“Oh, you wouldn’t, hey?” he growled huskily. “I suppose you think that’s a joke?”
“Not at all; it’s serious. I couldn’t use the players you offer, anyhow. Mundy does cover the short field like Rabbit Maranville–sometimes; but he’s got a yellow streak, and he quits. Pendexter knows how to play second, and at the beginning of last season he hit like old Sockalexis when the Indian first broke into the league. But the pitchers all got wise to his weak spot, close and across the knees, and from a three-hundred-and-sixty batter he slumped into the two-hundred class. You were thinking of asking for waivers on him. Spider Grant–and cash–for that pair! I didn’t imagine that even you could think me such a boob.”
As he listened, Garrity’s face showed his anger; his breath came short and quick; his eyes were blazing with the fury of a wild animal.
“Have you got that all out of your system?” he asked, when Lefty stopped. “You’re a wise gazabo, ain’t you? You know all about baseball and players and such things! You’ve got a head bigger than a balloon. But it’ll shrink, give it time. It’s plain you think you really know how to manage a team. By the middle of the season, and maybe considerable before that, your head will be about the size of a bird shot. And you’ll know a lot more then than you do now, believe me!”
The southpaw laughed in his face. “Don’t lose your temper,” he advised, “just because you couldn’t put a raw one over on me. Go ahead and ask waivers on Pendexter. You’ll get mine. I wouldn’t carry him on my team if you agreed to pay his season’s salary for me. My trade with Frazer gave you the notion that you could pick another good man off me, and weaken the Stockings still more. You fooled yourself that time, Garrity. Perhaps you’ll find out before long that you are fooling yourself in other ways.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I’ll let you guess. But just remember what Bobby Burns said about ‘the best-laid plans o’ mice and men.’”
With this, Locke passed on, leaving the wrathy owner of the Rockets glaring after him.
“You poor fool!” muttered Garrity. “I’ll have you whimpering like a whipped dog before I’m done with you. Your head’s liable to roll into the basket before the season opens. When the time comes, I’ll lift my finger, and the ax’ll fall.”