“I’m so glad to have both of you back, safe and sound, that I can’t sit down right now and figure out the best way to punish those scoundrels,” McRae said, when the recital was ended. “You’ve both shown wonderful pluck and nerve, and I’m proud of you. I’d have given quite a few dollars to have been around when that scrap down by the East River started. I haven’t been in a real good fracas for a long time, and it would surely have been a pleasure to have landed on one or two of those rascals. You must have put up a peach of a scrap to get away from them as neatly as you did.”
“It’s a wonder they didn’t start some gun play,” remarked Joe. “We’d have been out of luck for fair if they had.”
“I imagine they wanted to capture you both, rather than settle your hash for good,” observed the manager.
“If you don’t mind, Mac,” said Joe, getting to his feet, “I think we’d better go to our hotel and get cleaned up. Jim says I look as bad as he does, but I’d hate to believe it.”
“Go on!” exclaimed his friend. “You look worse. I guess it won’t hurt either of us to have a bath, though, and get some decent clothes on. I’ve got to admit that we both look a little mussed up.”
“Well, beat it along, and look out for those hands of yours, Jim,” said McRae. “I want to get you back into the box just as soon as I can. That last game you pitched is still being talked about by the fans, and I want you to repeat the performance.”
“I’ll do the best I can,” promised Jim. “I don’t see where there was anything so wonderful about that game, though. I was just trying to pitch as well as I knew Joe would have done if he had been there.”
“Thanks for the compliment,” laughed Joe. “But I haven’t heard about that game yet, Jim. On the way home you’ve got to tell me about it.”
“All right, I will. But let’s beat it now,” said his friend, and the two said good-by to McRae and headed for their hotel. Joe insisted on Jim’s telling him the details of the last game when Jim had pitched to victory, and he chuckled with satisfaction when his friend told him about the way he had bowled McCarney over.
“You had the right dope, all right,” declared Joe. “I’ll bet that shady ball player was all set to muff that fly and then blame it on the sun getting in his eyes. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s pulled that excuse, but it’s beginning to wear pretty thin.”
“Yes, that’s what I figured,” agreed Jim. “I couldn’t afford to take a chance right then. We needed that game too badly. It’s a wonder to me, though, that I pitched as well as I did, I was worrying so about you all the time.”
“Well, I might have had an off day and gotten knocked out of the box, so maybe it was a lucky thing for the team that I wasn’t there,” said Joe.
“I’ll take a chance on you any time, old scout,” declared Jim. “But here we are at the old hangout, and make out our lady clerk won’t be surprised to see us come walking in together.”
The interested woman was surprised, indeed, and delighted as well. She fairly deluged them with questions, which they answered as well as they could. McRae had warned them to keep their experiences to themselves, for a while, at least, but they told the clerk as much as they could and evaded the other questions. At last they succeeded in satisfying her curiosity to some extent, and went on upstairs to their rooms. Their bathroom was equipped with a shower bath, and they fairly reveled in this. Then, when each had donned a complete set of fresh clothing, they felt almost “one hundred per cent efficient,” as Jim put it, although his hands still bothered him a good deal.
“You’ll have to take my turn at pitching as well as your own, Joe,” he said ruefully. “I’m afraid I shan’t be able to handle a ball for a week, at least.”
“Well, I’m the boy that can do it,” said his friend confidently. “I feel as though I could pitch a double header right now and never be any the worse for it. It’s one of my ambitions to do it some day, too.”
“It looks as though you might have the chance, all right,” remarked Jim. “But there’s somebody at the door. Let him in, Joe; you’re nearest to it.”
Joe did so, and they were both delighted to see Larry Barrett standing on the threshold. He rushed in, delighted at seeing them, and they all shook hands joyously.
“Glory be, but it’s glad Oi am to see you both again!” he exclaimed. “Shure, an’ we thought you’d both been bumped off, fur good, when ye neither one showed up for practice. Phwat in the name of all that’s good have ye been doin’ wid yerselves?”
“Oh, just off on a little vacation,” said Jim, airily. “It looked at one time as though it might turn into a permanent one, but they say ‘only the good die young,’ and that probably explains why we’re still decorating the landscape.”
