HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 I 
 
HEARTS AND 
 THE DIAMOND 
 
 BY 
 
 GERALD BEAUMONT 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DODD, MEAD AND COMPAMY 
 
 1921 
 
th 
 jy 
 
 CoPTBiaHT 1920, 1921 
 By DODD, mead and company, Inc. 
 
 • . • ; : . : : : 
 ........ : . "^Jh^' 
 
 m - 
 
 BOOK MANUFACTURERS 
 RAHWAY NEW JERSEY 
 
To the men of the diamond, worshipped yesterday, 
 abused today, forgotten tomorrow, — and to their sweet- 
 hearts, wives and children, — who will miderstand. 
 
 G. B. 
 
 461678 
 
INTRODUCTOEY 
 
 IT was the last half of the sixteenth inning of 
 a protracted ball game one afternoon in mid- 
 July. For almost three hours, two teams 
 h^d battled on even terms, and the contest had 
 become a test of endurance between the oppos- 
 ing pitchers. One of them plodded across the 
 sun-cooked diamond to join his exhausted team 
 mates sprawling in the shade of the dugout. 
 
 He was a man of powerful frame, head 
 cropped close to cheat the gray hair, heavy lines 
 worn deep into the leather of his face. They 
 made room for him on the bench, and he flopped 
 down, pulling a faded sweater mechanically over 
 his pitching arm, and staring out silently at the 
 field of battle. To his side came the eight year 
 old uniformed bat boy, his son. The youngster 
 held up a glass of water, and the man drank, 
 gulping noisily. A second glass appeared and 
 this time the cool water was used to drench head 
 and neck and the black hair that covered the 
 man's heaving chest. 
 
 The boy's arm went around the ball player's 
 broad shoulders, and the man patted the young- 
 ster's hand comprehendingly. For the moment, 
 
 vii 
 
yiii INTKODUCTORY 
 
 they were no longer pitcher and bat boy, veteran 
 and mascot, — but only father and son. 
 
 " Stay with 'em, Pop," encouraged the young- 
 ster, " I'm sure pulling for you ! " 
 
 That remark is responsible for the appearance 
 of this book in which an effort has been made 
 to depict the human side of the ball player's pro- 
 fession with its lights and shadows. 
 
 Some of the characters herein portrayed are 
 just as the writer observed them while serving 
 as an official scorer for the Pacific Coast Base- 
 ball league; others are composites. The inci- 
 dents are nearly all suggested by actual occur- 
 *rences which might have turned out as narrated 
 had only Fate been a little more indulgent. 
 
 Rocking lazily in a fishing boat on San Fran- 
 cisco Bay, chatting on railroad trains and in 
 hotel lobbies, frolicking in the training camps, 
 the author was privileged to enjoy a more or 
 less intimate acquaintanceship with professional 
 ball players, and to number many of them among 
 his friends. 
 
 Baseball is a peculiar profession, possibly the 
 only one which capitalizes a boyhood pleasure, 
 unfits the athlete for any other career, keeps 
 him young in mind and spirit, and then rejects 
 him as too old, before he has yet attained the 
 prime of life. 
 
 The public knows a great deal about the pro^ 
 
INTKODUCTORY ix 
 
 fessional ball player as such, but surprisingly 
 little about his private life, his view-point, his 
 pleasures and his sorrows. So far as baseball 
 fans are concerned, the player exists only on the 
 ball field and in the sporting page. The mo- 
 ment he steps from the clubhouse in uniform, 
 thousands identify him. They know his walk, 
 his every movement and peculiarity. The mul- 
 titude calls him by name, encouraging him, or 
 bitterly abusing him as the occasion suggests. 
 But once the contest is over, and the ball player 
 returns to private life, he moves in a circle that 
 is astonishingly small. 
 
 It never occurs to the fan that a ball player 
 is out on the field, not alone for fame and money, 
 but to win for his wife and children a place in 
 life — a station that depends entirely upon his 
 ability to " get by." 
 
 The noisy rooter in the bleachers who roars 
 " bonehead " at the over-anxious recruit in the 
 outfield, never by any stretch of the imagination, 
 conceives of the girl in the grandstand whose 
 happiness depends upon the " bonehead's " suc- 
 cess. 
 
 For the professional ball player, the game 
 holds much of tragedy, those who find happiness 
 and sufficient recompense being few and far be- 
 tween. Frequently men are in the line-up when 
 every quick movement means physical torture. 
 
X INTKODUCTORY 
 
 They learn to accept cuts and bruises, boils and 
 blisters, with a mixture of philosophy and iodine. 
 The physical and nervous strain to which they 
 are subjected for several hours, six days a week, 
 develops in most players a chronic state of ner- 
 vousness which prevents relaxation. They eat 
 immoderately, and between meals chew gum, or 
 tobacco — or smoke more than is good for them. 
 A deck of cards appears during any idle mo- 
 ment. Imprisonment in a railroad coach for the 
 usual day of travel is a refined method of torture 
 to the restless child of the diamond. 
 
 So long as youth and sound limbs remain, the 
 ball player may reach the Majors and revel in 
 his glory, but when he begins to slow up to the 
 slightest extent — if a serious injury is encoun- 
 tered, or his eyes become overstrained — then the 
 trail to the bottom looms straight ahead, and the 
 road is greased. 
 
 With this preface, the sympathetic considera- 
 tion of the reader is invited to " Hearts and the 
 Diamond." As Brick McGovern himself would 
 say, when the warm-up is over, and the crowd is 
 settled in place: 
 
 "All right, boys, there's the old bell — let's 
 go!" 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAflIB 
 
 With the Help of God and a Fast 
 
 Outfield . 1 
 
 The Crab 28 
 
 Leave it to Angel-Faob .... 54 
 
 Eainbow 87 
 
 Tin Can Tommy 112 
 
 Kerrigan^s Kid 139 
 
 The Speed Pill ..... . 166 
 
 Pebble Pop 198 
 
 Called on Account of Darkness . . 221 
 
 His Honor, the Umps 250 
 
 Elephants 282 
 
•> .••■»» 
 
 HEARTS AND THE 
 DIAMOND 
 
 WITH THE HELP OF GOD AND A FAST 
 OUTFIELD 
 
 TWO men walked, and Potter hit viciously 
 to center. 
 
 The balloon was going up ! 
 In the Badgers' dugout, McMasters rapped out 
 a command, and a pair of relief pitchers hur- 
 ried to the side-lines and warmed up jerkily, 
 keeping an anxious eye on the next play. From 
 the seething bleachers there arose a throbbing, 
 exultant roar, old as the human race — the cry of 
 the hunting pack at the heels of the quarry. The 
 day that fandom long had hungered for was here. 
 Wild Bill Cassidy was faltering — Cassidy the 
 hoodlum, Cassidy the roughneck, Cassidy who 
 gave the bleachers jeer for jeer, insult for insult, 
 who mocked all their efforts to " get him " — he 
 was being batted from the box by the tail-enders. 
 This was his finish; he would taunt them no 
 
 more! 
 
 I 
 
52'' '' HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 In the roaring vortex of triumphant hate that 
 swirled around the ball-park of the Bears, the 
 tall figure of the man in the pitcher's box was a 
 reed bending under the storm, a defiant, desper- 
 ate reed struggling against the inevitable. 
 
 Red Morris, eager and confident, stepped into 
 a ball shoulder high and shot it past third. On 
 the instant, McMasters scrambled from the dug- 
 out and signaled to the padded figure of the um- 
 pire behind the plate. Cassidy was to be with- 
 drawn. 
 
 The hot Irish blood surged to Wild BilFs head., 
 The frenzied taunts from the bleachers rang in 
 his ears. He ignored his manager, ignored the 
 figure of Slim Krueger trotting toward the 
 slab and swinging one arm into free action. 
 Twice he shot the ball at the next batsman 
 before McMasters was at his side in angry re- 
 monstrance. 
 
 " Give me the pill,'' said McMasters curtly.; 
 *^ You've done enough damage." 
 
 Cassidy's reply was a snarl. Turning away, 
 he threw the ball in a wild burst of furious rage 
 over the right field fence. The sphere dwindled 
 and faded into the blue; the crowd foamed into 
 a frenzy of invective and derision ; and Wild Bill 
 Cassidy, with murder in his heart, tramped sul- 
 lenly toward the clubhouse and oblivion. 
 
 In the middle of the eighth, with the crowd in- 
 
WITH THE HELP OF GOD 3 
 
 tent on the season's best pitehing-duel, Cassidy's 
 tall figure, clad in street-dress, emerged from 
 the players' gate. Immediately a boy of twelve 
 who had been patiently waiting on the curb fell 
 into stride with him, and together they marched 
 down the street. Once or twice the youngster 
 glanced up to note at what precise angle the 
 man's chin was held, just how closely his lips 
 were compressed. Thereupon the youthful fea- 
 tures assumed the same expression. The boy's 
 short legs strove manfully to keep pace with the 
 other's long strides. Finally they turned by un- 
 spoken consent into a small plaza and came to 
 rest upon a bench. Not until then did the boy 
 break the silence. 
 
 "We'll come back, won't we, Pop? We'll 
 make 'em like it, won't we? " 
 
 Cassidy's brows cleared. His voice was no 
 longer that of the ball-field. 
 
 " We'll come back, son. We'll make 'em like 
 it." 
 
 " Friday? " asked the boy. 
 
 " 'Fraid not, son," the man answered. " Not 
 that soon. You see, I'm released outright." 
 
 The youngster's blue eyes flashed. His small 
 fists doubled. An oath — ugly and incongruous — 
 escaped from immature lips. Just as suddenly 
 the burst of temper was succeeded by a flush of 
 sympathy and devotion, an expression inherited 
 
4 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 from a mother whose influence transcended the 
 grave. 
 
 *^ Don't you mind, Pop/' the boy comforted. 
 " They can't win the pennant without us. We'll 
 come back. We'll make 'em like it." 
 
