“I’ll tell you, Mac,” he said slowly. “I know you’ll keep it under your hat—for the present, anyway.”
[CHAPTER XI]
ON THE TRAIL
“You know, Mac, that I’m not easily fussed,” Joe went on, while the manager listened with strained attention. “I’ve been up against a lot of things since I’ve been in baseball, but so far have always managed to come out ahead.”
“I know,” put in McRae. “They say that death loves a shining mark, and I’ve noticed that crooks do too. Once let a man come into the limelight as you have, and there’s always a bunch of rascals that begin figuring how they can make something out of him. I know how they’ve tried to dope you, cripple you, and even worse. For the love of Pete, don’t tell me they’ve been at it again.”
“That’s just what has happened,” replied Joe, and then he went on to tell of the building material that had been pushed off the scaffold and from which he had so narrowly escaped with his life.
“The scoundrels!” exclaimed McRae, worked up to a white heat. “If I could only get my hands on one of them there’d be one less rascal out of prison. Have you any idea who it is that’s trying to put it over on you? Give me a hint, and I’ll get the police after them in a hurry.”
“That’s just what we’d better be careful about doing, don’t you think?” suggested Joe. “You know that baseball is on trial now with the public, and if anything of this kind should come out it might queer the game beyond recovery. It was a case of touch and go after that White Sox scandal broke, and anything else just now might prove the straw too much.”
McRae pondered for a moment, wrinkling his brows.