Jack Stillman went in search of Janet Harting, while Lefty remained pitching for Jack Kennedy under the name of Stranger. As a mascot and a winning pitcher, he proved to be such a success that, with the close of the season a week away, the Deers were entrenched in first position beyond any possibility of dislodgment.
Meanwhile, the Blue Stockings were being battered, and their lead cut down, until even old Pete Grist lost heart, and bewailed the missing southpaw.
“Another week,” he groaned; “another week, and we’ve got to win four games out of six to home, with no pitchers. If we get two of them games we’ll do well. If we had Locke in trim we could take them. I’ll agree to win my share. Carson has failed, and the old man’s sore. After all, Kennedy was the best manager the Blue Stockings ever had.”
To make matters worse, Carson and Collier quarreled violently.
About this time Stillman, whose place had been filled by a cub for nearly two weeks, came back, and interviewed Charles Collier. Although the reporter had made his business a secret affair, more than one of the Blue Stockings guessed that he was searching for Lefty Locke. Daily the Blade was scanned for some word which would indicate that the clever reporter-detective had made progress in this search, and daily those in looking for that word were disappointed. Stillman was taking the chance of being scooped in order to spring a big sensation at the most dramatic moment. He did not even dare tell his editor what he had learned.
The almost hopeless fight of the Blue Stockings aroused the sympathy of the fans, even while the management of Al Carson was bitterly criticised, and also the judgment of Charles Collier in letting old Jack Kennedy go in order to fill his place with a man like Carson.
Pete Grist had made good by winning two games of the last six. He even saved another game when three of the battered pitchers had been pounded out of the box. Then followed two defeats, and upon the day before the final and deciding game was to be played Stillman sprang his sensation in the Blade.
He announced that Carson had been permanently shelved by the owner of the Blue Stockings, who had sent a distress call to the old manager, Jack Kennedy, receiving in reply the assurance that Kennedy would be on hand early in the morning, and would bring with him a cracking portside pitcher by the name of Stranger, who had been doing marvelous work out in the bushes.
Stillman wrote, in conclusion:
I’ve seen this Stranger pitch, and, believe me, he’s able to deliver the goods. He’s the equal of Lefty Locke when Locke was at his best. If Stranger can pitch a winning game for the Stockings to-morrow, the championship is ours after all, and old Jack Kennedy will have saved the day at the last moment.
Forty-eight hours before this article appeared in print, Lefty Locke, pitching for the Deers, had, while batting in the ninth inning, been hit full and fair on the head by a pitched ball delivered with all the speed the man on the slab could command.
Locke sank to the ground without as much as a gasp. In a moment he was surrounded by a number of his teammates. Kennedy lifted the stunned man’s head, calling sharply for water.
“He ought to have a doctor,” said someone. “Perhaps his skull is fractured.”
“I don’t need a doctor,” declared Locke, suddenly sitting up. “I’m all right. A little tap like that never hurt anybody. Donovan hasn’t got much speed to-day.”
“Donovan!” exclaimed Kennedy. “Why, that’s Colfax pitching.”
Locke looked at the old manager queerly. “Colfax?” he muttered. “Who’s Colfax! Never heard of him. The Specters are ahead, aren’t they?”
“Where do you think you are?” choked Kennedy, his excitement growing. “You’re playing the Semour Stars, out in the bush. You’re pitching for the Deers, of Deering.”
It was Locke’s turn to appear bewildered. “I don’t think I get you right,” he muttered blankly. “What are you doing here, anyhow? Carson is managing the team now.”
“Not this team, he ain’t,” retorted old Jack. “Look here, Lefty, has that bump on your bean put you right again? Who are you? What’s your name?”
“Why, my name is Hazelton, though I’m playing the game as Tom Locke. What a blame fool question, Kennedy!”
The old manager showed his satisfaction, and did a dance which caused the crowd to stare at him in wonderment.
“You’re all right now, Lefty, old boy! You’ve got your noddle cleared up by that bean ball. I’ll bet you got one on the koko some other time, and that was what started you wrong to begin with.”
“Wrong? What do you mean? How wrong?” asked Locke, gazing around in surprise at his strange and unfamiliar surroundings. “What am I doing here?”
“Playing baseball. I told you a minute ago. You’re Bob Stranger. Anyhow, that’s what you called yourself when you came to me, and you swore you didn’t know how to pitch and had never seen a game of ball.”
“Jack, you’re stringing me. I don’t remember how I got here, but—”
“Play ball!” cried the umpire. “Shall we give you a runner, Stranger, or will you stick in the game?”
“If you’re speaking to me,” returned Locke, “I’ll stick in the game. That tap on the head didn’t jar me a bit.”
In proof of which, after jogging down to first, he stole second on the first ball pitched to the next batter, and came home with the winning run when a right-field single followed.
That night Kennedy did his best to explain everything to the satisfaction of Locke.
“I wonder what the team thinks of me?” murmured Lefty. “They must figure that I’m just about as yellow as Bert Elgin himself. I wouldn’t quit because I was suspended—not in my right mind, anyhow. I don’t blame Carson for being raw and letting me go.”
Kennedy pulled a yellow envelope from his pocket, and produced the message it contained. “Carson’s done with the Blue Stockings, anyhow,” he said. “Here’s a wire from Collier, asking me to come back and take the management of the team. I can get there just in time for the last game. If we win that game we get the pennant. What do you say, Lefty? Will you pitch it?”
“Will I!” cried Locke. “All I want is the chance!”
“It’s yours,” declared Kennedy. “You’ll pitch, son.”