 But the days that followed gave no indication 
 that Tad Cassidy's prediction was to be fulfilled. 
 Father and son drifted to Minneapolis and Wild 
 *Bill was batted out of the box in the first game 
 he started. The " hundred-thousand-dollar arm " 
 with which he had defied opposing players and 
 fandom alike felt curiously heavy and dead. 
 What Bone-setter Randall had predicted had 
 come true : excessive use of the " spitball " had 
 weakened the ligaments in his arm. It hurt him 
 to throw a curve. 
 
 From Minneapolis, they moved to the Three I 
 league and then to the Copper Circuit, and 
 finally to that last of all havens — semi-pro ball 
 on Sundays and holidays in the balmy climate 
 of California. After each failure and fresh dis- 
 couragement Tad Cassidy held his chin a little 
 higher, doubled his fists and uttered the shib- 
 boleth of the Cassidys : " We'll come back, won't 
 we. Pop? We'll make 'em like it! " 
 
 And always the big Irishman, growing soft 
 and flabby from lack of training replied me- 
 chanically : 
 
 " We sure will, son. I'll tell the world." 
 
WITH THE HELP OF GOD 5 
 
 But the world was singularly skeptical. Wild 
 BilFs temper, under the knowledge of his steady 
 retrogression, became worse. He grew daily 
 more quarrelsome and ugly, and managers 
 sought his services less frequently. His name 
 was no longer a drawing-card. Even his batting 
 eye was becoming dim. The day came when he 
 and Tad found the bank-roll depleted with only 
 the chance of making rent-money on Sunday 
 afternoons. 
 
 Then out of the darkening skies came a thing 
 which clutched Wild Bill Cassidy by the throat 
 and filled his heart with a terrible fear. 
 
 He had come to bat with the bases full and a 
 chance to win his own game; and a youngster, 
 green as the grass on the infield itself, struck 
 him out. In a burst of impotent rage, Cassidy 
 hurled his bat behind him. He meant it to crash 
 up against the grandstand with a violence that 
 would express the rage in his heart. For a little 
 more, he would have hurled it the other way, 
 straight at the triumphant youngster in front 
 of him. He cared not what happened. 
 
 But there came no crash of bat against the 
 wooden wall. Instead a shout of warning from 
 the players on the bench — an odd, dull sound, 
 and then an instant of horrified silence. Cassidy 
 turned. 
 
 Flat on his face in the dirt lay Tad, and about 
 
6 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 him were strewn the cluster of bats he had been 
 carrying away from the plate. Wild Bill's club 
 had struck the boy full on the head. 
 
 From out the stands jumped fifty men intent 
 on summary vengeance. But Cassidy was there 
 ahead. They stopped short as he faced them 
 with the unconscious form in his arms. There 
 was no mistaking the look in his eyes. 
 
 " Merciful God ! " he breathed. " A doctor ! " 
 
 A little later, when a physician came, Tad 
 opened his eyes and saw his father bending over 
 him. " Coming back,'' he whispered sleepily. 
 " Coming back — make 'em like it." Then he 
 went out again. 
 
 Weeks later, when the fractured skull had 
 mended and Tad came home from the hospital, 
 Wild Bill, chastened and with deep lines around 
 his mouth, hunted up Father Philip O'Keilly and 
 routed the good man out of bed in the deep of 
 the night. 
 
 " Eheu," sighed the priest when he had heard 
 the story, " I too was a ball-player once, but that 
 was long ago. Now, you big man, listen to me : 
 'Tis lack of control that has ailed you all along. 
 Not a bit can you control a ball when you can- 
 not control yourself. You threw the ball over 
 the fence. You threw yourself out of the majors. 
 You're after throwing your life away, and the 
 boy's too. It's a wild man you are, as God's the 
 
WITH THE HELP OF GOD T 
 
 witness. Mark you, son: this life is but a big 
 diamond, and we're all the players. 'Tis the 
 good Lord is the Umpire. You've been curving 
 the ball, do you mind? Trying to buzz them past 
 the batters by sheer temper. You're after for- 
 getting that there's such things as control, and 
 a straight ball, and a change of pace. Go home 
 to your lad and play the game right, you big 
 man, and learn to put a straight ball over the 
 plate." 
 
 Cassidy nodded his head, but his blue eyes 
 twinkled. 
 
 " You're forgetting I'm in a hole. Father. 
 What should a pitcher do when the bags are 
 loaded and he's got three balls on the batter? 
 That's me." 
 
 Father O'Reilly chuckled reminiscently : " I'm 
 after recalling that happened to me once, and I 
 trusted to God and a fast outfield and threw it 
 straight over." 
 
 " You grooved it? " exclaimed Cassidy. " And 
 what happened? " 
 
 The priest arose and laid a paternal hand on 
 the Irishman's shoulder. 
 
 " The batter hit it to the fence and we relayed 
 it back and nailed him at the plate. 'Twas the 
 run that would have tied us. Now go along and 
 let an old man get his sleep." 
 
 That night Cassidy and little Tad talked it all 
 
8 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 over. " You see, son/^ said Wild Bill, " it's what 
 we've lacked — control and a straight ball. We've 
 got to change our pace; there is much we have 
 to learn." 
 
 " Did he mean that was the way we could go 
 back to the majors, Pop? Could a guy get by 
 without a curve if he had the control and a 
 change of pace? Could he. Pop? " 
 
 " Why, I didn't take it that way, son ; I don't 
 think he meant exactly that. Still, he might 
 have. I wonder, now." 
 
 A great hope blossomed in Wild Bill's heart. 
 " I wonder, now," he muttered. " I wonder ! I 
 had swell control before I took up the spitter. 
 Supposing I got back in shape, and practised a 
 change in pace and control, and studied their 
 weakness, and put it always where they didn't 
 want it. I wonder — " 
 
 " Pop, you could do it," interrupted Tad from 
 the pillows. "The Cassidys always come back. 
 You said so yourself. I'll help you practise, 
 Pop." 
 
 Wild Bill Cassidy bent over the little figure 
 in the bed, and they locked their arms around 
 each other. 
 
 " Son, we'll go back. Your old pop will show 
 'em yet, but hop out now. I'm going to teach 
 you how to pray, if, I haven't forgot. You got 
 to can them cusses, son — we're going to change 
 
WITH THE HELP OF GOD 9 
 
 our pace off the field as well as on. I'll inform 
 the universe we are." 
 
 The boy climbed gravely out of bed and knelt 
 on the floor. "Shoot/' he said. "What'U I 
 say?'' 
 
 Wild Bill frowned and hesitated. 
 
 " You needn't say it out loud," he instructed. 
 " Just tell Him in your way that we're going to 
 cut out the rough stuff and ask Him to help us. 
 Tell Him we want to make good and we want 
 control and a change of pace — and just a chance 
 at the big show once more — just once; that's 
 all." 
 
 Tad bowed his head obediently, and Cassidy 
 went to the window and stared out into the 
 night. He was still standing there when Tad 
 fell asleep. 
 
 The next day Cassidy consulted a physi- 
 cian and submitted to a thorough examina- 
 tion. 
 
 " If they were all like you, we'd go out of 
 business," the physician grunted. "What do 
 you think is wrong with you?" 
 
 "Nothing you can help," said Cassidy, and 
 he paid the fee in high spirits. 
 
 Loiterers in the public playground thereafter 
 saw a man and a boy, both with red hair and 
 blue eyes, playing catch, back of the grand- 
 stand. They practised early in the morning and 
 
10 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 again when the shadows were deep. The boy 
 wore a catcher's glove many sizes too big for 
 him, and he did not always try to catch the ball, 
 holding the glove instead as a target at which 
 the man took careful aim. Occasionally the boy 
 stepped aside and the man took leisurely cog- 
 nizance of a knot-hole in the fence. At such 
 times, the ball crashed against the boards with 
 terrific impact, and the boy emitted a shrill cry 
 of delight. Then they resumed the old game of 
 aiming at the glove. 
 
 " Carter's up," the boy would call. 
 
 "Uhuh! Inside comer — not quite so high. 
 Just about there — now ! " 
 
 A streak of white — thud, and the glove was 
 knocked from the boy's hand. A moment later, 
 when the stunt was repeated, the ball seemed to 
 float tantalizingly through the air with scarcely 
 a revolution, chest high, until it neared the im- 
 provised plate, when it dropped suddenly into 
 the waiting glove. 
 
 Before their breakfast man and boy went 
 along the park paths. Wild Bill striding vigor- 
 ously and breathing deep of the cool, sharp air, 
 Tad trotting at his side like a terrier. Some- 
 times they sprinted, Cassidy senior tearing up 
 the graveled path with teeth set and every 
 muscle brought into play. He came back each 
 
WITH THE HELP OF GOD 11 
 
 time with increasing confidence, and the boy 
 would say: 
 
 "We beat the throw a mile that time, Pop. 
 We're coming back, aren't we? '' 
 
 " 111 inform the universe we are,'' assented 
 the man. 
 
 At night the liniment was produced and the 
 boy kneaded the muscle in Cassidy's arm, his 
 small fingers probing, pressing and massaging 
 as his father directed. 
 
 " The old whip's feeling better and better,'' 
 Wild Bill exulted. " Put the pill through that 
 knot-hole to-day, didn't I? Wasn't altogether 
 luck either, was it, son? " 
 
 "Huh," said Tad, "I'll inform the universe 
 it wasn't ! That was control, that was ! " 
 
 The following Sunday, sitting up in the play- 
 ground bleachers, rooting with all the energy 
 of his ninety pounds. Tad Cassidy saw Wild 
 Bill shut out a team from the Government 
 shipyards, letting them down with two scratch 
 hits. 
 
 There was an item in the morning papers that 
 Cassidy's arm had come to life again. He 
 clipped the item, pasted it on a piece of paper 
 and wrote under it: 
 
 *' Dear Mac : I got control and religion, and me and 
 the kid are coming back." 
 
12 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 In two weeks a reply came from McMasters, 
 pilot of the Badgers. 
 
 *' You sure needed both, but the bushes don^t mean 
 anything. Eeport to Vancouver and let Randall look 
 you over." 
 
