Lefty Locke Pitcher-Manager Part 7

"Oh, perchance you may be able to get on the sacks with me pus.h.i.+ng 'em over; but if Jones unlimbered his artillery on you, he'd mow you down as fast as you toddled up to the pentagon. You see, I wish the a.s.semblage to witness some slight semblance of a game."

In action upon the slab, Wiley aroused still further merriment. His wind-up before delivering the ball was most bewildering. His writhing, squirming twists would have made a circus contortionist gasp. First he seemed to tie himself into knots, pressing the ball into the pit of his stomach like a person in excruciating anguish. On the swing back, he turned completely away from the batter, facing second base for a moment, at the same time poising himself on his right foot and pointing his left foot toward the zenith. Then he came forward and around, as if he would put the sphere over with the speed of a cannon ball--and handed up a little, slow bender.

But he need not have troubled himself to put a curve on that first one, for Fred Hallett, leading off for the Grays, stood quite still and stared like a person hypnotized. The ball floated over, and the umpire called a strike, which led Hallett to shake himself and join in the laughter of the crowd.

"What's the matter? What's the matter?" spluttered Wiley. "Was my speed too much for you? Couldn't you see it when it came across? Shall I pitch you a slow one?"

Hallett shook his head, unable to reply.

"Oh, vurry, vurry well," said the Marine Marvel. "As you choose. I don't want to be too hard on you." Then, after going through with a startling variation of the former convulsions, he did pitch a ball that was so speedy that the batsman swung too slowly. And, a few minutes later, completing the performance to his own satisfaction, he struck Hallett out with a neat little drop. "I preen myself," said he, "that I'm still there with the huckleberries. As a pitcher of cla.s.s, I've got Matty and a few others backed up against the ropes. Bring on your next victim."

Charlie Watson found the burlesque so amusing that he laughed all the way from the bench to the plate. The eccentric pitcher looked at him sympathetically.

"When you get through shedding tears," he said, "I'll pitch to you.

I hate to see a strong man weep."

Then, without the slightest warning, using no wind-up whatever, he snapped one straight over, catching Watson unprepared. That sobered Watson down considerably.

"I'm glad to see you feeling better," declared the manager of the Wind Jammers. "Now that you're quite prepared, I'll give you something easy."

The slow one that he tossed up seemed to hang in the air with the st.i.tches showing. Watson hit it and popped a little fly into Wiley's hands, the latter not being compelled to move out of his tracks. He removed his cap and bowed his thanks.

Doc Tremain walked out seriously enough, apparently not at all amused by the horseplay that was taking place. With his hands on his hips, Wiley stared hard at Tremain.

"Here's a jolly soul!" cried the pitcher. "He's simply laughing himself sick. I love to see a man enjoy himself so diabolically."

"Oh, play ball!" the doctor retorted tartly. "This crowd isn't here to see monkeys.h.i.+nes."

"Then they won't look at you, my happy friend. And that's a dart of subtle repartee."

Wiley's remarkable wind-up and delivery did not seem to bother Tremain, who viciously smashed the first ball pitched to him. It was a savage line drive slightly to the left of the slabman, but the latter shot out his gloved hand with the swiftness of a striking rattlesnake, and grabbed the whistling sphere. Having made the catch, the Marine Marvel tossed the ball carelessly to the ground and sauntered toward the bench with an air of bored la.s.situde. There was a ripple of applause.

"You got off easy that time, cap'n," said Locke, coming out. "When are you going to let us have a crack at Jones?"

"A crack at him!" retorted Wiley. "Don't make me t.i.tter, Lefty! Your a.s.semblage of would-bes never could get anything remotely related to a crack off Jones. However, when ongwee begins to creep over me I'll let him go in and polish you off."

"Colonel" Rickey, leading off for the Wind Jammers in the second, hoisted an infield fly, and expressed his annoyance in a choice Southern drawl as he went back to the bench.

Peter Plum, the fat right fielder, followed, poling out an infield drive which, to the amazement of the crowd, he nearly turned into a safety by the most surprising dash to first. Impossible though it seemed, the chunky, short-legged fellow could run like a deer, and when he was cut down by little more than a yard at the ha.s.sock he vehemently protested that it was robbery.

Locke was taking it easy now; he almost seemed to invite a situation that would again put his arm to the test. There was a queer feeling in his shoulder, a feeling he did not like, and he wondered if he could "tighten" in repeated pinches, as he had so frequently done when facing the best batters in the business. But, though he grooved one to Schaeffer, the catcher boosted an easy fly to Watson in left field.

Wiley went through the second inning unharmed, although, with two down, Colby landed on the horsehide for two sacks. Coming next, Gates bit at a slow one and lifted a foul to the third baseman.

