Jimmy Kirkland and the Plot for a Pennant

McCarthy was first at bat in that inning. As he selected his bat he glanced toward the stand and grew hot with rage at seeing Baldwin laughing until red in the face and slapping Ed Edwards on the back. The gambler's usually stony face wore a smile of relief. McCarthy walked to the plate, pushed the first ball pitched down the third-base line and outsprinted the ball to first. Norton strove to bring him home, but his long-line drive went straight to the left fielder, and when Holleran struck out it seemed as if the chance to score was lost for that inning. McCarthy stood still, a few feet off first base, and, as Randall wound up to pitch, he started at top speed for second base. Jackson, catching for the Jackrabbits, saw him, grabbed the ball and leaped into position to throw. Like a flash McCarthy stopped and danced a step or two back toward first base, as if daring the catcher to throw the ball. Jackson pretended to throw to first, and, as McCarthy edged a step closer the base the catcher saw there was no chance to catch him, and slowly relaxing from throwing position, he took a step forward and started to toss the ball back to his pitcher. In that instant McCarthy acted. He leaped forward, and, before Jackson could recover and spring back into throwing position, the fleet Bear was nearing second base, making a beautifully executed delayed steal. Jackson threw, although it was too late. The ball, hurled over hastily, broke through the second baseman's hands and rolled twenty feet toward center field. McCarthy turned second at full speed and raced for third, while Reilly tore after the ball, and, picking it up, made a fast, low throw toward third. Again the ball escaped the baseman, and McCarthy, without the loss of a stride, turned third base and raced home, sliding under Jackson as he reached for the high-thrown ball.

The game had settled down to a desperate series of attacks by the Bears, and a stubborn defense on the part of the Jackrabbits. In the sixth and again in the seventh the Bears forced the attack, but each time they fell short of scoring, and the eighth inning came with the score 3 to 1 against them. Lucas, who was catching in Kennedy's place, opened that inning, and the Bears' hope arose when he, the weakest hitter on the team, was hit by a pitched ball. Smith drove a hard bounder toward first, but O'Meara knocked down the ball and reached the base in time to retire the big, lumbering pitcher, letting Lucas reach second. Jacobsen struck out, and McCarthy, gritting his teeth, came to bat. One strike and one ball had been called when, looking toward the bench for a signal from Clancy, he saw a sight that made his heart jump. In that fleeting glance he had seen Swanson, in uniform, coming onto the bench through the little doorway under the stands.

Swanson's eye was black and a strip of plaster extended from under his cap onto his forehead. His face was swollen and discolored and a bandage covered his head, showing under his cap.

If he only could get on first base, McCarthy told himself, there was hope, and, as the ball sped toward him he poked out his bat, dropped another bunt toward third base, and, by a terrific burst of speed he beat it to first base, sending Lucas to third.

"Swanson batting for Holleran. Swanson will play shortstop, McCarthy third base, Pardridge in left field."

McCarthy had determined to steal second base, but the chance never presented. The first ball that came whizzing toward the plate Swanson hit. It went like a rocket far out to left center field. Two speedy outfielders glanced at the flying ball, then turned and sprinted for the outer barriers. The ball soared on and on, and with a crash struck against the sign over the left field seats and fell back into the throng in the bleachers, and while the crowd cheered and groaned three Bears trotted around the bases to the plate.

Swanson, running slowly and painfully, crossed the plate, with the score that put the Bears in the lead. He did not stop. Straight toward the box where Edwards and Baldwin sat, he went. His face was terrible. They saw him coming, and Baldwin, apologetic with fear, half arose, as if to cry for help. The gambler, white but still keeping his nerve, shrank back a trifle, but held his seat. Swanson walked straight to them. For an instant he towered over them threateningly, then he said:

"Good afternoon, gentlemen, I hope you're glad to see me."

CHAPTER XIX

Swanson to the Rescue

When Silent Swanson aroused himself from the effects of the blow on the head from the beer mallet in the hands of the treacherous bartender, he sat up feebly and found himself in semi-darkness.

"Someone crowned me with a crowbar," he muttered to himself as his brain gradually began to work normally. "They must have kicked me after I went down."

A faint groan from the heavy shadows near him startled him into a realization of what had happened. He felt around for a moment and his fingers touched the body of a man huddled against a wall.