 There followed au exchange of telegrams, and 
 the Cassidys went North. Wild Bill lost his 
 first start, but it was the infield that went to 
 pieces. He won the next three games, and again 
 he sent a newspaper clipping to McMasters, pen- 
 ciling on the margin : 
 
 ** I put 'em where they don't like it, and they can't 
 hit it where they ain't. Me and the kid are coming 
 back." 
 
 To which McMasters replied curtly : 
 
 ** You're still in the tall and uncut. Have advised 
 McG-ovem of St. Clair to take you on option." 
 
 In mid-August Randall, manager of the Van- 
 couver club, sent for the big Irishman. " You 
 haven't got a thing but a prayer, and yet you 
 win ball-games. I don't get you at all. Beat 
 it for St. Clair to-night. The Wolves have 
 bought you, and they're in a hole.'' 
 
 In a lower berth of the swaying train the Cas- 
 sidys talked it over. 
 
 "We're coming back, Pop," Tad insisted. 
 
WITH THE HELP OF GOD 13 
 
 *' Didn't you curve 'em a bit to-day? I'll tell 
 the world you did." 
 
 '' Just a little," assented Wild Bill. " Didn't 
 seem to hurt me none. But you better rub the 
 old soup-bone some more in the morning. Got 
 to 'tend to business now." 
 
 *'You said something," was the boy's sleepy 
 reply. 
 
 The St. Clair sporting writers said that Bill 
 Cassidy had nothing but his glove and a horse- 
 shoe as big as the Golden Gate. Superb defen- 
 sive work on the part of the whole team was all 
 that saved the pitcher. But with three games 
 to his credit and no defeats, one scribe changed 
 his mind about the Irishman and called him the 
 *^ Matty of the Minors," and argued that it was 
 his head and not his arm that won for him. 
 
 Through it all. Tad Cassidy held to his cus- 
 tomary throne in the grandstand just back of 
 the press-box, where he could watch every ball 
 that Wild Bill threw. His boyish treble sounded 
 high above the roar of the fans when the rallies 
 came. His cry of " Steady, Pop ! " when the um- 
 pire missed a strike and Cassidy grunted wrath- 
 ftilly, became a war-cry of the Wolf supporters, 
 when there were runners on the bags. " Steady, 
 Pop ! " they would cry, and Cassidy would 
 tighten up like a watchspring and pitch himselt 
 out of trouble. 
 
14 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 Once more he collected a batch of newspaper 
 clippings and mailed them to McMasters. 
 
 '* Averaging .600 with a club in fifth place," he 
 wrote. ^' What more do you want? " 
 
 No reply came to this message, but a week 
 later a sharp-eyed little man with a close- 
 cropped mustache, entered the Wolves' office at 
 the ball-park, and Cassidy saw him. 
 
 Wild Bill was not surprised when he was sent 
 to the mound that afternoon, though it was not 
 his turn to work. He knew that somewhere in 
 the grandstand Bob Hendrix, scout for Mc- 
 Masters, would be watching his every move. 
 Hendrix had asked Donovan to pitch him. 
 
 "Going back, son," he chuckled that night, 
 " going back maybe to-morrow. Just in time for 
 the final drive. We'll make 'em like it, boy." 
 
 " I'm going to sit on the bench with you. Pop," 
 Tad reminded. " You make sure of that. You 
 said I should." 
 
 "That'll be part of the contract, son. That 
 goes — ^you bet your life." 
 
 But the next morning, when Cassidy bought a 
 paper and looked at the sporting page, he 
 groaned. 
 
 The headlines told him Mullins had been 
 bought by the Badgers — Mullins, the young 
 southpaw of the Wolves. Hendrix had picked 
 
WITH THE HELP OF GOD 15 
 
 him, and the reputed price was ten thousand 
 dollars. Pitcher and scout had left the same 
 night. 
 
 Tad's blue eyes filled when he grasped the full 
 import of the news. No other club in the majors 
 was as badly off for pitchers. The race lay be- 
 tween the Badgers and their old rivals the 
 Bears. The latter were coming with a belated 
 rush that threatened to nip the leaders in the 
 last two weeks. The Badgers would hardly buy 
 two pitchers from the same club. Hendrix had 
 seen Cassidy in action and was not satisfied. 
 
 "Little bit of hard luct, son," said Cassidy. 
 " Looks like God ain't calling 'em just right. The 
 Bears are loaded up with right-hand hitters, and 
 a southpaw won't stop 'em. Tho^e birds just 
 live on speed, and that's all Mullins has got ex- 
 cept a hook he can't control." 
 
 " Maybe they'll find that out and send for us 
 the last week," hazarded Tad. " Shall I pray, 
 Pop?" 
 
 " Uhuh ! " assented Cassidy. " I guess the 
 Lord hates quitters as much as anybody else. 
 We'll string along." 
 
 The following Sunday, Wild Bill Cassidy, 
 working slowly and intelligently against the 
 league leaders, achieved that goal of all twirlers, 
 a no-hit game. The next day's papers conveyed 
 the information that Lefty Mullins, the highly 
 
16 HEAKTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 touted youngster bought by McMasters to stem 
 the tide that had set in against his club, had been 
 batted from the box by the despised Serpents. 
 
 Two telegrams crossed the continent while 
 Tad Cassidy and Wild Bill were resting next 
 day. One was from Father Philip O'Eeilly, ad- 
 dressed to his old college chum, Mr. Buck Mc- 
 Masters. It read : 
 
 *' Letter received. Would say yes. They can't 
 beat the Irish. ' ' 
 
 The other message was from McMasters to 
 Senator Lathrop, owner of the Wolves : 
 
 ** Terms accepted Cassidy. Transportation wired. 
 Report Pittsburgh." 
 
 Foghorn Reilly, announcer extraordinary, 
 located the Cassidys in an ice-cream parlor 
 after a two-hour frantic search. 
 
 '^ Beat it ! " he bawled. " The Badgers have 
 bought you. It's the rattler to-night. Beat it! " 
 
 Tad Cassidy fought his way to the street fipst. 
 " Me," he yelled, " I prayed for it ! We're going 
 back, Pop. We're going to make 'em like it ! " 
 
 Hand in hand they raced for a passing car. 
 
 Ominous clouds and a cold wind sweeping 
 across the diamond could not chill the fever heat 
 of twenty thousand Pittsburgh fans nor dampen 
 the ardor of ten thousand loyal supporters of the 
 
 4^B» 
 
WITH THE HELP OF GOD 17 
 
 Badgers. Mc Masters, by sheer grit and deter- 
 mination, had brought his club down the home- 
 stretch and up to the final game three points in 
 the lead. Sweeping along like a whirlwind the 
 Bears had put two clubs out of the running and 
 had smashed their way into a fighting chance for 
 the flag. McMasters had used up four pitchers 
 in two vain attempts to stave off the enemy^s 
 vicious onslaught. He had three men in his 
 line-up who should have been in the hospital. 
 They were playing solely on their nerve. It was 
 a finish such as fandom always prays for — a 
 ding-dong, hammer-and-tongs drive between the 
 leaders and the runners-up, with each club giving 
 all that it had and expecting no mercy. The 
 National league pennant and a share in the 
 World's Series hinged on the outcome of the 
 day. 
 
 If anything was needed to add to the tension 
 of the crowd, it came with the announcement of 
 the batteries : " Sanderson and Clarke for the 
 Bears; Schaefer and Sweeney for the Badgers." 
 
 Sanderson, the speed-king of the majors, 
 against Lefty Schaefer, the brilliant and erratic 
 monarch of the " spitter." McMasters had 
 staked his all on the ability of his star southpaw 
 to pull the flag out of the fire. 
 
 All but two people in the vast throng felt the 
 thrill of the impending conflict. A tall, angular 
 
18 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 figure sitting on the players^ bench of the 
 Badger» stared unseeingly into a worn-out glove. 
 A boy, attired too in a striped gray uniform, 
 wept bitterly on his knees in the seclusion of the 
 dark recesses under the left-field bleachers. The 
 Cassidys were back in the majors, but only as 
 spectators. 
 
 The Badgers, first at bat, were set down one- 
 two-three, Sanderson relying on a fast ball with 
 a baffling hop. The Bears, in their turn, chock- 
 full of ginger and confidence, as a ball team al- 
 ways is when coming from behind, opened up 
 their attack and shoved tWo runs across on a 
 double, a triple and a wild pitch. In vain the 
 Badgers rallied behind Schaefer and shouted 
 encouragement from every corner of the field. 
 Only desperate fielding of the highest class — a 
 lightning double play — pulled him out of the 
 hole. 
 
 In the second inning, with two out, Sherburne, 
 the Bear shortstop, doubled and stole third. 
 Schaefer steadied a moment and then served up 
 three wide ones to the next batter. A sudden 
 burst of color showed over the right-field bleach- 
 ers and the grandstand. Thousands of tiny bal- 
 loons, let loose by Pittsburgh fans, soared sky- 
 ward. " Up in the air ! " they roared. " There 
 goes your old ball game.'' 
 
 Buck McMasters, jumping from his dugout, 
 
WITH THE HELP OF GOD 19 
 
 tore for the plate with upraised hand. He spoke 
 briefly to Umpire Burke, and then turned and 
 waved his hand to a battery warming up on the 
 left-field foul lines. A tall man nodded, dis- 
 carded a red sweater, and came trudging for- 
 ward across the diamond. 
 
 The umpire removed his hat and turned to the 
 grandstand : 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen," he trumpeted, " Cas- 
 sidy now pitching for the Badgers — Cassidy." 
 
 A small figure raced out before the dug-out. 
 
 " Steady, Pop," it screamed, " make 'em like 
 it." 
 
 But no one heard Tad Cassidy. Pittsburgh 
 fans were howling their scorn. The visiting 
 rooters were dumfounded and then noisy with a 
 great hope. In the press-box a battery of news- 
 paper men were flashing the astonishing news to 
 score-boards and newspapers throughout the 
 country : Cassidy was back from the grave. The 
 wild man of baseball was attempting the impos- 
 sible. 
 
