Joe and Jim had narrowly watched every move of this game, especially the actions of the players whom they suspected of crooked dealing. When McCarney fumbled the ball in that crucial ninth inning, Joe clenched his fists and muttered various uncomplimentary things about the baseman.
“That settles it!” he exploded at last, when the opposing player crossed the plate with the tying run. “McCarney’s a good actor, Jim, but he was just a bit too clumsy in that play to be natural. He can play good enough ball when he wants to, and it isn’t easy for him to be quite as clumsy as all that. I could see him purposely drop that ball after he had really caught it. Didn’t it look the same way to you, Jim?”
His friend nodded.
“No doubt of it,” he agreed. “I’d like to keep track of McCarney after he leaves the clubhouse and see where he goes, but I’ve got an appointment with Curry and I don’t see how I can. Why don’t you shadow him, Joe, and see if you can find out anything? I’ll take my turn at it to-morrow.”
“All right, I will!” exclaimed Joe. “I’ll beat it for the clubhouse right after the game is over, and I’ll be ready to leave as soon as he is. I may not find out a thing, but it will be worth the chance, anyway.”
In accordance with this plan, Joe was one of the first under the showers and was in his street clothes before McCarney had finished dressing.
The latter was surly and resentful of the criticism directed at him by his team mates. They were not sparing of this, and did not hesitate to tell him what they thought of such bungling. Every big league player knows that mistakes are unavoidable at times, but McCarney and Hupft had begun to get on their nerves. In almost every game lately it seemed that one or the other was sure to make a bad play at a crucial time.
“We could pick half a dozen fans out of the bleachers who could hold on to a baseball tighter than you can, Mac,” growled Mylert, the burly catcher. “You must have grease on your fingers, the way that ball slides through them. Why don’t you see if you can hold on to it once in a while?”
“Shure, and I’ll bet if the ball wuz a twinty dollar gold piece he’d kape holt of it, all right, all right,” chirped up Larry Barrett.