Chapter XLI: Revelations

There was a constant passing and repassing of people through the lobby, but not until after five did the advance guard of the Blue Stockings, consisting of Kennedy, Dalton, Gene Temple, and Ogan, appear. They came by the main entrance, laughing and joking, at the precise moment that a broad-shouldered young man, a soft hat pulled down over his eyes, turned from the register and put a question to the clerk.

“Tethridge?” the latter repeated briskly, turning for an instant to inspect the keyboard. “Why, he hasn’t come――”

He stopped abruptly, with a sniff of surprise, for the young man, without a word of explanation, had whirled about, and was making swiftly for the side corridor. A second later the keen eyes of the Blue Stockings’ manager sighted him; there was a gasp of astonishment, checked in its very birth. Then a shout:

“Savage! Grab him, Temple――don’t let him get away!”

For a fraction of a second, Temple, who was nearer the hurrying man than any of the others, seemed to hesitate. But another roar from Kennedy, accompanied by a forward rush, spurred him on, and, plunging through a throng of bewildered loungers, he grabbed the Westerner by one arm.

With a snarl like that of a trapped animal, Savage whirled on him. “Let go, you cheap sport!” he cried. “If you don’t, I’ll put the whole crowd wise to your crookedness――”

He did not finish, for at that moment Kennedy gripped the other arm, and, with characteristic presence of mind, shoved him through the door of an adjoining writing room, whence he was followed by the other members of his squad. Then the door slammed in the face of the crowd of curious spectators.

There was another door leading to a small reception room, but this Ogan promptly closed, taking his position in front of it. Kennedy released his hold on the busher, who stepped back against a table, his chin high, his eyes insolently returning the manager’s steady, contemptuous stare.

“So you broke out?” the latter commented scornfully. “Nice one you are to talk about crookedness! Why, that’s your middle name!”

Savage’s eyes gleamed. “At least I never forged my father’s name, like that man!” he retorted, with a vicious side glance at Temple’s flushed face. “Nor passed myself off for an amateur after I’d played professional ball all summer. Oh, you can’t deny it! I know! Your old man didn’t prosecute, but it’s the truth, all the same. You didn’t think to run up against me, I s’pose, after pitching two seasons as Fred Moore out on the coast, an’ then trotting back East to pretend you were a sweet young innocent that didn’t even know fellows got money for playing ball.”

Temple’s face was flaming now, and his eyes were filled with a mixture of bitter shame and indignation.

“That’s nothing to what I’ve got on you!” he retorted. “It’s past and gone now.” His eyes swept pleadingly from one face to another. “I had to earn money to get through, and pitching was the only trade I knew. The rules of professional athletics are unjust, anyhow. Fellows do other things for money to help them along in college――waiting, dishwashing, tutoring, coaching――why shouldn’t they play ball? The check was a heap worse, but it was that or starve. Since my father forgave me, I don’t see it’s anybody else’s business.”

He caught his breath, and his eyes returned to Savage’s sneering face.

“You’re a corker to bring up things like this!” he went on bitterly. “I was in the grandstand the day you pitched against the Atlanta Tigers. Oh, I know you didn’t see me! I was spread out flat, taking things easy. But I saw _you_――through a crack in the floor. It was a nice, wide crack, too, that gave me a fine view of the dressing room underneath. I saw everything that went on there. I know the game you’ve been playing, and when I’ve told Kennedy he’ll――”

“Great――cats!” The exclamation came in a gasping gurgle from the lips of Al Ogan. “Am I seeing things?”

The door had opened and closed. Two men stood with their backs against it. One was Lefty Locke. The other so resembled in every detail――save expression alone――the sneering busher leaning against the table that the result was petrifying.

A tense silence fell upon the room as the dazed occupants stared with widening eyes and sagging jaws at this apparent miracle. It was the face of the manager which changed first. His gaze had been shifting continually from Savage to the newcomer, and back again. Presently the dark, heavy brows lowered in a scowl.

“So there’s two of you!” he snapped.

A bitter smile flitted across Locke’s lips. “A pretty dual personality, Jack,” he said quietly. “This has certainly been one on me, all right.”

The newcomer took a step forward, his face serious.

“I know you’ll be furious, Kennedy,” he said slowly. “You certainly have a right to be, but I――”

“Hold on, there!” The manager’s voice was harsh and angry. “You say you know all about this game,” he went on, glaring at Temple. “Suppose you spin out the rest of that story.”

Temple flushed and dropped his eyes. Apparently he would have much preferred remaining in the background.

“There――isn’t――much more,” he stammered. “I’d dozed off, and when I came to I heard some one moving around down below. It was Savage, and I was some surprised that he wasn’t out on the field. Once he went outside for a minute or two, and a little while afterward the other one came in.”

“Other one!” ejaculated Kennedy. “You knew there were two, then?”

Temple nodded. “I knew Neil here”――he glanced at the scowling fellow by the table――“had a brother, Nelson, who was a lot better pitcher, and when I found him passing under Nelson’s name I guessed there was something queer about it.”

