Stockings contracts? The bars have been left down for the Feds, and they’ve raided the preserves. Seems just like they’ve been invited to come in and help themselves. Why not, with a team without a manager, and everything left at loose ends? Never heard of such criminal folly! But mebbe it ain’t folly; mebbe it’s plain cadougery. I’ve had an idea there was somethin’ crooked behind it, but couldn’t just quite nose it out. Now, with Weegman and Mit Skullen gettin’ together private, I see a light. Garrity’s the man! You know how he got his dirty paws on the Rockets. Well, if he ain’t workin’ to gobble the Blue Stockings I’ll eat my hat! I’ll bet that right now Tom Garrity’s gathered in all the loose stock of the club that he could buy, and he’s countin’ on havin’ enough to give him control before the season opens. He saw his chance, with the Feds reachin’ for every decent player they could lay their hands on, and he went for it. What if the Blue Stockings do have a busted team this season? In three years the club might be built up again, and it’s a sure money-maker just as long as it can keep in the first division. Lynchin’ is what a crook like Garrity deserves!”

Kennedy’s eyes were flashing, and he was literally quivering with wrath. Despite the fact that he was tired, he strode up and down the room.

“Weegman must be Garrity’s tool, the creature who is helping him do the dirty work,” said Locke.

“You’ve got his number! How he came to pick you for a mark, I don’t know, unless it was because he thought you let me work you to death, havin’ no mind of your own. He knew he couldn’t put anythin’ over with me, and so he decided to get rid of me; but he had to have somebody for a manager who would appear to be all right. He’s got to be blocked. There’s only one way.”

“How?”

“You’ll have to accept, and sign a contract to manage the team.”

Lefty gasped. “But,” he said, “I can’t do that! You–”

“I’m out. He wouldn’t have me, even if I’d do the work for no salary.”

“But I can’t agree to Weegman’s terms. I couldn’t do anything of my own accord; I couldn’t sign a player unless he agreed. He made that plain.”

“But he wouldn’t dare put anything like that in the contract. It would be too barefaced. The minute you have the authority you can get to work savin’ the remnants of the team by signin’ up the players the Feds haven’t grabbed already. I have a line on a few good youngsters who went back to the minors last year because there wasn’t room for them. Put proof of Weegman’s treachery before Collier, and Weegman’s done for! It’s the one play that’s got to be made in this here pinch.”

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in!” called Kennedy.

Bailey Weegman entered, smiling.

CHAPTER XV

SIGNING THE MANAGER

Weegman came in boldly. His manner was ingratiating, yet somewhat insolent, and he chuckled as he saw the look of surprise on the face of Lefty Locke. “Well, well!” he said. “Here we are! This is first rate. Now we can get together and do things.”

To the southpaw’s increasing astonishment, Kennedy stepped forward quickly, seized Weegman’s hand, and shook it cordially and heartily.

“I wired for Locke,” said the old manager. “I felt sure I could talk sense into his head. Didn’t like to see him make a fool of himself and let a great opportunity slip through his fingers just because of a false notion about loyalty to me. But I didn’t expect you before to-morrow.”

Lefty was a trifle bewildered. Kennedy had known Weegman was coming to Indianapolis; in fact, had arranged to meet him there. Collier’s representative beamed on Locke.

“Sorry I couldn’t wait to see the finish of that game in Fernandon,” he said; “but I saw enough to satisfy me. You did well to beat the Wind Jammers with that bunch of half invalids behind you, and your own arm all to the bad. Still, Wiley sort of handed you the game.”

“The score was three to two,” reminded Lefty.

“The Wind Jammers couldn’t hit. They were a lot of freaks, a burlesque baseball team.” Weegman turned again to old Jack. “If you can talk some sense into Locke, you’ll succeed where I failed. I wasted time, money, and breath on him; gave him up then. Let me tell you a joke.” He began to laugh, and the southpaw writhed inwardly. “Who do you think wants to manage the Blue Stockings? You can’t guess? Well, it’s Skullen; yes, Mit Skullen. Actually came after the job. Got me cornered and gave me a great game of talk, trying to convince me that he could fill the bill. I was listening to his spiel when I caught a glimpse of you two passing the door of my room. Called the desk and asked the number of your room. Then I shook old Mit and came around. The idea of Mit Skullen managing a Big League club! Isn’t that funny?” His whole body shook with merriment as he spoke.