“It’s happy Oi am that ye’re both back,” said the jovial Irishman. “Shure, an’ the Giants would soon have been in the cellar position if ye hadn’t got back pretty soon.”
“Oh, we’re not as important as all that,” protested Joe. “There was a Giant team before we were ever heard of, and chances are there will be one after we’re buried and forgotten. The team is right up among the leaders, and they ought to be able to cop the pennant, anyway.”
“Up wid the leaders is right, me bye, but stayin’ there is another matter,” said Larry. “Why is ut that when we’re wid the leaders, as you so truly remarked but a short time ago, that everybody’s bettin’ against us? It looks as though some of the baseball sharps wuz bankin’ pretty heavy on the Giants losin’ the pennant. Am Oi right or am Oi not?”
“The gamblers don’t know everything, not by a long shot,” observed Jim. “Often their plans slip up on a banana peel. Don’t they, Joe?”
“Yes, once in a while,” replied his friend, grinning. “But, anyway, Larry, here we are back in the game, so what do you suppose the gamblers will do now?”
“Faith, an’ Oi think if it’s wise they are, they’ll bet on the Giants, instid of aginst thim,” said Larry. “We’ll wipe up the diamond wid thim other teams now. That is,” he added, “if we don’t git double crossed by some of the fellers on our own team. That’s the thing that’s worryin’ me now, an’ Oi don’t care who knows it.”
Joe and Jim exchanged glances.
“Whom do you mean?” asked the former.
“An’ who should Oi mean but thim two, McCarney an’ Hupft?” demanded Larry, in a belligerent tone. “You fellers know who Oi mean, well enough. For phwat did ye take that pop fly away from McCarney the other day, Jim, if ut wasn’t because you had a hunch that he wouldn’t field ut? Some of the other fellers didn’t get on to what wuz in back o’ that play, but you can’t fool yer Uncle Larry so easy.”
“Well, there’s no use denying that we are suspicious of those two birds, to say the least,” admitted Joe. “But just keep that under your hat, Larry, and don’t talk to the other fellows about it. We want to get the goods on McCarney and Hupft before we make any move to get them off the team.”
“That sounds raysonable,” admitted Larry. “But I gave one o’ thim birds a piece o’ me mind yesterday, and I wish now Oi’d taken a swing at his left ear for luck.”
“It wouldn’t have been much luck for the fellow on the receiving end, though,” laughed Jim. “What did you tell him, Larry?”
“Oi told him if he couldn’t hold on to the ball better, he ought to be playin’ checkers instid o’ baseball. ‘Ye’ve got no man’s grip in yer hands, or the ball wouldn’t slip through thim so easy,’ I told him.”
“Who was that, McCarney or Hupft?” asked Joe.
“’Twas the spalpeen of a third baseman,” replied Larry. “If he’d been half a man he’d have answered me back, and maybe started a little scrap, which Oi’d have been thankful for that same. But he only gives me an ugly, sideways look an’ says somethin’ under his breath that Oi cuddn’t hear. Oi should have swung at him, an’ me conscience has been botherin’ me ever since fur not doin’ ut.”
“I never knew you had a conscience,” laughed Joe. “Doesn’t it ever bother you when you argue with the umpire over calling a strike against you, when you know all the time it was a strike?”
“Oh, that’s different,” answered the good-natured Irishman, grinning. “That’s a matter of principle wid me, an’ me conscience would bother me if I didn’t do ut. You’re both ball players yerselves, an’ should realize that widout me havin’ to tell ye.”
“I guess we know how you feel about it,” returned Jim, chuckling. “An umpire has to be kept in his place, or a ball player’s life would be harder than it is.”
Larry stayed with them for some time before taking his departure. Joe and Jim then decided to go back to the manager’s hotel and find out what he intended to do in the matter of the gamblers and their high-handed proceedings.
They found McRae in no very pleasant temper. He was pacing up and down the room, and his face wore the look that members of his team knew boded trouble for some one. He waved them to chairs, and then gave vent to his anger against the crooks who he believed were ruining baseball.