“But you kept your mouth shut because of what he knew about you,” growled the manager. “Go on.”

“I hadn’t any idea they were so much alike. When I saw them together in the dressing room under the stand I was stunned for a minute. I gathered from their talk that they had planned to make a shift that night, but Neil was half full, and insisted on going out then to finish the game. Said if Nels didn’t agree he’d go out anyhow. So he got his way. They changed clothes, and Nels went out through the gate in the fence, while the other walked out on the field. That’s all, I think.”

“All!” Kennedy repeated harshly. “I should hope so!” He turned to Nelson Savage with a heavy scowl. “You’re the one I hired, ain’t you?” he snapped. “I thought so. You deliberately turned my offer over to this miserable brother of yours, didn’t you? Well, what did you do it for? You must have known what he was. What was the game?”

Nelson Savage winced a little, clenching his hands tightly behind his back.

“I did it because I wanted him to have one more chance,” he explained, in a low tone. “He’d been going to the bad for a long time, but he can pitch when he’s right. I hoped a chance like that, and being down here in training where he couldn’t drink, would make him pull up. I even gave up baseball myself, much as I hated to, and accepted an offer to go on the road for a sporting-goods house.”

He hesitated an instant, and caught his lip between his teeth. “It wasn’t any use. When I came down through the State, I stopped off to――see a friend, and also to learn how he was making out. I discovered that Neil had got in with a shark named Tethridge, who was training some race horses over at Livermore’s place, across from Tulane. He’d evidently been supplying my brother with liquor, for when I slipped over there I found Neil so intoxicated he could hardly move. He was as bad next morning, and there was nothing to do but take his place until he could sober up. He seemed perfectly content to lie around doing nothing, but finally I simply had to cut out and attend to work or lose my job. So I looked him up, and told him he’d have to come back. I’d planned to make the shift after the game, but――well, you’ve heard about that. I know what a poor trick it was to play on you, Kennedy, but I was trying to save my brother. If I can ever make it up to you in any way at all, I’ll be mighty glad.”

During the recital, to which the others listened with absorbed interest, Neil Savage had preserved his attitude of sneering composure, unmoved. Now he straightened languidly, and yawned.

“Now that the Sunday school sentiments have all been expressed,” he drawled insolently, “I don’t suppose there’s any particular use of my hanging around.”

For a second Kennedy did not answer. He was looking at the other brother, and the expression of appeal in Nelson’s eyes would have moved a much harder-hearted person than old Jack.

“All right; you can beat it,” he said shortly. “I might suggest that in the future Georgia would be a good State for you to avoid.”

“Thanks for the advice,” was the nonchalant reply. “I had the same notion myself.”

Without further comment, glancing neither to right nor left, he moved toward the door. Lefty stood aside to let him pass, his look eloquently expressing the indignation which was consuming him. Nelson Savage, his eyes fixed rather wistfully on his brother, took an impulsive step forward as Neil passed, and then drew back, his face white. The door opened and closed with a slam which had in it a sense of finality as absolute as the word at the end of a tale. The pause that followed was broken by Kennedy.

“You’re a fool, young man,” he said, “to monkey with a brother like that; but I reckon you’ve had your lesson. You can pitch, and I believe you can make good in professional baseball. Mebbe, after this, you won’t care to tie up with me, but perhaps I can get you a try-out with Ben Frazer, manager of the Wolves. He’s got a catcher, Brick King, that he’s been trying to trade for a twirler, but I don’t want any of his lemons. Still,” he added, “everything considered, I ought to have first shot at you. If you’ve got a full line of the goods I’ve seen a few samples of, I might give you a chance to put your John Hancock to a Blue Stocking contract. Would you?”

Savage’s face lightened. “Would I?” he cried. “Just give me that chance!”

With the departure of Neil Savage, happening to glance toward the door of the small reception room, Lefty was surprised to see it ajar, and, standing in the opening, the figures of Janet and Celia.

How long they had been there he did not know, but without delay he walked swiftly over. Miss Berkeley’s face was serious; the gray eyes, fixed so intently on Savage, held a glint of tears in them. She did not speak or even turn her head when the southpaw, his expression somewhat stern and accusing, drew Janet back into the other room.

“You knew all the time,” Lefty said briefly, his brows drawn down in a frown.

She put one hand lightly on his arm, and raised her anxious, questioning eyes. “Celia told me about it,” she explained hastily, “but made me promise never to breathe a single word――even to you. Surely you won’t blame me for keeping that promise?”

For a second the frown struggled for existence before it was swept away by the light which illumined Lefty’s whole face.

“Perhaps I’ll forgive you――if――”

His hand had found hers. He bent nearer, looking into the depths of those wonderful violet eyes. His voice sank to a murmur, so low that no third person could possibly have heard and understood.

THE END

Transcriber’s Notes:

――Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).

――Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.

――Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved, for example,
Douro/Duoro.

――Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.