Kennedy seemed to be amused also, and joined in Weegman’s laughter. “Wonder what Tom Garrity would say to that? Skullen must have forgotten his old nemesis, John Barleycorn. It was John that put him down and out as a prize fighter and a ball player.”

“He says he hasn’t looked at the stuff for four months. You should have heard him trying to convince me that he had the makings of a great manager.”

Lefty knew Weegman was lying regarding the nature of the private consultation that had been held in a nearby room. But Kennedy seemed to be unaware of this.

“You wouldn’t take Skullen under any conditions, would you?” asked old Jack.

“I wouldn’t have him if he was ready to pay to manage the team. Collier would lift my scalp if I fell for anything like that. But I’ve got a line on a good man if–if–” He faltered, and looked at Locke, smiling.

“We’ll settle that right here,” declared Kennedy, with a growl. “Locke’s the lad. I haven’t had time to talk to him much, but I was telling him before you came in that he’d have to accept. As for me, a Class AA team ain’t so worse. You’re dead sure I can hook up with St. Paul?”

“I wired you about the proposition from Byers. He wants you, but he wasn’t going to try to cut in on us. Did you send him word?”

“Not yet. Decided to have my talk with Lefty first.”

“I’ve always liked you, Kennedy,” said Weegman. “You’ve been a great man in your day. You’re a good man now, but it needs younger blood, especially in this fight against the Feds, confound them! About so often a team needs to change managers, especially when it begins to slip. The Blue Stockings began to slip last year, and the Feds have given us a push. Locke’s young, and he’s got the energy to build the team up. Working together, we can put it on its feet again. He’ll have the very best counsel and advice. He’s a favorite with the fans, and he’ll be tolerated where you would be blamed. He’ll come through and win out. Of that I am certain. The Feds will blow before the season’s over, and the woods will be full of first-class players begging for jobs. Next season should see the Stockings stronger than ever, and the man who’s managing the team’s bound to be popular. He’ll get a lot of credit.”

Lefty had taken a chair. He opened his lips to speak, but stopped when he caught a warning sign from old Jack behind Weegman’s shoulder.

“Is that contract ready for the boy?” asked Kennedy.

“I’ve got it in my pocket.”

“Then nail him right now. Push it at him, and we’ll make him sign. Don’t let him get away.”

Weegman produced the document. Then, for a moment, he seemed to hesitate, flashing old Jack a look and giving Locke a hard stare.

“You understand the conditions?” he said, addressing the latter.

“Yes,” answered Lefty, “you made them plain enough for a child to understand when you talked to me in Fernandon.”

“Course he understands,” cut in Kennedy. “He told me, and I told him to grab on without makin’ no further talk. Just as you say, Weegman, with proper advice he can swing the thing. It looks pretty big to him, and he’s doubtful. Let him look at that paper.”

He took it from Weegman’s hand and looked it over himself. It was practically the same sort of an agreement old Jack had signed himself when he took control of the team, and the name of Charles Collier, properly witnessed, had already been affixed to it. With the contract in his possession, along with Collier’s power of attorney, Weegman could sign up any one he chose to manage the Blue Stockings. For a fleeting instant Kennedy’s face was twisted into an expression of rage, which, however, Collier’s private secretary did not catch.

Locke saw that flash of anger and understood; old Jack was playing the fox, and losing no time about it.

“Skullen will do for the other witness,” said Weegman, going to the room telephone. “He’ll feel bad, of course, but I told him he didn’t have a show in the world.” He called the operator and gave the number of a room.

