Jimmy Kirkland and the Plot for a Pennant Part 32

"Yes," he said. "He's locked up and we're tearing the town to pieces trying to get him out of the station. It may be an hour--and he must catch that train. Can you arrange at your hotel to have a fast taxi to take him to the railroad station when he gets out, if there is a chance to catch the train?"

"Wait--yes, yes," she said eagerly. "The manager here has a fast machine that he has been letting me use. I'll get it. The garage is only a few doors."

"You'll take him yourself?" he said in surprise.

"Yes," she said. "I must hurry."

Again and again Feehan urged the telephone girl to try to get a reply to the call for the mayor. Beads of sweat stood upon his face, as he begged her to try again and summoned the manager to his a.s.sistance. He glanced at his watch. It was eight minutes to six o'clock.

"I must get him," he told the telephone girl for the dozenth time.

"Sorry--no one will answer," she said wearily. "I've tried--wait a minute, there's someone now."

"h.e.l.lo," said a hearty voice.

"Your Honor"--Feehan's voice was pregnant with pleading--"this is Feehan, the baseball writer."

"h.e.l.lo, Feehan," came the quick response. "Why aren't you with the team, or did you just get in to honor me with this early call?"

"Your Honor," pleaded Feehan, recalling suddenly that the mayor was an ardent baseball "fan." "I've been searching for McCarthy. He's in the North Ninetieth Street Station, held without being booked. I've been trying for hours to get him out so he can join the team."

"What charge?" demanded the mayor sharply.

"No charge. He is being held to keep him from playing. If he doesn't catch this morning's train the pennant is lost."

"Here's where I make a pinch hit, then," said the mayor sharply.

Feehan heard the receiver bang down. With a sigh of relief he hung up his receiver and grinned at Joe.

"He's a baseball fan," was all the explanation he offered.

An anxious wait ensued, then Cramer telephones:

"McCarthy just got out, mayor's orders. Pretty well bunged up, but says he can play. He's gone with some girl in an auto. She was waiting for him."

Feehan glanced at his watch. It was 6.23.

"Twelve minutes for two and a half miles," he muttered. "They'll just make it."

And with a sigh he picked up his scattered sheets and muttered:

"Let's see, what did this fellow Houseman hit last season?"

CHAPTER x.x.x

_A Race to Save the Day_

Kohinoor McCarthy, emerging from his cell into the fetid atmosphere of the receiving room of the police station, was met by Cramer, who broke from the group of reporters, lawyers and police officials stirred to activity at that early hour by the frantic efforts of Technicalities Feehan. His head was rudely bandaged and his discolored face was swollen and cut.

There was no time for questionings.

"Hurry, McCarthy," said Cramer. "There is an automobile outside waiting to take you to the station. You have about a quarter of an hour to catch the train."

McCarthy, with a word of thanks, hastened through the station, leaped down the steps with an agility that proved his injuries did not affect his speed, and sprang to the car.

The morning sun was just commencing to reach down into the cavern of the street into which the car leaped, and it shone directly in their eyes. The car lurched around a corner and swung into the avenue for the race to the station. At that instant the girl's veil flapped back, revealing her face.

"Betty!" exclaimed McCarthy. "You"----

"You didn't know me?" she asked as she steadied the car and increased its pace over the smooth asphalt.

"Why are you here? What are you doing?" he asked in astonishment.

"I had to come," she replied swiftly. "There was no one else. We must catch the train. Don't talk, please."

He leaned back wearily and watched the street as it seemed to flow past them.

"How much time have we?" he asked above the roaring of the wind.

"The train leaves at 6.35," she called back, without lifting her eyes.

"Watch for clocks."

She had increased the speed gradually and the light car jumped as it struck a cross-town street-car track. Suddenly the car jolted, slid to a quick stop and with an exclamation of despair the girl strove to reverse and killed the engine.

"The street is closed below," she said. "Crank up, the engine is dead."

McCarthy leaped from the car and cranked rapidly. A precious minute was lost before the engine throbbed and the girl, turning the car quickly, ran back a block, swung across to a side street and raced for the station.

"The captain of the bell boys is waiting with the tickets. I sent him before I left the hotel," she said without lifting her eyes. "Jump from the car the moment I stop. He'll meet you at the gate."

"Two minutes--can we make it?" he asked.

"We'll try." Her face was set and white. She whirled the corner of the avenue onto the side street at full speed. A block and a half away was the station. The car was at racing speed now. The girl kept the siren screaming, hoping for a clear way. They tore toward the intersection of the streets--and directly ahead a lumbering team of horses, drawing a heavy wagon, trundled across their path. With a sudden swerve, a grinding of the emergency and a sickening lurch, the car checked its mad flight, sc.r.a.ped past the rear of the wagon, and gathering speed renewed the race against time.

"Goodbye," he said, leaning suddenly inward as the car commenced to lose momentum. "When I come back"----

"Hurry, hurry," she pleaded. "Run"----

He leaped before the car stopped and, with one glance back toward her, sprinted down the long pa.s.sageway.

The gate was closing. He cried aloud, and ran faster. The gate clanged. A boy in uniform ran to him and shoved tickets into his hands as they ran side by side.

"Open it! Let me through!" he screamed at the gateman, just starting to lock the gate.

McCarthy was sprinting desperately in pursuit of the train already half way down the long train shed. He ran until his heart pounded audibly against his ribs, straining every muscle, and crying for the train to stop. Faster and faster it went, and, near the end of the station, McCarthy realized he had lost the race and, stopping, he stood dejectedly looking after the rapidly disappearing observation car.