Until Buck Fargo’s unfortunate propensity for joking had got the better of him, everything had gone smoothly. Jones and several other players who thought they could stand a little less weight stripped, swathed themselves in blankets, and took turns sitting on the sizzling radiator, well protected by several thicknesses of bath toweling. Perspiration streamed from every pore as superfluous tissue oozed away.
After each man had indulged in several rounds of the sweating process, it was observed that Jones was monopolizing the newly discovered boon. Protests were unavailing. He simply sat on the radiator until he could stand the heat no longer, regardless of the clamorous waiting list, and Russell was on the point of using force when he received an unmistakably insignificant wink from Buck Fargo, which made him refrain from butting in.
When the outfielder’s turn came again, he carefully adjusted the blankets about him and approached the radiator. The others were all gathered around, uttering various joshing comments. The big backstop leaned carelessly against the wall close to the heated coils. The room was hazy with steam pouring out of the faucet of the bathtub.
Cautiously Jones parted the blankets, and let himself down slowly, quite oblivious to the fact that Fargo had removed the towels with a dexterous twitch. The next instant a fearful yell rent the air, and the outfielder shot up as if galvanized, caught sight of the catcher slipping out of the door, and flung himself after in hot pursuit, with the resultant upsetting of Lefty Locke’s plans.
The latter was not quite so entertained by the joke as he might have been had it not caused him to lose the waiter. He was swiftly becoming more and more convinced that, if he could only once get hold of the fellow and bring a little pressure to bear upon him, Miller might tell him a lot.
What was the man doing back in the hotel, anyway? Lefty wondered as he took the elevator downstairs. The mere fact of his presence in that corridor after he had been fired looked suspicious.
“It’s a shame I didn’t come out of my room a minute sooner,” the cub pitcher grumbled to himself as he entered the lobby. “I’d have nailed him. By Jove, Jack! You’re just the chap I want to see.” He caught Stillman by the arm, and propelled him toward a couple of empty chairs near by. “Who do you think I saw up in our corridor about fifteen minutes ago?”
“That waiter who was fired yesterday morning,” the newspaper man returned without an instant’s hesitation.
Lefty gasped. “What! Did you see him too?”
“No; but I heard him talking to Elgin. Our rooms adjoin, you know, and there’s a connecting door which is locked. I was up there, doping out some stuff to send to the paper, when I began to hear scraps of talk coming through the door. Didn’t pay much attention at first, for I wanted to get my story off in the five-thirty mail, but I made out that somebody was trying to get money out of our friend. That made me sit up and take a little more notice. The chap wanted fifteen dollars to take him to Dallas. Elgin balked, of course, and then the waiter said it would be the last touch he’d make, and, anyhow, it was little enough, considering all he’d done for Elgin. They scrapped back and forth for a bit, and then I reckon Elgin shelled out, for I didn’t hear anything more.