 There will always be a dispute over the first 
 ball that Cassidy threw. One paper described it 
 as the "emery"; another said it was a spitter 
 that broke eighteen inches. Babe Wallace, who 
 was at the bat with three and two on him, and 
 who missed it a mile, said it was a knuckle-ball, 
 and that Wild Bill balked when he threw it. 
 
20 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 But Tim Sweeney, when lie laid aside his glove, 
 mask and protector, and trotted happily to the 
 bench, whispered to McMasters: 
 
 " Fast wind-up and a straight ball, so slow I 
 could count the stitches as it came. Caught him 
 over-anxious — but, oh boy, if he had hit it ! " 
 
 Tad Cassidy, helping Wild Bill into the big 
 red sweater, hopping up and down and shouting 
 defiance to the enemy, infected the Badgers with 
 his sublime confidence, and the mysterious qual- 
 ity known in baseball as " pep.'' A psychological 
 change came over them. Ball-players are super- 
 stitious. They see good luck or bad in any un- 
 usual happening on the diamond. Cassidy had 
 stopped the rally. Tad had come forward as a 
 mascot. They were being helped from an unex- 
 pected source. 
 
 " Only two runs, boys," pleaded Wild Bill. 
 " Stake me to those two runs, and we'll beat 
 'em out." 
 
 And in the fifth they gave him the two runs he 
 asked for, and in the seventh, on a single, a stolen 
 base and the hit-and-run, Terry Brennan scored 
 with the run that put the Badgers in the lead 
 of a three-to-two score. 
 
 But the Bears, always a dangerous club on 
 the offensive, were beginning to find Cassidy. 
 They saw his control was perfect and it was use- 
 less to waste time by waiting him out. The 
 
 / 
 
WITH THE HELP OP GOD 21 
 
 order went around to hit the first ball; and in 
 the eighth, with the top of the batting order at 
 the plate, the Bears electrified their followers 
 with three terrific smashes to the outfield. Any 
 of the drives would have been good for three 
 bases had not Kabbit Gardner, by supreme effort, 
 got under two, and Patsy Ross taken the last off 
 his shoe-tops. 
 
 " God and a fast outfield ! " said Cassidy, as he 
 walked to the bench. 
 
 " Just three more men. Bill," said McMasters 
 anxiously. " Can you hold 'em? " 
 
 " Steady, Pop ! " implored Tad. " Make 'em 
 like it." 
 
 " Uhuh ! " assented Cassidy. " But if I get in 
 a hole, don't yank me. I'll hold 'em if I have 
 to break a leg. I wonder will they let Brady 
 bat for Swan?" 
 
 The Badgers failed to increase their narrow 
 lead in the first half of the ninth, and Peck 
 Greenway, manager of the Bears, prepared to 
 hurl his pinch-hitters into the fray. 
 
 Changing his pace with every ball, putting it 
 just where Sweeney's signal called for, and risk- 
 ing a curve only when it seemed imperative, Cas- 
 sidy fanned the first man to face him, and his 
 team mates roared encouragement. Barton, up 
 next, reached for a ball outside the plate and 
 placed it neatly over third. A moment later he 
 
22 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 stole, and the roar of the Pittsburgh fans swelled 
 like an organ note. 
 
 In an agony of alarm Tad Cassidy shrieked 
 to his father : " Steady, Pop — steady ! " 
 
 Peters lined to center and was out on a mag- 
 nificent running catch that held the runner at 
 second. Above the exultant yells of the Badgers 
 rose the challenging answer of the Bears as Bull 
 Brady, swinging three bats, came forward to the 
 plate. 
 
 For the first time in the game Cassidy looked 
 to his manager for advice, half expecting to see 
 McMasters flash him the signal to walk Brady. 
 But the Badger pilot shook his head at Cassidy's 
 look of inquiry. With two out, it was bad base- 
 ball to put the winning run on the bags. He 
 must pitch to Brady — Brady, who was too poor 
 a fielder for a regular job, but as deadly a batter 
 in the pinches as ever swung a club in the 
 majors. 
 
 Standing out there in the center of the dia- 
 mond, Cassidy steeled himself for the supreme 
 test. He knew Brady would kill a curve ball 
 waist high and on the outside. He was crowding 
 the plate and set for it. Wild Bill drove the bat- 
 ter back with two fast balls straight at his head 
 and then shot two strikes low and just above the 
 knees, each ball barely cutting the inside corner. 
 Brady moved at neither. 
 
 H* 
 
WITH THE HELP OF GOD 23 
 
 Cassidy drew a deep breath, and in the shadow 
 of his glove held before his mouth, dripped 
 tobacco- juice upon the ball. All through the 
 game he had gone through the motion of throw- 
 ing the spitball, but they knew he was bluffing. 
 He had never thrown it. The ball had always 
 left his hand dry. Brady grinned derisively. 
 
 " Steady, Pop ! '^ The quavering cry from the 
 visitors' dugout pierced the hush that descended 
 on the park like a blanket. 
 
 Cassidy pitched. Almost as the ball left his 
 hand, the Irishman's heart swelled exultantly. 
 The old sense of mastery was there. He knew 
 the ball would break as sharply as in the old 
 days, knew that it was traveling straight for the 
 batter's waistline and that at the last instant it 
 would swerve sharply across the inside corner of 
 the plate. Brady stepped back and let it go. 
 
 For an interminable second, Dad Hardy, dean 
 of major-league umpires, hesitated. Cassidy and 
 his battery mate, and Bull Brady and the uni- 
 formed figures of the players quivered in their 
 positions awaiting the verdict. 
 
 Finally it came. 
 
 "Ball three!" 
 
 Tim Sweeney whirled on the umpire, "no, 
 no ! " he shrieked. " You can't call it that. It 
 was over. Dad — it was over!" 
 
 The catcher's wild protests, backed up from 
 
24 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 bench and coaching-line, were swallowed up in 
 the triumphant roar from bleachers and grand- 
 stand. Cassidy was in a hole. He would have 
 to put it over to Brady or put the winning run 
 on the paths. Wild Bill came hurrying to the 
 plate. On his face was the black look of rage 
 that characterized him when the hunting pack 
 was at his heels. 
 
 ** You — ^you — '' he said thickly, " you missed it, 
 didn't you? You wasn't watching the break. 
 You damn' thief, you've broke me." 
 
 Dad Hardy's eyes were dull with the torpor 
 of self -conviction. His mind had responded auto- 
 matically to the curve ball he had seen Cassidy 
 using throughout the game. He had not been 
 expecting the spitter's " break," which did what 
 the ordinary curve did not. Only after he gave 
 his decision did Hardy realize that he had com- 
 mitted that worst of all umpirical sins — men- 
 tally decided a play before it was completed. 
 Now he could not reverse himself. The damage 
 was done. 
 
 Plainly as tongue could say it, Hardy's eyes 
 gave Cassidy the message : " I didn't mean to 
 boot it. Bill — go easy on an old man who loves 
 you." 
 
 "You — ^you — " stammered Wild Bill and 
 shoved himself clear of restraining hands. Tad 
 Cassidy, wearing the mascot's uniform of the 
 
WITH THE HELP OF GOD 25 
 
 Badgers, alone clung to his father's belt: 
 
 "Pop," he implored, "don't let them throw 
 you out of the game now. Pop — not when we're 
 almost back. Not that. Pop — make 'em like it ! " 
 
 The boy's shrill voice penetrated the man's 
 obsession. His brain cleared. Once more he 
 was master of the situation. Grandstands and 
 bleachers were thundering defiance. Cassidy 
 took the ball from his catcher's hand and beamed 
 down on his son. 
 
 " Tad," he said, " wait over by the gate for 
 me. In about one minute we're going to win this 
 old game. — Do yon ?^^ fh^t. Brady? " 
 
 The greatest pinch-hitter in the majors trans- 
 ferred a wad of chewing-gum from the button on 
 top of his cap to his mouth. 
 
 " Back to the cemetery," he rejoined. " Put it 
 within ten feet of me, and I'll hit it to Paris." 
 
 Cassidy made no reply. His gaunt, angular 
 figure strode briskly to the pitcher's box, where 
 it stood a moment, a lonely reed in the center of 
 the storm. 
 
 Sweeney's gnarled fingers flashed the signal 
 for another spitter. Cassidy shook his head. 
 The catcher signaled a curve — then a fast ball 
 straight over. Still Cassidy dissented. Finally 
 Sweeney's glove concealed from batter and the 
 opposing coachers the signal for which Cassidy 
 was waiting. 
 
26 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 The pitcher turned his Tjacl on the plate a 
 moment and made a swift motion with his glove. 
 The outfielders moved back into the shadow of 
 the fences. Into Bull Brady's eyes flashed the 
 light of triumph. He dug his cleats into the 
 soft dirt and set himself for a ball that would 
 come waist high with all the steam that Wild 
 Bill could put behind it. Cassidy was going to 
 pitch his arm out on the last ball and try to 
 buzz it past him. Well, better men than Cas- 
 sidy had tried the same thing and failed. 
 
 Suddenly Cassidy coiled up like a watch- 
 spring and lunged forward in full stride. The 
 move was unexpectedly sudden, but Brady was 
 alert. His quick eyes caught the line of the on- 
 coming ball shoulder high and on the inside. 
 There was nothing on it. He stepped back so as 
 to meet the ball well up on the bat and put the 
 whole force of his burly body into the swing. 
 
 Not until the swing was well started did 
 Brady's eyes telegraph his brain and muscles a 
 warning. It was not a fast ball that was com- 
 ing. Neither was it a slow one. It was a ball 
 such as a pitcher might have served up in the 
 spring of the year during batting-practise. It 
 was the very ball that no pitcher in the world 
 could have been expected to hang the pennant on. 
 
 In the fraction of a second Brady slowed his 
 swing. Ninety-nine batters would have missed 
 
WITH THE HELP OF GOD 27 
 
 the hall entirely. Bull Brady was the hundredth. 
 His bat swung under and up. There was the 
 crash of horsehide against wood, and a wild yell 
 from the gathered thousands — a yell that died 
 in the throats of the Pittsburgh rooters. From 
 the ranks of the visitors went up the roar that 
 only a pennant crowd can give. 
 