While Weegman was engaged, Kennedy handed the agreement over to Locke. “You sign it just as it is,” he directed. “You’ve had your talk with Mr. Weegman, and you know what he said to you. You don’t have to chin it over any more.”

By this time Weegman had got Skullen on the phone and asked him to come round to Kennedy’s room, giving him the number. Locke sat grimly reading the contract until Skullen knocked at the door.

“Maybe you’ll feel bad, Mit,” said Weegman, admitting the man, “but you know I told you there wasn’t a show in the world of me signing you up as manager. It’s settled with Locke, and I want you to witness him put his autograph to the paper. Now don’t make a growl, but do as you’re wanted.”

Skullen kept still as directed, but he looked as if Weegman’s first words had surprised him a trifle.

Kennedy had produced a fountain pen and thrust it into Locke’s hand. “Sign right here, son,” he urged. “Let’s see how pretty you write.”

“Wait!” cried Weegman, his eyes on the southpaw, who had promptly moved up to the little table. “You haven’t forgotten our talk? You understand?”

“I haven’t forgotten a thing,” asserted Lefty, boldly and swiftly writing his name. “There it is!”

CHAPTER XVI

THE WRONG STOOL PIGEON

Skullen and Kennedy attached their names as witnesses. The thing was done; Lefty Locke–Philip Hazelton was the name he wrote on the contract–was now manager of the Blue Stockings. He received a duplicate copy, which he folded and slipped into his pocket.

“Now we’re all set for business,” said Bailey Weegman. “I congratulate you, Locke. One time I was afraid you didn’t have sense enough to welcome Opportunity when she knocked. I’ll see you later, Mit, if you’re around. We’ve got to square away now and have a little conference. Don’t cry because you didn’t get the job.”

“Cry–nothin’!” said Skullen. “I wouldn’t have taken it if you’d handed it to me with twice the salary.”

“Old Mit’s disappointed,” chuckled Weegman, when the door closed behind him, “but he doesn’t want anybody to know it. He’ll deny he came looking for the position, of course.”

Kennedy had seated himself, and Weegman drew a chair up to the table, producing a packet of papers and running them over until he found the one he wanted.

“Here’s a list of the men the Feds have grabbed off us,” he said. “Grist, Orth, Temple, Nelson, Hyland, and Lewis. Grist is no particular loss, but Temple and Orth knock a hole in the pitching staff. Nelson was our reliance behind the bat. With Dayly and Lewis gone, the whole side of the infield is wide open. We ought to be able to fill Hyland’s place in right garden.”

“It’s a swell team that’s left!” said Locke. “And you told me that Dillon was negotiating with the outlaws.”

“He hasn’t jumped; he hasn’t had the nerve,” sneered Weegman, snapping his fingers. “Instead, he’s been howling for a contract. You’d find him waiting if you didn’t sign him until the first of April.” For just a flicker he had actually seemed to betray annoyance because Pink Dillon had not followed the example of the deserters, but he ended with a laugh.

“It seems to me,” said the new manager, “that I’d better get busy and try to save the pieces. The men who haven’t jumped should be signed up without delay.”

“Of course,” agreed Weegman blandly. “You must send out the contracts. Unluckily, I haven’t any blanks with me, but I’ll see that you are furnished with them to-morrow.”

“Every day counts, perhaps every hour; by to-morrow we may lose another good man, or more.”

“Not much danger, and you don’t want to make the mistake of getting into a panic and trying to do things in too much of a hurry. We’ve been farming some clever youngsters, more than enough to make up a team; but you should consult with Kennedy about them, and take only the right ones. You’ll have the most trouble getting hold of pitchers.”

“Youngsters,” said Locke, “are all right; but do you mean to suggest that we should stop the gaps wholly with men who lack Big League experience? You know how much show that sort of a team would have in the race. We’ve got to make some deals that will give us some players who have ripened. It’ll cost money, too.”

“Right there,” said Weegman, “is where you’re going to need the check-rein. Charles Collier won’t stand for needless extravagance in that line, I know, and I shall not countenance the purchasing of high-priced men.”