Lefty Locke, pitcher-manager

by Burt L. Standish

The southpaw had fancied that he would be given more time to muster his opposing forces for the battle. He had even imagined, at first, that the man he would need to contend against and defeat was Weegman. But now Weegman, the blind tool of craftier creatures, looked insignificant and weak. In order to defeat him it would be necessary to strike higher.

How was he to strike? That was the question. Locke had suggested to Stillman complete exposure of the plot by newspaper publicity. And right there the reporter, who had seemed so confident of his ground, had betrayed that, after his usual method, he was working by intuition, and had no positive and unassailable verification of his conclusions. It would not do for his paper to charge criminal conspiracy without proper evidence to back up such an indictment.

Recalling this, Lefty remembered that Stillman, having heard all the southpaw could tell, had ended by giving his own theory, and had offered proof to substantiate it. And then he had been compelled to acknowledge that the proof he had to offer was not sound enough to base exposure and open action upon.

If Stillman were right, doubtless Parlmee had gone abroad with full knowledge of Charles Collier’s whereabouts. That knowledge being denied Lefty, he could not warn Collier, and the plot would be carried through as arranged. Then, as the reporter had predicted, at the annual meeting of the magnates, shortly to be held, Garrity would appear as owner of the Blue Stockings. When that happened, the fight would be over, and the conspirators would be triumphant.

With the door to Janet’s chamber closed, Locke walked the floor, striving for a clear conception of what ought to be done. He felt like a man bound hand and foot. Of course, he could go on with his project to strengthen the team, but the harvest of his success would be reaped by the plotters, if they, too, were successful. There was little uncertainty about what would happen to him, for he knew that his conscience would not permit him to become an understrapper for Garrity. He had left Fernandon with courage and high hope to do battle; but now the helplessness of the situation threatened to appall him.

If there were only some way to get into communication with Collier. Again he thought of his somewhat shaken conviction that Virginia was in New York. If that were true, some of her family or friends must know it, and, of course, Virginia would know how to communicate without delay with her father.

With this thought came the conviction that in Virginia lay his only hope. If he had been mistaken, and she were not in the United States, his chance of doing anything to foil the conspirators was not one in a thousand. His work for the morrow was cut out for him; he must learn positively if Charles Collier’s daughter was on American soil, and, if so, he must find her.

The telephone rang, and when he answered it he was informed that Kennedy was calling. The faithful old veteran had come, after all! Lefty said that he was to be sent up at once.

“Well, son,” said old Jack, as he came in, “how are things moving?”

“None too well,” answered Lefty, shaking his hand.