 Wild Bill Cassidy was moving very slightly 
 from side to side, his eyes intent on a small white 
 object that was falling from the sky into his wait- 
 ing glove. 
 
 " A straight ball and a change of pace," mut- 
 tered Cassidy. " Father O'Reilly was right." 
 
 The ball plopped into the Irishman's cupped 
 hands. Mechanically he shoved it into his hip 
 pocket and turned to go, ignoring the hundreds 
 of fans who were leaping out of the bleachers. 
 He had reached second base when the advance 
 wave of the foaming multitude snapped him up. 
 Somehow he managed to make it clear that Tad 
 should be found and hoisted up too. A hundred 
 men went in search of him. 
 
 When a man does come back, it is usually with 
 both feet. And Wild Bill was back. A winding, 
 twisting, howling avalanche of fans with the 
 two Cassidys borne aloft at the head, serpentined 
 its way over the Pittsburgh ball-yard and "in- 
 formed the world." 
 
THE CKAB 
 
 NOT until the orchestra at 11:30, with 
 a cheery flourish from the clarinets, 
 launched into a quaint little melody, did 
 the Crab's expression of disapproval change. 
 Then his eyes sought a velvet curtain stretched 
 across one end of the room. The drapery parted 
 to admit a slip of a girl in a pink dress who came 
 gliding down between the tables, slim white 
 arms swaying in rhythm with her song. The 
 Crab, obeying a sentiment he did not try to 
 analyze, eyed her just as he had done every night 
 for a week. 
 
 Those at the tables who had been there before 
 nudged newcomers and whispered : " Watch her 
 smile — it's the whole show." 
 
 It was a bright little tune — soothing as a lul- 
 laby. She sang the second chorus, looking 
 straight at the Crab: 
 
 '* Smile a- while, and I'll smile, too, 
 What's the good of feeling blue? 
 Watch my lips — I '11 show you how : 
 That's the way — ^you're smiling now!" 
 
 A spotlight from the balcony darted across the 
 
 28 
 
THE CRAB 29 
 
 room and encompassed the girl and the man to 
 whom she was singing. Amid general laughter 
 and applause, the Crab squirmed, reddened and 
 achieved a sheepish grin. 
 
 The singer passed to other tables, the light 
 playing on her yellow hair and accentuating the 
 slimness of her figure. 
 
 **I'm the Smile Girl, so folks say — 
 Seems like smiles all come my way. 
 Want to smile? Ill show you how: 
 That's the way — you're smiling now.'* 
 
 People continued smiling and humming the 
 tuneful melody long after she had declined fur- 
 ther encores. The Crab stared into the bottom 
 of his empty glass. His face was still very red. 
 Her fingers had brushed the Crab's sleeve as 
 lightly as a butterfly's wing but he was exalted 
 by the contact. 
 
 Coast League fans said of Bill Crowley that if 
 he ever learned to moderate his crabbing, the 
 majors would one day be bidding for the greatest 
 third baseman in history. He was chain light- 
 ning on his feet and could hit around .290 in any 
 company. Moreover, he had perfect baseball 
 hands, an arm of steel, and the runner was yet 
 to wear spikes who could scare him into expos- 
 ing even a corner of the bag if the play was 
 close. 
 
 \ 
 
30 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 But Bill was a crab by instinct, preference 
 and past performances. He was hard-boiled in 
 the dye of discontent, steeped in irritability, — 
 a consistent, chronic, quarrelsome crab, operat- 
 ing apparently with malice aforethought and in- 
 tent to commit mischief. 
 
 Naturally the fans rode him. It is human na- 
 ture to poke sticks at a crab and turn it over on 
 its back. In time, a crustacean becomes imbued 
 with the idea that it was born to be tonnented, 
 hence it moves around with its claws alert for 
 pointed sticks. That was the way with Bill 
 Crowley, third-sacker extraordinary, and kicker 
 plenipotentiary to the court of " Brick " Mc- 
 Govern, sorrel-topped manager of the Wolves. 
 Looking for trouble, he found it everywhere. 
 
 At that. Bill the Crab was not without a cer- 
 tain justification. A third baseman has enough 
 woes without being afflicted with boils on the 
 back of his neck. Such ailments belong by the 
 law of retribution to the outfield. The fact that 
 little pink protuberances appeared every now 
 and then due south from the Crab's collar but- 
 ton, where the afternoon sun could conveniently 
 find them, was further proof that even Provi- 
 dence had joined in the general persecution. 
 
 No infielder or outfielder ever threw the ball 
 right to the Crab. It was either too low, or too 
 high, or too late, or on his " meat " hand. There 
 
THE CRAB 31 
 
 wasn't a scorer on the circuit who knew the 
 definition of a base hit. The only time the Um- 
 pires were ever on top of the play was when Bill 
 was the runner, and then they had their thumbs 
 in the air before he even hit the dirt. 
 
 Under such circumstances there was nothing 
 for the Crab to do but register his emphatic dis- 
 approval. This he invariably accomplished by 
 slamming his glove on the ground and advancing 
 on the Umpire stiff-legged after the manner of a 
 terrier approaching a strange dog. Had there 
 been hair on the back of his neck, it would have 
 bristled. 
 
 The arbiters of the diamond took no chances 
 with the Crab. They waved five fingers at him 
 when he took the first step, and held up both 
 hands when he took the second. If that didn't 
 hold him, they promptly bestowed the Order of 
 the Tin Can by waving the right arm in the gen- 
 eral direction of the shower baths. This meant 
 in all a fine of twenty dollars and the familiar 
 line in the sporting extras : 
 
 '* Crowley thrown out for crabbing.'* 
 
 In the last game of the season, the Crab dis- 
 tinguished himself by clouting a home run in the 
 first inning with the bases full, but before the 
 contest was over he was led from the park by 
 two policemen, having planted his cleats on the 
 
32 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 sensitive toes of Umpire " Bull " Feeney and 
 thereby precipitated the worst riot of the year. 
 
 McGovern, astute pilot of a club which had 
 won two pennants, clung to the Crab in the for- 
 lorn hope that time and patience might work one 
 of those miracles of the diamond which are 
 within the memory of most veteran managers. 
 
 Had any one told the red-headed campaigner 
 that he would yet live to see the day when the 
 Crab would be a spineless thing of milk and 
 water, pulling away from a runner's spikes, 
 flinching under the taunts of the bleachers, ac- 
 cepting meekly the adverse decisions of the men 
 In blue, he would have grinned tolerantly. The 
 Crab might mellow a little with advancing years, 
 but lose his fighting spirit? Not in this world! 
 
 It was in the spring of the following year 
 when the team came straggling into camp for 
 the annual conditioning process, and all but the 
 Crab and one or two others had reported, that 
 the Wolves were subjected to a severe jolt. 
 
 Rube Ferguson who had an eye for the dra- 
 matic waited until the gang was at morning 
 batting practise. Then he broke the astounding 
 news. 
 
 " The Crab's got himself a wife." 
 
 The Wolves laughed. 
 
 ^^AZ-right," said Ferguson, ^^ al-Tight — ^you 
 
THE CRAB 33 
 
 fellows know it all; I'm a liar. The Crab's 
 been married three months. I stood up with 
 him. What's more you fellows know the 
 girl." 
 
 He took advantage of the general paralysis 
 that followed this announcement to sneak up to 
 the plate out of turn. He was still in there 
 swinging when they came to life and rushed 
 him. News is news, but a man's turn at bat, 
 especially after an idle winter, is an inalienable 
 right. Rube clung to his club. 
 
 " Three more cuts at the old apple," he bar- 
 gained, " and I tell you who she is." 
 
 They fell back grumbling. Ferguson's last 
 drive screamed into left field and whacked 
 against the fence. Grinning contentedly he sur- 
 rendered his bat and took his place at the end 
 of the waiting line. 
 
 " Not so bad — I could have gone into third 
 on that baby standing up. Trouble with you fel- 
 lows is you're growing old. Now I — " 
 
 " Brick " McGovern raised a club menacingly. 
 
 "Who'd the Crab marry?" 
 
 "Keep your shirt on," advised Ferguson, 
 " I'm coming to that. It was the blonde at 
 Steve's Place." 
 
 " Not the Smile Girl? " The quick objection 
 sprang from a dozen lips. " Not the little queen 
 who sings — not the entertainer? " 
 
34r HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 Ferguson beamed happily. He had his sensa- 
 tion. 
 
 " You said it/' he told them. " The Smile Girl 
 is now Mrs. Crab. She married Bill because 
 the whole world was picking on him and it 
 wasn't right. Ain't that a dame for you? " 
 
 They were inexpressibly shocked. The Smile 
 Girl — daintiest wisp of cheer in the city — mar- 
 ried to the Crab — surliest lump of gloom in base- 
 ball. The thing seemed incredible and yet — that 
 was just the sort of girl she was — gravitating 
 toward any one who was in distress. They swore 
 in awed undertones. 
 
 " What a bone-head play," sighed Boots Pur- 
 nell, " what a Joe McGee ! Imagine any one, let 
 alone the Smile Girl, trying to live with the 
 Crab ! Give her an error — Oh, give her six ! " 
 He made his sorrowful way to the plate, moan- 
 ing over the appalling blunder. 
 
 Rube Ferguson's rich tenor sounded the open- 
 ing lines of the Smile Girl's own song: 
 
 '* Smiling puts the blues to flight; 
 
 Smiling makes each wrong come right — *' 
 
 They joined mechanically in the chorus but 
 they did not smile. 
 
 " Pee-wee " Patterson, midget second baseman, 
 expressed what was in every one's mind: 
 
 " If any one can tame the Crab, it's Goldi- 
 
THE CRAB 35 
 
 locks, — but I'm betting she slips him his release 
 by June. I wonder will he bring her to camp 
 with him?" 
 
 The Crab settled this point himself the follow- 
 ing day by showing up — alone and unchastened. 
 He invited no questions and they forbore to 
 offer any. He was as truculent and peevish as 
 ever. The food was the bunk ; some one had the 
 room that he was entitled to; the bushers were 
 too thick for comfort ; the weather was " hell," 
 and the new trainer didn't know a " charley 
 horse " from a last year's bunion. 
 