"It must be Ken – and he's hurt," he muttered, and crept toward his companion. Swanson worked over him, shaking and speaking to him and presently Kennedy stirred and sat up against the wall.

"Where are we? What happened?" he inquired in a bewildered manner.

"Search me," replied Swanson mournfully. "I was just getting ready to swing the haymaker on that big fellow when the house fell. I think someone beaned me from behind with a brick and then kicked us around. Ouch – my ribs feel stoved in."

"I'm sore all over," moaned Kennedy. "That fellow didn't do it all by himself, did he?"

"I have a dim recollection of hearing someone tell him to fix us right," replied Swanson. "I may have dreamed it."

"Let's get out of here," urged Swanson suddenly. "If some watchman finds us here we'll be pinched, and it will make a nice story for the reporters."

"Where do you think we are?" asked Kennedy, striving to get to his feet and groaning with every move.

"In the alley back of the joint we were in," replied Swanson. "They must have dragged us to the back door and dumped us."

He had managed to get upon his feet, assisted Kennedy to arise, and slowly and with many groans they went toward the mouth of the alley.

"Let's go around to the front door and clean out that place," urged Swanson, growing angry.

Both men were commencing to recover from the effects of the cruel treatment they had endured, and, as their injured muscles loosened their anger arose. They made their way painfully around the block and to the entrance of the saloon. It was locked and the place was in total darkness. Swanson shook the barred doors without result, then stood gazing blankly against the glass.

"Say, Ken, we must have been knocked out for quite a while," he remarked thoughtfully. "No one is here. They probably closed up as soon as they threw us out – and we haven't a bit of proof against anyone."

"Wonder what time it is?" groaned Kennedy. "We've got to get to bed if we want to play."

"Holy Mackerel," exclaimed Swanson, using his favorite form of swearing. "I forgot! That's it! Ken, after we were knocked out they beat us to keep us from playing. Come on. We've got to forget about fighting and get ready to play. I'll get even with someone for this."

Swanson was thinking rapidly as they limped slowly along the darkened streets in search of a night prowling cabman or taxi-cab, keeping a sharp lookout for policemen, fearing they might be arrested because of their battered condition.

"We've got to get to somewhere we can be patched up and get some sleep," he repeated, urging Kennedy, whose sufferings made their progress slow. "We've got to keep those crooks from finding out where we are. Let them think they've finished us and then show up in time to play."

"I don't think I can play, Silent," moaned Kennedy. "I can't drag myself much farther."

He was making a brave effort to keep on, and for another block Swanson half supported him. Then he gave up and sat down upon the curbing.

"Sit here," said Swanson quickly. "There is an all-night drug store a couple of blocks down; I'll find a cab there."

He limped away as rapidly as possible, and, almost before Kennedy realized it, he returned in a taxicab.

"Caught him just starting home," explained Swanson, as he half lifted Kennedy into the tonneau. "He says there is a hospital less than a mile from here where we can get treatment."

The bruised and battered players groaned and swore under their breath, while the cab made a rapid trip to the hospital, and half an hour later they were resting easily in a private room, their wounds were being washed and dressed and a young doctor was working hard to relieve their sufferings.

"We've got to play ball this afternoon, Doc," said Swanson, watching the surgeon cut and wash the hair from the wound on his scalp. "Fix us up right."

"You'll not play ball this week," said the surgeon cheerfully. "Your friend over there will be all right in a couple of days. He's badly bruised and his hand is sprained, but not seriously. He's sorer than you are, but by morning you'll be a cripple."

"But, Doc, we've got to play," pleaded Swanson. "You've got to fix us up."

"I'll do all I can," remarked the surgeon. "But your right arm is badly wrenched and bruised. The cuts won't hurt, but one of your eyes will be out of commission for three or four days. Whose mule kicked you?"

Swanson, pledging the doctor to secrecy, revealed part of the truth.

"You won't be able to play," he advised his patients, "and Kennedy must take two days off at least."

"I've got to play, Doc," responded Swanson, "if it's on one leg; I've got to."

