Jimmy Kirkland and the Plot for a Pennant Part 22

"Mr. McCarthy," she said rapidly, "I wanted to tell you--I do not believe a word of these horrible things the paper says about you. It is hateful! I told them they were false. I didn't think they'd dare tell others"----

"Them?" inquired McCarthy. "Then you've heard this story before?"

"Yes," she admitted. "I refused to listen--I knew there was not a word of truth in the stories. I knew you were honest"----

"I thank you very much, Miss Tabor," he said quietly. "I shall not need to ask who told you."

"I only wanted you to know I believed in you," she said simply, and as he looked into her eyes, she lowered them with a quick blush and hastened to recover her book.

CHAPTER XXI

_Fair Play_

Thirty thousand persons were packed into the big stands on the Bears'

Park, and ten thousand others camped in the outer field seats when the teams ran out to play that day.

A few loyalists applauded McCarthy as he trotted along with the other players, but the ripple of applause died suddenly as if the friends he had in the crowd feared to start a counterstorm of criticism and abuse.

The great crowd was strangely quiet, although a hum of comment spread through the stands when the Bears took the fielding practice and Jacobson, the pitcher, practiced at third base, while McCarthy remained near the stands idly warming up a recruit pitcher. The buzz arose to a hum of excitement. Reporters, deserting the press box, swarmed down under the stands and crowded to the entrance at the rear of the Bears'

bench, calling for Clancy, who went to speak with them.

"Why isn't McCarthy in the game?" demanded the spokesman, who already had written that McCarthy was suspended and out of the game.

"He is in the game," replied Clancy innocently. "Why shouldn't he be?"

For an instant the reporters stood undecided, then sprinted back to their posts, to change what they had written and alter the line-up.

Bill Tascott, the umpire, swaggered out to the plate, dusted the rubber, while the megaphones announced the batteries, and, at that instant McCarthy, jerking his glove from his belt, hurled his catcher's mitt to the bench and trotted out to third base, as Jacobson walked toward the bench.

The little scattering applause that greeted him grew and grew until the crowd applauded heartily and gave round after round of applause for the third baseman. It was the American spirit of fair play and justice revealing itself, and the crowd, accepting Manager Clancy's confidence in his third baseman, rendered its verdict of not guilty in cheers.

The Jackrabbits had figured cunningly that McCarthy would be unnerved by the strain of the situation, and "Hooks" O'Leary, the manager, had ordered that the attack be directed upon him. The first batter pushed a slow, twisting bounder down the third-base line and McCarthy, racing forward, scooped the ball with one hand and still running, snapped it underhand to first base ten feet ahead of the runner. He knew that his feat was mere bravado and that he had taken a reckless and useless chance, but the crowd needed no further convincing, but broke into a cras.h.i.+ng testimonial of applause, and he knew he was safe so far as their confidence in him was involved.

The game developed into a panic, then the rout of the Rabbits and the triumphant Bears rushed to victory by a score of 11 to 2. And, while they were winning, the Panthers won one game by a wide margin and lost the second after a fierce pitcher's duel, 2 to 1, leaving the Bears a full game in the lead of the pennant race, with but five games to play, while the Panthers played four.

"The place to contradict baseball stories," remarked Clancy, grimly, in the club house, as the players were dressing after the victory, "is on the ball field. If we had lost to-day we would have been a bunch of crooks, but as we won, we're all honest."

He glanced quickly toward where Williams was dressing, but the pitcher kept his eyes averted and seemed not to hear the remark.

"And Kohinoor," the manager added, "I give it to you for nerve in pulling off that circus stuff in the first inning. But if you do it again it'll cost you a bunch of your salary."

McCarthy found a note in his key box when he returned to the hotel. He had torn it open to read when Miss Betty Tabor, who had returned from the grounds with Mrs. Clancy, came laughing and almost dancing across the lobby toward the group of players, leaving her portly, but no less elated companion, to pant along behind her.

"Oh, it was glorious, boys!" she said. "I never was so excited in my life as when you made those four runs in the third inning. And Mother Clancy was so wrought up she dropped three st.i.tches in her fancy work and had to work all the rest of the game picking them out."

"She has a frightful case of nerves," said Swanson sarcastically. "I believe she'd break a needle if we won the world's champions.h.i.+p the last inning of the deciding game."

They laughed joyously as the girl turned to McCarthy and said frankly:

"I am so glad for your sake, Mr. McCarthy. I was so angry I could have turned and told some of the people behind me what I thought of them before the game started, but when you fielded that first ball they cheered you--and that made up for it."

"They should have heard what Mr. Clancy had to say about it," he laughed, and then growing serious said, "It is kind of you, Miss Tabor.

I am glad to know someone had faith in me."

They were standing a little apart from the group, which was slowly moving toward the elevators, chattering excitedly as school boys and girls. The feeling of relief from the anxiety and suspicion that had fallen upon them gave rise to exuberance.

"Mr. Clancy is taking us for an auto ride all around the city to-night," said Miss Tabor. "Shall I ask him to invite you to come with us? There's an extra seat."

"It's awfully good of you," he said in genuine regret. "I wish I could--but I have an engagement."

"Oh," she said, her tones chilling quickly. "I'm sorry."

"Miss Tabor," he pleaded eagerly, "please do not think I do not want to go"----

"Did I hint such a thing?" she inquired, with an air of innocent indifference.

He could not fence with her upon that basis and after a moment of idle exchange of formalities she turned to join Mrs. Clancy and McCarthy went to his room. Swanson was stretched upon the bed, reading newspapers, and flinging each sheet at random as he finished scanning its contents.

"Darn the luck," said McCarthy, hurling his glove and shoes toward his trunk.

"Did his 'ittle tootsie wootsy treat him mean?" asked Swanson in his most exasperating tones.

"Aw shut up, you big dub," snapped McCarthy angrily, resorting to ball players' repartee to cover his feelings.

"Maybe his lovey dovey is just jealous and will forgive her 'ittle pet," taunted the giant. "Petty mustn't mind what lovey says in her notes."

"Oh," said Swanson, with vast relief when he found Swanson was barking up the wrong tree, "I forgot all about the note."

He dragged the missive from his pocket and scanned it hastily, then tossed it across to Swanson.

"Date is off," he announced joyously. "Needn't watch me to-night."

Swanson read:

"Dear Larry:

"Don't come to-night. Uncle will be here--with friends--and I'm afraid. I must see you soon as possible. Will try to arrange to meet you somewhere to-morrow. I will telephone. H."

And while Swanson read the note McCarthy was at the telephone.

"Miss Tabor," he was saying eagerly, "this is Mr. McCarthy. I find my engagement for this evening is canceled. Please ask Mr. Clancy if I may go. Please. Yes, I said please. Shall I say it again?"

"And, Miss Tabor, if that spare seat is in the tonneau---- No, Mrs.

Clancy should sit with her husband."