 " The Crab's going to have a good year," ob- 
 served Pee-wee, "twenty bucks says she gives 
 him the gate by the first of June. Who wants 
 it?" 
 
 Rube Ferguson whistled thoughtfully. 
 
 " If Brick will advance it to me I'll see you," 
 he hazarded. " Some Janes are bears for punish- 
 ment and the Crab ain't so worse. He made her 
 quit her job and he staked her to a set of fur- 
 niture and a flat. My wife says they're stuck on 
 one another." 
 
 Pee-wee snorted. "Fly-paper wouldn't stick 
 to Bill after the first ten minutes." He raised 
 his voice a little in imitation of " Bull " Feeney 
 addressing the grandstand: " Batt'ries for to- 
 day's game," he croaked : " The Smile Girl and 
 the Crab. Bon soir,— bye-bye— Good-night." 
 
36 HEAKTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 The. Rube grinned. " Sure is a rummy bat- 
 tery," he agreed ruefully, " but the bet stands." 
 He departed in search of McGovern and a piece 
 of the bank roll. 
 
 Those of the Wolves who had not already met 
 the Smile Girl, and they were mostly the rookies, 
 learned to know her in the final days of the 
 training season when the Wolves sought their 
 home grounds for the polishing up process. 
 
 She was enough of a child to want to accom- 
 pany the Crab to the ball park for even the morn- 
 ing workouts and to say pretty things to each 
 one individually. The Crab accomplished the 
 introductions awkwardly, but it was evident that 
 he was very proud of her and that she was very 
 much in love with him. 
 
 " Some guys have all the luck," lamented 
 " Boots " Purnell. " If she ever benches the 
 Crab, 1^11 be the first one to apply for his 
 job." 
 
 At the opening game of the season, the Smile 
 Girl's pink dress and picture hat were conspicu- 
 ous in the front row of the grandstand just back 
 of third base. Pink for happiness, she always 
 said. 
 
 Rube Ferguson confided an important discov- 
 ery to Brick McGovern and others between inn- 
 ings as they sat in the Wolf dugout. 
 
 " The Crab's keeping one eye on the batter and 
 
THE CRAB 37 
 
 the other on his wife. I don't think he knows 
 there's anybody else in the Park. They've got 
 a set of signals. Every time the Crab starts to 
 splutter, she gives him the tip to lay off the 
 rough stuff, and he chokes it back. Pee-wee, 
 you lose ! " 
 
 The diminutive second-sacker did not reply at 
 once. He was searching wildly for his favorite 
 stick. At length he found it and trotted off for 
 his turn at the plate. He was back shortly, in- 
 sisting loudly that the "last one was over his 
 head." 
 
 " Now about the Crab " — ^he confided to Eube, 
 *^ everything's coming his way, get me? Wait 
 until we hit the road for awhile and the hot 
 weather comes and the ace-in-the-hole boys get 
 to working on him, then we'll see." 
 
 The Wolves, always a slow team to round to 
 form because of the many veterans on the roster, 
 trailed along in the second division and swung 
 north in fifth place for their first extended road 
 trip. 
 
 Gradually it became apparent to all that 
 Pee-wee Patterson had called the turn on the 
 Crab. He was plainly settling back into his old 
 surly ways, snarling at the umpires, grumbling 
 over the work of the pitchers, and demanding 
 angrily that McGovern get some one behind the 
 bat who didn't have a broken arm — this of Billy 
 
38 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 Hopper who could handcuff nine third basemen 
 out of ten. 
 
 They were on the road four weeks and the 
 Crab's batting average climbed steadily while 
 his temper grew hourly worse. This was char- 
 acteristic. He seemed able to vent considerable 
 of his spite on the inoffensive leather. It was 
 the nerves of his team mates that suffered. 
 
 "What did I tell you?'' demanded Patter- 
 son, " now when we hit the home grounds next 
 week, — the Crab will get the panning of his life 
 and the Smile Girl will break her heart over it. 
 I tell you I'm calling the play ! " 
 
 Brick McGovern and Kube Ferguson regarded 
 their comrade-at-arms soberly. They felt that 
 he spoke the truth. 
 
 "Well," commented Rube, "you can't bench 
 a man that's hitting over .300 just to spare 
 his wife's feelings." And with that understand- 
 ing, the Crab was retained in the clean-up r61e. 
 
 Most ball players have a dislike for one or 
 more cities on the circuit. The Crab's pet aver- 
 sion was the St. Clair grounds. There, the huge 
 double-decked grandstand, with its lower floor 
 on a level with the infield itself and not forty 
 feet from the foul lines, brought players and 
 spectators into closer contact than was good for 
 either. Back of the heavy screening and paral- 
 
THE CEAB 39 
 
 lelling a well-worn path between the home 
 plate and the dugout assigned to the home club, 
 stretched " Sure Thing Row " where men who 
 wagered money in down town pool rooms before 
 the game congregated like birds of prey to await 
 the outcome. 
 
 " Sure Thing Row '' ran to checked suits, dia- 
 monds and stacks of half dollars, the latter held 
 lightly in one hand and riffled with the thumb 
 and forefinger of the other. It broke no law of 
 the land; it knew its rights and exercised every 
 one of them. 
 
 " The Row " maintained a proprietary interest 
 in the Crab. He was theirs by right of discovery. 
 In him they recognized not only the strongest 
 link in the Wolf defense but likewise the weak- 
 est. He was an unconscious instrument to be 
 used or not as the odds might require. Now that 
 the Crab was married, the problem was simpli- 
 fied. 
 
 It was in the third game of the series that 
 Rube Ferguson, sitting beside Brick McGovern 
 in the dugout while the Wolves were at 
 bat, reported to his leader what was going 
 on. 
 
 "The ace-in-the-hole boys are after the Cl*ab. 
 When he went up to bat just now they were 
 whispering stuff to him about his wife — get me, 
 Brick? They're handing him the laugh about 
 
40 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 the Smile Girl. He'll blow up before the inn- 
 ing's over.'' 
 
 McGovern nodded. His gnarled and sun 
 scorched hands opened and shut helplessly. " I 
 know," he groaned, " I know — they used to hand 
 it to me like that and if it hadn't been for my 
 wife and kids I'd have done murder twenty 
 times. There's no law against insulting a ball 
 player. That goes with the price of admission. 
 They'll not break the Crab's nerve but they'll 
 get him thrown out. Ah ! " 
 
 The gray-clad figures in the Wolf dugout 
 sprang to their feet. The high-pitched yelp of 
 the timber wolf pierced the clamor, followed by 
 cries of " tear 'em, puppy ! " 
 
 The Crab had lashed a terrific drive along 
 the right field foul line and was rounding first 
 base in full stride. 
 
 McGovern tore for the coaching box with both 
 arms raised, palms outward. Walker in right 
 field had knocked the drive down. He had one 
 of the best arms in the league. 
 
 " None out," yelled the Wolf leader — " two 
 bags — play it safe ! Back — go back ! " 
 
 But the Crab had eyes or ears for no one. He 
 was running wild, bent only on showing " Sure 
 Thing Row " he was its master. Blind with 
 rage and excitement he bore down on third base. 
 The ball zipped into the hands of the waiting 
 
THE CRAB 41 
 
 fielder in plenty of time. The Crab must have 
 known he was out, but he arose from a cloud of 
 dust, wildly denunciatory, and frantic under the 
 jibes of the bleachers and the fox-faced gentry 
 back of the screen. 
 
 In the old belligerent way, he stalked after 
 Tim Cahill and grabbed the Umpire by the arm. 
 
 " You — ^you — ^'^ he foamed. 
 
 McGovern dashed out on the diamond but the 
 mischief was already done. Cahill knew his 
 business and he stood for no breach of discipline. 
 Freeing himself from the Crab's clutch, he 
 jerked a thumb in the direction of the club- 
 house in center field. 
 
 " You're through for the day," he snapped, 
 "off the field or I'll nick you for a ten spot. 
 Beat it!" 
 
 McGovern pulled his infielder away and 
 shoved him in the direction indicated. 
 
 " Don't be a fool, Bill," he advised, " you were 
 out a mile." 
 
 The target for a storm of derisive hoots the 
 Crab made his way sullenly along the fence and 
 into the clubhouse shadows. Not until he had 
 vanished from sight did the last sibilant hiss 
 die out. 
 
 McGovern walked back to the Wolves pit and 
 shot a quick glance at the Smile Girl, sitting in 
 her usual place just back of third. All around 
 
42 HEARTS AINTD THE DIAMOND 
 
 her, men were laughing at the Crab's discomfi- 
 ture. She was smiling bravely but even at that 
 distance he was certain that her chin was quiv- 
 ering. 
 
 " Sure Thing Row " settled back contentedly 
 and winked. The Crab and his bludgeon had 
 been eliminated from the crucial game of the 
 series. 
 
 The Wolves lost by one run. 
 
 On the last day of June, just before the club 
 left for another long swing around the circle, 
 Rube Ferguson encountered little Patterson in 
 front of the clubhouse. He drew the midget 
 aside and handed him a twenty dollar bill. 
 
 " Much obliged,'' acknowledged Pee- wee, 
 « what's the idea? " 
 
 " The Crab's wife has left him.'' 
 
 "No!" 
 
 " Yes. She's been gone three days. She told 
 my wife he came home and beefed because she 
 was sewing something, and she said she could 
 stand his crabbing about everything else but 
 that/' 
 
 The second baseman looked incredulous. 
 
 " Seems like somebody's got their signals 
 crossed, don't it? Why should that get her goat 
 particularly? What was she sewing? " 
 
 The Rube shrugged. "What do women al- 
 ways sew? The money's yours." 
 
 M 
 
 '"% 
 
THE CRAB 43 
 
 The little infielder's eyes hardened. " I'm 
 clean," he admitted. " I haven't got a red — but 
 you put that twenty back in your pocket or I'll 
 beat you to death." 
 