It was a few minutes past noon when Swanson awoke with a start. The nurse was in the room, moving about quietly, and Kennedy still slept, moving and muttering in his sleep, as if dreaming of the battle. He remained quiet for a few moments, and then said:

"Nurse, please bring me my clothes."

"You must wait until after breakfast," she said, coming to the bedside. "Dr. Anderson was here a short time ago, and said I was to give you your breakfast when you awoke, then call him."

"But I'm in a hurry," protested the player. "I can't wait. They'll be anxious about us."

"The doctor said he would give you treatment and massage, so that you could get out more quickly," she responded. "I'll bring breakfast and then call him."

Kennedy, feeling much refreshed, but too sore and stiff to move without suffering, was awakened for breakfast, and he and Swanson discussed the situation in low tones as they ate.

It was past one o'clock before Swanson commenced to worry about the failure of the doctor to come. After fuming and fretting for more than half an hour he rang for the nurse and sent her in quest of Dr. Anderson. She returned soon and reported that he had been summoned suddenly to assist in performing an important operation, but that he probably would return soon. Not until two o'clock had passed did Swanson commence to become seriously disturbed at the failure of the doctor to appear. A short nap had refreshed him somewhat, and when Kennedy announced that it was past two o'clock he waited a few moments, then commenced ringing the call bell by his bedside to summon the nurse. There was no response, and growing angry and impatient, he rang again and again.

"If I only had a pair of pants," wailed the helpless giant, "I'd break out."

He climbed out of bed and searched the room. In his impatience he bumped his wounded head, and blood flowed afresh from under the bandages, and with a movement of his arm he smeared it over his face. The giant Swede was working himself into a fury. Every few moments he rang the bell, and a few moments before three o'clock the nurse, calm and appearing as if nothing unusual was happening, came in.

"Did you ring?" she inquired.

Swanson started to explode, but stood looking at her in helpless fury.

"Get me my clothes," he ordered in tones that frightened the girl, trained as she was to the outbursts of patients.

"Get me my clothes," he repeated.

"It is against orders," she said hesitatingly. "You cannot go until the doctor" —

"Get me my clothes," he half screamed. "If my clothes aren't here in five minutes I'm going this way."

The nurse, thoroughly alarmed by the fury of the big man, ran from the room, and, within five minutes she returned with another nurse to support her.

"Where are my clothes?" he demanded in an awful voice.

"It's against orders," said the older nurse firmly. "You cannot leave without permission from the doctor in charge."

For an instant it seemed as if Swanson would forget himself and become violent. With an effort he controlled his anger and sank back upon the pillows.

"All right," he said resignedly, "let me telephone to the boss and explain."

"You are not going to quit, Silent?" demanded Kennedy, starting up in bed. "I'll go myself" —

The quick wink that Swanson gave him stopped the catcher's angry expostulation.

"That's a good boy!" said the nurse pleasantly. "There isn't any use to fret. I'll bring you the telephone."

The telephone was brought, and, when the nurse left the room Swanson called up the hotel at which they lived.

"That you, Joe?" he said rapidly. "This is Silent – yes, in hospital. Send a taxi to the corner as fast as you can get it here. I'll be watching."

He cut off the carriage clerk's curious questions by hanging up the receiver.

"What are you going to do?" whispered Kennedy from his bed.

"I'm going out of here," said Swanson. He crept out of bed, and with his face pressed against the window, watched the corner four floors below until a taxicab stopped there and waited. Then, drawing a sheet over his night gown, he opened the door cautiously.

The receiving clerk had a glimpse of a ferocious looking ghost, garbed in a white sheet, and with face smeared with blood, racing down the hallway, and before her screams could bring help, Swanson had run limpingly across the street, leaped into the taxi and was shouting orders to the driver to get him to the ball park.

CHAPTER XX

Hidden Foes

The disappearance and dramatic reappearance of Swanson and Kennedy, who was released from the hospital after the game, was the sensation of the country for twelve hours; then it was paled into insignificance by a new sensation that caused a wave of indignation and an insistent demand for proof from all parts of the country and left the Bears dazed by the series of events that crowded upon them.

The second sensation was the printing of an article in one of the foremost papers of their city in which the charge was made that one member of the Bear team had been bribed; indeed, had been put on the team with the sole end that he might throw games and force the championship upon the Panthers.

