Jimmy Kirkland and the Plot for a Pennant Part 16

said the girl hesitatingly, "but I've been afraid for days. He said something to me that almost frightened me. He hinted that Mr. McCarthy was losing games on purpose. I didn't believe it--and somehow I got the idea Mr. Williams was betting on the Panthers."

"Now, you just keep your mouth shut about this," replied Mrs. Clancy, pressing her lips together determinedly. "I've had that same idea, and I think that's what's worryin' Willie. You just lead that fellow on to talk and I'll put a bug in Willie's ear. Only," she added, "Willie is likely to snap my head off for b.u.t.tin' into his business. He's got to know, though."

Clancy came into the apartment soon afterward and Betty Tabor, making a hasty excuse, gathered up her fancy work.

"It's going to rain," remarked Clancy resignedly. "I think the game will be called off. If the game's off, I've got tickets to a theatre, and you and mother and I can go. Which one of the boys shall I ask to go with us?"

"If you don't mind," replied Betty Tabor steadily, "ask Mr. Williams."

The rain came down steadily and before one o'clock the contest was called off. The postponement was believed to lessen slightly the chances of the Bears to win the pennant, and they lounged dismally around the hotel, watching the bulletin board record the fact that the Panthers were winning easily, giving them the lead in the race by a small fraction in percentage.

Manager Clancy, his wife and Betty Tabor, with Williams rode away in a taxicab to the theatre. McCarthy declined Swanson's proposal to play billiards, and, going to their rooms, he commenced to read. Presently five of the players trooped in, led by Swanson, to play poker, and, shoving McCarthy's bed aside, ignoring his protests, they dragged out chairs and tables and started the game. Scarcely had they started when the telephone bell rang and Swanson answered:

"No, he's not up here," he said. "No. Who wants him? All right, put them on. h.e.l.lo! Who is this? Oh, all right. No, Williams isn't here. Yes, I'm sure. He went out with the manager an hour ago--to a theatre, I think. All right. I'll tell him."

"Fellows," he said, as he hung up the receiver, "some friends want Williams to meet them as soon as he can. He'll know where. Fellow says it's important."

He glanced meaningly at McCarthy, who nodded to show that he understood, and as he sat down he remarked:

"Kohinoor, I guess it's up to us to go to a show or something to-night."

"All right," replied McCarthy, striving vainly to continue his reading, while puzzling over the fresh development.

At that same instant there was an acrimonious conversation in progress in the room from which the telephone summons for Williams had just come. Easy Ed Edwards hung up after his brief talk with the player at the other end of the line, an ugly gleam in his cold eyes.

"He isn't there," he reported to Barney Baldwin, who was sitting by the table, jangling the ice in a high-ball gla.s.s. "Either he's trying to cross us or he's playing wise and keeping his stand-in with the manager."

"Sure he isn't trying to cross us?" asked Baldwin. "He won yesterday's game instead of losing as he agreed to do."

"He tried hard enough to lose it," sneered the gambler. "He tossed up the ball and those dubs couldn't beat him. I tell you you've got to handle that red-headed kid at third base as you promised you would. He saved that game twice. We've got to get rid of him."

"He's stubborn," snarled Baldwin. "I tried to get him to quit the team and go back home. He's as bull-headed as his uncle, and that's the limit."

"You know who he is?" queried the gambler in surprise. "Why don't you tell the newspaper boys and show him up. That would finish him. He's under cover with his ident.i.ty, and if we can prove he hasn't any right to play with the Bears they'll have to throw out the games he's won."

"That's just the trouble," replied Baldwin bitterly. "He's straight as a string. He never played ball except at college. We can't tell who he is because that would prove he's all right and make him stronger than ever."

"Who is he?" inquired the gambler.

"He's the nephew of old Jim Lawrence, of Oregon, one of the richest men out there. Lawrence is his guardian. They had some sort of a run-in and the boy left."

"How do you know these things?" demanded the gambler.

"The boy and my niece were sweethearts at home. I coaxed her to tell me when I discovered she knew him. They were engaged once, I understand, but it was broken off."

"Then," said Edwards determinedly, "get your niece on the job. If anyone can handle that fellow a woman can."

"Oh, I say," protested Baldwin, with a show of indignation, "I can't ask her to get into anything like this."

"She probably was willing enough to get into it until she thought the boy didn't have any money," replied Edwards coldly. "I don't want the girl to do anything wrong. Just get her to make up with this McCarthy, or whatever his name is, and get him away from this ball team for a week. Baldwin, this is getting to be a serious matter with me, and with you, too, if you want to hold your political power."

"All right, all right," said Baldwin hastily. "Maybe I can persuade the girl to help us out. I'll try."

"You'd better succeed--if you want to send your man to the Senate,"

said Edwards threateningly.

"I'll go right away," a.s.sented the politician.

Baldwin arose leisurely, went down to his limousine that was waiting and ordered the man to drive home, although it was his custom to remain downtown until late. At home he sent at once for his niece, and, after a brief talk, during which he was careful to hint that McCarthy had made overtures toward reconciliation with his uncle, the girl went to the telephone.

McCarthy, summoned to the telephone, talked for a few moments and, as the poker game broke up, he called Swanson aside and said:

"You'll have to go alone to-night. I've got to make a call."

"Who is she?" asked Swanson insinuatingly.

"Barney Baldwin's niece--and at his house."

"Run on, Kohinoor," said the big shortstop. "I'll take Kennedy with me and if I'm not mistaken you'll find out more than I will."

CHAPTER XVI

_McCarthy Makes a Call_

It was a little past seven o'clock, when McCarthy, arrayed in what Swanson referred to as his "joy rags," which had been rescued from impound in an express office after his first renewal of prosperity, came out of the hotel. He was undecided, wavering as to whether or not it was wise for him to keep the appointment to call on Helen Baldwin.

They had met during his college career, and, after a courts.h.i.+p that was a whirlwind of impetuosity on his side, she had agreed to marry him.

He recalled now, with rather bitter recollections of his own blindness, her seemingly careless curiosity regarding the extent of the Lawrence wealth and his own expectations. He had told her how, when his father had died, Jim Lawrence had taken him to rear as his own child and heir.

The boy had grown older and broadened with his short experience in the world outside the protecting circle that had been round him in preparatory school and in college, and he determined to write that night to his guardian the letter he had so long delayed and to apologize and admit that he had been headstrong and foolish.

During the long ride uptown to the city residence of the Baldwins he had time to think clearly. He knew that Barney Baldwin was wealthy, but he was unprepared for the magnificence of the garish house, set down amid wide lawns in the most exclusive part of the River Drive section.

Helen Baldwin entered the room in a few moments, and McCarthy gazed at her in admiring surprise.

She came forward with both hands outstretched, smiling, a strangely transformed girl from the cold, half-scornful one with whom he had parted only a short time before.

"I wanted to see you so much, Larry," she said. "I have been so blue and depressed since I--since we--since we last met. Why didn't you call?"

"I only reached the city last night," he replied as he took a seat beside her on a divan. "And--well, Helen, I hardly thought you would wish to see me."

"You foolish boy," she chided. "Don't you know yet that you must never take a girl at her word? Of course, I was annoyed to find you playing baseball with a professional team, but I didn't mean we never were to meet again."

"I thought your ultimatum settled all that," he answered, ill at ease.

"It was rather a shock to find that you cared more for what I was than for what I am."