 Ferguson nodded his comprehension. " I feel 
 that way about it, too. There's something like- 
 able about the Crab but I've never found out 
 what it is. Will he be better or worse now? " 
 
 " Does a Crab ever change? " asked Pee-wee. 
 
 During the next few weeks it seemed as though 
 Patterson's question could admit of but one an- 
 swer. The Crab drew if anything a little closer 
 into his shell. He was more morose, more savage 
 in the clubhouse and on the diamond. He 
 snarled his refusals when they offered him the 
 usual hand of poker up in Boots Purnell's hotel 
 room. When they left the clubhouse in the 
 afternoons, he disappeared and they did not see 
 him until the next morning. They forbore to 
 question him. The ball players' code of ethics 
 does not include discussion of domestic aver- 
 ages. While he continued to hit and field as he 
 was doing, he was entitled to behave off the 
 diamond in any way he saw fit. 
 
 Not until August when the Club was in third 
 place and going like a whirlwind, did the Crab 
 give any indication that he missed the slim lit- 
 tle figure in the pink dress who used to blow 
 him kisses from the grandstand. 
 
44 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 Then, so gradually that they had difficulty iu 
 comprehending the process, something under the 
 Crab's shell began to disintegrate. 
 
 It was his hitting — that infallible barometer 
 to a ball player's condition, that fell off first. 
 Not that the Crab didn't connect just as fre- 
 quently as ever, but his swings lacked the old 
 driving power. Outfielders who used to back 
 against the fence when he came up, now moved 
 forward and had no trouble getting under the 
 ball. From fourth place in the batting order 
 he was dropped to sixth and then seventh with- 
 out result. His huge shoulders seemed devi- 
 talized. 
 
 Next it was his fielding. He fumbled ground 
 balls t»>at ordinarily would have given him no 
 troubZ / He was slow on his feet and erratic 
 in his iihrowing. 
 
 " Jiggs " Peterson, guardian of the right field 
 pasture, called still another deficiency to the at- 
 tention of the entire club one afternoon when, 
 in a tight game with the Saints, a runner slid 
 safely into third despite a perfect throw from 
 deep right. 
 
 " I had that guy nailed by twenty feet," he 
 complained to the Crab, " and you let him slide 
 into the bag. What's the idea of taking the ball 
 in back of the sack? " 
 
THE CKAB 45 
 
 The Crab's only reply was a mnmbled : " you 
 peg 'em right and I'll get 'em." 
 
 "Jiggs has called the turn," whispered Pee- 
 wee, "the Crab is pulling away from the run- 
 ner's spikes right along. I don't understand it.'^ 
 
 " Nor I," Ferguson responded, " there was a 
 time when he would have broken Jiggs in two 
 for trying to call him like that." 
 
 The next day the Crab, seated beside his man- 
 ager in the dugout, turned suddenly to Mc- 
 Govern. 
 
 " Brick — I can't find her — it's August and I 
 can't find her." 
 
 McGovern masked his surprise. The Crab's 
 eyes were blood-shot, the lines on his weather- 
 beaten face sunk to unnatural depths. Several 
 times McGovern opened his mouth but the right 
 words did not occur to him. 
 
 " I can't find her," reiterated the Crab dully. 
 " I lost her, and I can't find her." 
 
 McGovern scraped in the soft dirt with his 
 cleats. He spoke as one man to another. " I'm 
 sorry. Bill, I didn't know just how you felt 
 about it." 
 
 The Crab contemplated the palm of a worn-out 
 glove. The muscles of his face twitched. 
 
 " I thought it was doll clothes she was sew- 
 ing. Brick — she's such a kid. Honest to God I 
 thought it was doll's clothes. I never knew dif- 
 
46 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 ferent until I read her note. Now you know 
 why I got to find her." 
 
 The pilot of the four-time pennant winners 
 was again bereft of speech. He nodded slowly. 
 
 " She left no address," continued the third 
 baseman. " She thought I was crabbing at her 
 because — " his voice cracked sharply. 
 
 The Wolves came trooping noisily in from 
 across the diamond. Their sorrel-topped pilot 
 threw an arm carelessly around the Crab's 
 shoulders. 
 
 "The Smile Girl couldn't hold a grudge 
 against any one," he whispered, "you'll hear 
 from her one of these days. Why man, any one 
 could see she was nuts about you ! " 
 
 The Crab's fingers closed on his leader's arm 
 with a grip that made McGovern wince. 
 
 " You think so. Brick — on the level? " 
 
 " On the level. Bill." 
 
 That afternoon the Crab got two hits, the first 
 he had negotiated in a week, but as the fifteenth 
 of August approached, he slumped again, and 
 McGovern benched him and made three unsuc- 
 cessful attempts to bolster up the one weak spot 
 in his infield. But good third basemen are not 
 lying around loose in the middle of August. The 
 Crab at his worst was better than the new- 
 comers and McGovern put him back in the fray. 
 Two out of three major league scouts who had 
 
THE CEAB 47 
 
 been attracted by the Crab's hitting and who had 
 lingered in the hope that he would emerge from 
 his slump, packed their grips and went else- 
 where. The third man was a product of the 
 school of McGraw. He studied the Crab through 
 half-closed eyelids and — stayed. 
 
 With seven weeks of the season still unplayed, 
 the Wolves returned from a southern trip in 
 second place. The fine lines of worry between 
 McGovem's eyes deepened. He caught himself 
 watching the apathetic figure of the Crab and 
 praying that the third baseman would regain 
 just a little of his old fighting spirit. 
 
 And then one afternoon just before the Um- 
 pire called the Wolves and Tigers together for 
 the opening game of the week, Rube Ferguson, 
 idol of the right field bleachers, tossed -a number 
 of neatly folded newspapers into the pit. 
 
 "Compliments of ^Pebble Pop,' champion 
 groundkeeper of the world," he told them, " pipe 
 the write-up they gave the old boy." 
 
 The Crab opened his paper listlessly, glanced 
 over the tribute to the veteran caretaker, and 
 permitted the pages to slip to the concrete floor 
 of the dugout. He was in the act of thrusting 
 the paper aside with his cleats, when his eye 
 caught a single word in black face type up near 
 the top of the column on the reverse side of the 
 sporting page. It was his own name. Hyp- 
 
48 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 notically, he picked up the page and stared at 
 it. The words that followed the black faced 
 capitals burned themselves into his brain. 
 
 A sharp ejaculation caused McGovern to look 
 up. The Crab's teeth were chattering. 
 
 "What's wrong?" 
 
 " N-n-nothing/' stammered the Crab. The 
 paper rustled from his nerveless hands. He 
 straightened up, looked around wildly and then 
 walked up and out of the pit — straight as a chalk 
 line to the exit back of first base. With the en- 
 tire team watching him, open-mouthed, the Crab 
 wrenched savagely at the gate. A special officer 
 drew the bolt, and the third baseman disap- 
 peared into the crowd, uniform and all. 
 
 Pee-wee Patterson broke the silence. 
 
 " I knew it was coming. He's cuckoo. Some- 
 body better follow him." 
 
 But Brick McGovern was scanning the paper 
 that the third baseman had dropped. 
 
 " Cuckoo, nothing," he exclaimed, " the Crab 
 has found his wife ! '' 
 
 They all saw it then — two lines of agate type 
 that began : " CROWLEY—" 
 
 The paper was eight days old. 
 
 A sorrel topped Irishman with a fighting face, 
 but rather too generous about the middle for per- 
 fect condition, plodded up the steps of St. Jo- 
 
THE CRAB 49 
 
 seph^s Hospital at dusk. One hand grasped a 
 bouquet of pink roses. 
 
 " Ah, yes/^ said the little woman in the office, 
 " — second floor of the Annex — Room 41." 
 
 McGovern located the room and tapped gently 
 on the white door. 
 
 " Come in," chirped a voice. 
 
 The pilot of the Wolves turned the knob dubi- 
 ously and peered into the room. 
 
 The Smile Girl was sitting up in bed. Her 
 eyes were bright with the look that comes to a 
 woman who has borne her mate his first man- 
 child. She beckoned to McGovern and then held 
 a pink finger to her lips. 
 
 " S-sh ! " she whispered, " look ! " 
 
 In an arm chair facing the window and away 
 from the door, McGovern made out a familiar 
 figure, still in uniform. It was rocking gently 
 back and forth, cleats tapping on the linoleum 
 covered floor, and as it rocked it sang most un- 
 musically to a rose colored bundle held awk- 
 wardly over one shoulder : 
 
 ** Smile awhile — and I'll smile, too, 
 What's the good of feeling blue? 
 Watch my lips — 1 11 show you how : 
 That's the way — ^you're smiling now!" 
 
 McGovern blew his nose. The singing stopped 
 abruptly. 
 
50 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 " Honey/' said the Smile Girl, " bring William 
 Junior to me. You've had him for most an hour 
 and I want to show him to Mr. McGovern." 
 
 The Crab's cleats click-clacked across the 
 room. He held up the bundle for McGovern's 
 inspection. 
 
 " I'd let you hold him, Brick," he confided, 
 " but it's got to be done just a certain way. The 
 nurse put me wise; see — ^you keep one hand back 
 of the neck and shoulders, so you don't do no 
 fumbling." 
 
 McGovem nodded. He deposited the roses on 
 the bed and laid the tip of one pudgy finger ever 
 so lightly on the cheek of the sleeping infant. 
 
 " Some kid," he marveled, " some kid! " 
 
 The Smile Girl emitted a cry of surprise. 
 From an envelope attached to the roses she had 
 extracted a hundred dollar bill. 
 
 " What's that? " demanded the Crab crossly, 
 " what you trying to put over. Brick? I haven't 
 touched a bean of my salary for three months. 
 I don't need — " 
 
 " Shut up ! " admonished McGovern. " Can't 
 I take an option on the little fellow's services if 
 I want to? Look at those hands. Bill — ain't they 
 made for an infielder — they're yours all over — 
 he's got your eyes and your hair and — " 
 
 The baby squirmed and moved its hands rest- 
 lessly. The lusty wail of a perfectly healthy 
 
THE CKAB 51 
 
 and hungry man-cub brought a nurse hurrying 
 into the room. 
 