The article created a furore which caused the public to forget the mysterious circumstances surrounding the disappearance of Swanson and Kennedy.

Although no name was mentioned, the facts set forth fitted only McCarthy, the new third baseman, and rallied all the admirers of the lithe red-headed boy to his side and set loose a storm of anger and suspicion directed upon him by those who criticised his playing or opposed him through prejudice.

Manager Clancy, after an anxious evening and night trying to get at the facts of the case of Swanson and Kennedy, and getting Kennedy out of the hospital, was the first of the Bears to see the new attack. He read the entire article from end to end, and going to his apartment he telephoned for McCarthy, Swanson, Kennedy and Secretary Tabor to come to his rooms at once.

Manager Clancy was waiting, striding up and down the room restlessly and as the three players entered, he unceremoniously shooed his wife into the next room before she had a chance to defend her boys.

"Fellows," said the manager quietly, "I sent for you because you seem to know more what's going on than the others do. I suppose none of you has read this article in this morning's paper. I'll read it to you."

As he read, the players began to look one at the other and ejaculations of surprise and anger came from them. When Clancy reached the portion of the article telling of the player joining the Bears, McCarthy sprang from his chair.

"Why," he exclaimed, flushing angrily, "why, he means me."

"It's a d – n shame," roared Swanson. "I'll wring his neck."

"Let me finish," said Clancy, and completed the reading. At the end the players broke into excited questions and threats and Clancy said:

"Now, see here, boys; we're against a tough proposition. This article is just part of it. I wanted to talk things over with you fellows. I've sent for Technicalities, and want to find out a few things from him. Now you fellows tell me all you know. By the way, you needn't shy at using Williams's name. I'm not saying he's guilty, but I know he's the one you have been watching."

Detail by detail they described to the manager the events of the preceding days.

"Keep quiet about all that. The case is one we can't beat except on the ball field. Every one of us is certain that Edwards has bribed Williams and that he has lined up this big politician, Barney Baldwin, and now they've dished up this story about McCarthy to try to drive him out of the game. Are you game to stand what the crowd will do to you to-day, Kohinoor?"

"I'll play," replied McCarthy grimly.

"Better stuff your ears with cotton if we're losing," advised the manager. "This crowd will turn on you in a second and accuse you of more than the paper did, if you make an error or two. It will be worse if you stay out of the game. Then they'll think the story is true and that I've laid you off for throwing games. I have a plan. I'm going to act as if I believe McCarthy is trying to throw games."

"Thanks," said McCarthy, gripping the manager's hand gratefully, just as a knock sounded on the door and Technicalities Feehan entered.

"I regret exceedingly my absence when you wanted me, Mr. Clancy," he said. "I have just returned and have been reading this absurd article reflecting upon the integrity of Mr. McCarthy."

"What do you think of it?" asked Swanson.

"Absurd. The figures prove directly the contrary. Let me read to you some of my recent calculations" —

"Never mind – never mind," protested Clancy. "Save them for the paper. What I wanted to find out is who is this fellow Barney Baldwin?"

"Baldwin," said Feehan calmly, "is a politician, accused of much crooked work. I do not know that he ever has been convicted" —

"Meantime," remarked Feehan calmly, "I shall attempt to discover the relations existing between Mr. Edwards, the gamester, and this person who wrote this attack. I shall have some statistics to show the editor" —

"Never mind the statistics," said Clancy, cutting off Feehan before he could bestride his hobby, "I want you to find out who was back of the fellow who wrote that article; whether anyone bribed him to do it. I'm beginning to think we are dealing with bigger men than Ed Edwards.

"Now see here, fellows," he added frowning worriedly, "we're up against the toughest proposition we ever tackled, but we can beat it. The best way to beat them is to pretend we don't suspect a thing and let them work out their own schemes" – "Hello, come in," he called in response to a rap on the door. "Oh, it's you, Bannard! How are you? I'm just having a little talk with the boys. How are things to-day?"

He feigned an indifferent manner.

"Pretty good, Bill. Team all right?" asked the president. "I heard two of the boys got mixed up in a barroom scrap."

"I was just warning them about that," said Clancy. "These are the two (he pointed to Kennedy and Swanson). I was warning them that a lot of tough mugs in this burg are likely to get excited over baseball these days and ball players ought to stick close to the hotel."