"Now give me my faithful bludgeon," cried the Marine Marvel, making for the bats. "Watch me start something! I'm going to lacerate the feelings of this man Lefty. I hate to do it, but I hear the clarion call of duty."

Locke decided to strike Wiley out. Wiley picked out a smoking shoot, and banged it on a line for one sack.

"Nice tidy little bingle, wasn't it, mate?" he cried. "I fancied mayhap Dame Rumor had slandered you, but alas! I fear me you are easy for a real batter with an eye."

Nuccio was up again, and he also hit safely, Wiley going to third on the drive. Locke's teeth clicked together. Was it possible that real batters could find him with such ease? If so, the Big League would see him no more; he would not return to it. If so, his days as a pitcher were surely ended. For a moment Bailey Weegman's grinning face again rose vaguely before him.

"I must know!" he muttered. "I must settle these infernal doubts that are torturing me."

CHAPTER X

THE ONLY DOOR

Luther Bemis blundered. He had been given the signal to let Nuccio steal, but he hit at the ball and raised a foul to Colby, who stepped back upon first and completed a double play una.s.sisted, the Italian having made a break for second. Nuccio was disgusted, and Cap'n Wiley made a few remarks to Bemis that caused the lengthy center fielder to retire to the bench in confusion.

"There has been a sudden addition to the bone crop," concluded the vexed manager of the Wind Jammers. "Beamy, in order to avoid getting your dates mixed, you should carry a telescope and take an occasional survey of the earth's surface."

"Niver mind, cap'n," called O'Reilley. "I'll put ye across whin I hit."

With a twinge of apprehension, Locke sought to trick the confident Irishman into biting at a curve. And, even as he pitched, he was annoyed with himself because apprehension prevented him from bending the ball over. O'Reilley stubbornly declined to bite.

There was a sudden chorus of warning shouts as Sommers returned the ball, and the pitcher was surprised to see Cap'n Wiley running for the registry station. The foxy old veteran was actually trying to steal home on the Big League pitcher. Laughing, Lefty waited for the ball, aware that Sommers was leaping into position to nail the runner. Without undue haste, yet without wasting a second, the slabman snapped the sphere back to the eager hands of the catcher, who poked it into the sliding man's ribs. Wiley was out by four feet, at least.

"Why didn't you wait for O'Reilley to hit?" Locke asked.

"I wanted to spare your already tattered nerves," was the instant answer. "You see, sympathy may be found elsewhere than in the dictionary."

Still floundering in the bog of doubt, Lefty was far from satisfied. He had told himself that he invited the test which would give him the answer he sought, yet he realized that, face to face with it, he had felt a shrinking, a qualm, akin to actual dread; and he was angry with himself because he drew a breath of relief when the blundering and reckless playing of the Wind Jammers postponed the ordeal, leaving him still groping in the dark.

Sommers led off with a hot grounder, which O'Reilley booted. Playing the game, Locke bunted, advancing Sommers and peris.h.i.+ng himself at first.

"Cleverly done," admitted Cap'n Wiley, "but it will avail you naught.

I shall now proceed to decorate the pill with the oil of elusion."

A friend called to Lefty in the crowd back of first, and the pitcher walked back to exchange a few words with him. He was turning away when a hand fell on his arm, and he looked round to find Weegman there. The man's face wore a supercilious and knowing smile.

"I didn't mean to attend this game," said Weegman, "but, having the time, I decided to watch part of it, as it would give me a good chance to settle a certain point definitely in my mind. What I've seen has been quite enough. Your arm is gone, Locke, and you know it. You're laboring like a longsh.o.r.eman against this bunch of bushers, and, working hard as you are, you couldn't hold them only for their dub playing. I admit that you struck out some of their weakest stickers, but you were forced to the limit to do it, and it made that injured wing of yours wilt. They had you going in the last round, and threw away their chance by bonehead playing."

"Weegman," said Locke, "I'm tired of hearing you talk. The sound of your voice makes me weary."

But instead of being disturbed the man chuckled. "The truth frequently is unpleasant," he returned; "and you know I am speaking the raw truth. Now I like you, Locke; I've always liked you, and I hate to see you go down and out for good. That's what it means if you don't accept my offer. As manager of the Blue Stockings, you can hold your job this season if you don't pitch a ball; it'll enable you to stay in the business in a new capacity, and you'll not be dependent on your arm. A pitcher's arm may fail him any time. As a manager, you may last indefinitely."

"It would be a crime if the sort of a manager you want lasted a month."

"If you don't come at my terms, you may kiss yourself good-by. The Feds are going to learn that your flinger is gone; be sure of that."

"That's a threat?"

"A warning. If their crazy offer has tempted you, put the temptation aside. That offer will be withdrawn. Every manager and magnate in the business is going to know that as a pitcher you have checked in. There's only one door for you to return by, and I'm holding it open." He laughed and placed his hand again ingratiatingly upon Locke's arm.