"Glad they're not much hurt," said Bannard easily, looking at the battered athletes. "How is the pitching staff? By the way, who is working to-day?"

"It's Williams's turn," said Clancy steadily. "Why?"

"Why, that's what I came to see about," replied the president frankly. "That friend of mine – the one I spoke to you about the other day – wants to see him pitch. I'm starting West at noon and I told him I'd ask you as a favor. He was pretty sore because you didn't put him in the other time I asked you."

"All right. Always glad to oblige when possible," said Clancy grimly.

"Why didn't you ask who his friend is?" inquired Swanson when Bannard departed.

"Bonehead, fool, slow thinker," said Clancy. "I ought to bench myself for not thinking of it. I'll find out the first time I see him."

The players laughed nervously and departed from the room. Scarcely had McCarthy and Swanson reached their quarters when the telephone girl called to tell McCarthy an important call had been coming in for half an hour.

"Very well, connect me," said McCarthy.

He recognized Helen Baldwin's voice, and it shook with emotion, as she made certain she was talking to him.

"Oh, Larry," she said, "I must see you! I must – to-night, if possible! Please come!"

"What is the matter, Helen?" he asked anxiously. "It's impossible to come to-night – and after the last" —

"I know, I know, Larry," she said rapidly. "Please, please forget all that. I didn't understand! I didn't know! I've found out something that showed me how bad and wicked I have been. I didn't mean to bring harm to you" —

"Uncle came home," she said. "He'd been drinking. He made terrible threats against you."

"I'll be up to-night," said McCarthy.

"Better look out – it's a trap," warned Swanson, who had heard McCarthy promise to call that night.

"There's something wrong up there," replied McCarthy. "I'm going to Baldwin's house to-night."

They went downstairs talking in low tones. On the parlor floor Betty Tabor was sitting reading. She had scarcely spoken to McCarthy since the day she had heard him in conversation with Helen Baldwin. Impulsively she dropped her book and came toward him with her hand outstretched.

"Mr. McCarthy," she said rapidly, "I wanted to tell you – I do not believe a word of these horrible things the paper says about you. It is hateful! I told them they were false. I didn't think they'd dare tell others" —

"Them?" inquired McCarthy. "Then you've heard this story before?"

"Yes," she admitted. "I refused to listen – I knew there was not a word of truth in the stories. I knew you were honest" —

"I thank you very much, Miss Tabor," he said quietly. "I shall not need to ask who told you."

"I only wanted you to know I believed in you," she said simply, and as he looked into her eyes, she lowered them with a quick blush and hastened to recover her book.

CHAPTER XXI

Fair Play

Thirty thousand persons were packed into the big stands on the Bears' Park, and ten thousand others camped in the outer field seats when the teams ran out to play that day.

A few loyalists applauded McCarthy as he trotted along with the other players, but the ripple of applause died suddenly as if the friends he had in the crowd feared to start a counterstorm of criticism and abuse.

The great crowd was strangely quiet, although a hum of comment spread through the stands when the Bears took the fielding practice and Jacobson, the pitcher, practiced at third base, while McCarthy remained near the stands idly warming up a recruit pitcher. The buzz arose to a hum of excitement. Reporters, deserting the press box, swarmed down under the stands and crowded to the entrance at the rear of the Bears' bench, calling for Clancy, who went to speak with them.

"Why isn't McCarthy in the game?" demanded the spokesman, who already had written that McCarthy was suspended and out of the game.

"He is in the game," replied Clancy innocently. "Why shouldn't he be?"

For an instant the reporters stood undecided, then sprinted back to their posts, to change what they had written and alter the line-up.

Bill Tascott, the umpire, swaggered out to the plate, dusted the rubber, while the megaphones announced the batteries, and, at that instant McCarthy, jerking his glove from his belt, hurled his catcher's mitt to the bench and trotted out to third base, as Jacobson walked toward the bench.

The little scattering applause that greeted him grew and grew until the crowd applauded heartily and gave round after round of applause for the third baseman. It was the American spirit of fair play and justice revealing itself, and the crowd, accepting Manager Clancy's confidence in his third baseman, rendered its verdict of not guilty in cheers.