 With obvious reluctance, Bill Crowley sur- 
 rendered his possession. He brushed one hand 
 hastily across his eyes. 
 
 " Darn little crab/' he said huskily, " he does 
 look like me just a little bit, don^t he Brick? " 
 
 " Digger " Grimes, base-runner par-excellence, 
 flashed past first and second in an ever-widening 
 circle and headed for third. He was well be- 
 tween the two bags when " Pee-wee " Patterson, 
 crouched in short center, took the throw from 
 his old and esteemed friend Kube Ferguson and 
 with a single motion shot the ball, low and a 
 trifle wide of the waiting figure at third. 
 
 It was the s^enth inning of the last game of 
 the season, ^^irly thousand fans in bleachers 
 and grandstand rose to their feet. The play was 
 close, so close that men forgot to breathe. 
 Twenty feet from the bag, the runner made his 
 leap. Spikes flashed in the sunlight menacingly. 
 " The Digger '' was coming in at an angle oppo- 
 site to the guardian of the bag — charging with 
 his fangs bared! 
 
 At the same instant, a heavy-shouldered figure 
 in the familiar uniform of the champion Wolves, 
 swept up the ball with one bare hand and flung 
 himself headlong in the path of the plunging 
 
52 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 runner. The» two figures thudded together — 
 threshed a moment in a flurry of arms and legs 
 and then were still. 
 
 With his cleats still six inches from the bag, 
 " Digger ^' Grimes found himself pinned to the 
 dirt under 180 pounds of inexorable bone and 
 muscle. 
 
 Out from a cloud of dust, while the bleachers 
 and grandstand rocked in a tempest of glee, came 
 an indignant bellow: 
 
 " He's out — ^I tell you ! — he ain't touched the 
 bag yet — he's out!" 
 
 The Crab catapulted to his feet and advanced 
 on Dan McLaughlin. The Umpire turned mild 
 blue eyes on the Wolf infielder. 
 
 *^ I called him out," he protested, " what do 
 you want — a written notice? " 
 
 The Crab blinked a moment, and stalked back 
 to his position. From under the visor of his cap 
 he shot a swift glance at the crowded benches 
 just back of third. A blur of pink and a smaller 
 blur of blue showed up against the dark back- 
 ground of masculine fandom and told him all he 
 wished to know. 
 
 The Crab's chest expanded, as is only proper 
 when a man has got his two hits. Pounding the 
 palm of his worn glove, he dug his cleats into 
 the dirt and set himself for the next play. 
 
 "Come on," he called, "get the next man! 
 
THE CRAB 53 
 
 Ump — it^s too bad you only got one lung — can^t 
 call a play louder than a whisper, can you? 
 Pipes all rusty, huh? too bad!" 
 
 Over in the Wolf dugout, a red-headed man- 
 ager who had seen his club climb into the lead 
 in the closing days of the gruelling struggle, 
 smiled faintly and stared with unseeing eyes 
 across the diamond. His fingers twisted a tele- 
 gram that had come to him that morning from 
 New York. 
 
 Ten thousand dollars cash and spring delivery 
 is too tempting an offer for any minor league 
 manager to reject. But there would be a wide 
 hole at third base next year, and Brick Mc- 
 Govern was already wondering how he would 
 ever plug it. 
 
LEAVE IT TO ANGEL-FACE 
 
 HIS unclad figure sprawled face downward 
 on the rubbing-table, ^^ Long Tom " Hen- 
 derson, winner of the opening day's 
 pitching duel, lay with closed eyes and every 
 nerve quivering under the strain of an infinite 
 weariness. Above him, moving with the deft- 
 ness of the professional trainer, " Blinker " 
 Burke rubbed and kneaded the protesting mus- 
 cles, sluiced cool alcohol over the heaving shoul- 
 ders and the sun-baked neck, and beat with the 
 edge of his open hands a sharp tattoo on calves 
 and thighs. The air of the little room was foul 
 with the odor of liniment and perspiring flesh. 
 
 "How's it, Tom?'' The trainer's voice was 
 anxiously solicitious. 
 
 The man on the table groaned and rolled over. 
 " A bit more on the legs. Blinker," he grunted — 
 " they're all knotted up. Fifteen innings on 
 the opening day — can you beat it? Three hours 
 and twelve minutes — ^just waiting me out — 
 that's what they were doing — not a man taking 
 the first or the second ball — ^just making me 
 pitch to them, figuring I couldn't stand the 
 pace — " 
 
 64, 
 
 ;Ma*>. 
 
LEAVE IT TO ANGEL-FACE 55 
 
 " But you fooled 'em, Tom — leave it to the old 
 boy/' 
 
 " Eighth time, Blinker — eighth time Long 
 Tom has won the opener for this club — ^hope 
 the boys will hit better behind me next year, 
 though. Fifteen innings — fifteen — " His voice 
 trailed off into a tired and protesting mumble. 
 
 Blinker redoubled his efforts, but every pat 
 of his hand, every touch of the fingers on the 
 once pliant muscles of the man stretched before 
 him told its story. Long Tom Henderson was 
 slipping — the resiliency of youth was already 
 gone. 
 
 It was a familiar story to the trainer grown 
 gray in the service of many clubs. For twenty 
 years Blinker Burke had prepared human 
 bodies for sacrifice on the altar of the great god 
 of baseball. Bushers and veterans, stars and 
 substitutes — he handled them all much as a 
 tailor measures off material, estimating the 
 quality and the probable length of service of 
 each human body over which he toiled. Many a 
 ball-player came to Blinker in the full flush 
 of virile youth, and the trainer rejoiced in the 
 feel of pliant sinews, soft as silk and yet capable 
 as springs of finest steel. Sometimes they passed 
 from under his care more vigorous and well- 
 oiled than ever ; more often they remained, to dry 
 up like a sponge from which the last drop of 
 
56 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 youth has been squeezed. When that time came 
 the trail to the bushes loomed just ahead, and 
 the trail was short. 
 
 Long Tom assumed a sitting posture and 
 draped a towel about his waist. 
 
 " Fifteen innings/' he reiterated dully ; " time 
 was when I could have blanked them in nine. 
 Let me out, Blinker, or they'll be busting in the 
 door." 
 
 He edged into the main dressing-room 
 through a lane of tired men waiting for their 
 turn on the rubbing-table, and picked his way 
 across a floor littered with towels, uniforms and 
 suitcases. When half-dressed, he noted a slim 
 figure moving toward the clubhouse exit and 
 called to him. The youngster approached, grip 
 in hand. 
 
 " Nice work, * Babe,' '' said Long Tom. 
 *^ When Parker got hurt and the Chief sent you 
 in, I figured I was done for, but you certainly 
 caught a swell game, you — " He bent puzzled 
 eyes on the youngster's left hand, the palm of 
 which was pink and puffed a half inch out of 
 proportion. "What's the matter with the 
 mitt? " 
 
 The owner of the swollen hand grinned. 
 **Fast balls — that's what's the matter. I'm tell- 
 ing you, you were burning 'em in ! No padding 
 in my glove, and I didn't dare take a chance 
 
LEAVE IT TO ANGEL-FACE 57 
 
 with any other." He blew cool air upon the 
 burning skin. 
 
 Long Tom whistled sympathetically. " You 
 mean to tell me you had no padding in your 
 glove while you were calling for me to cut loose? 
 Why didn't you ask me to slow up? " 
 
 " Because they couldn't hit your fast ball — 
 that's why," explained the catcher ; " when I'm 
 working with a guy, I want him to give me the 
 best he's got. As soon as I put on a little more 
 weight, it won't jar me so much. Meanwhile, I 
 guess I can stand it." 
 
 " You want to get a beefsteak," advised Long 
 Tom earnestly. 
 
 " Sure," agreed the youngster ; " I eat one 
 every night — that and French fried — " 
 
 " No, no," corrected Long Tom, " a raw 
 steak to put in your glove. It will heal your 
 hand and at the same time take up all the shock. 
 There was a guy that used to catch me in Brook- 
 lyn who first pulled that stunt. I'll tip you off 
 to a way he had, too, of blocking a guy off the 
 plate, that was a bear. Say, are you married? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Located yet? " 
 
 u No." 
 
 "Well," said Long Tom, ^ol course you 
 can suit yourself, but most of the boys double 
 up and take rooms in the officials' hotels around 
 
S8 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 the circuit, where we get cut rates. I used to 
 have " Red '' Smith as my room-mate before he 
 went to St. Louis. Now, if you don't mind snor- 
 ing, why—'' 
 
 " Great stuff," enthused Babe. " I'm sure 
 much obliged. You don't need to worry about 
 snoring. I bat .400 myself in that league. 
 Where do we eat? " 
 
 And in such simple manner was fashioned 
 the bond of friendship between Long Tom 
 Henderson, veteran twirler of the Coast League 
 Tigers, and Babe Randall, the smartest young 
 catcher who ever donned a mask in the minors. 
 It was a friendship born of mutual respect and 
 admiration, and a common love of the great out- 
 'doors. There was no trick of the diamond that 
 Long Tom Henderson ,had not mastered. He 
 taught them all to his battery-mate, and Babe 
 mastered them quickly. In return, the young 
 catcher developed an extraordinary facility for 
 getting out from behind the plate after a bunted 
 baU. 
 
 Fielding his position was Long Tom's weak 
 point^ — particularly a bunted ball that was in 
 too close for the third baseman and out too 
 far for the ordinary catcher; a teasing, baffling, 
 slowly rolling ball that called for supple legs 
 and a sound back working in unison to beat the 
 flying runner headed for first. 
 
LEAVE IT TO ANGEL-FACE 59 
 
 The Oaks tried to bunt Henderson off the field 
 and into retirement, but Randall broke up play 
 after play by flashing out into the pitcher's ter- 
 ritory. Fitzsimmons of the Beavers risked his 
 reputation on a bunt along the first base line, 
 and Long Tom's battery-mate threw the runner 
 out by two full steps. 
 
 After that, when Randall was working behind 
 the plate, opposing teams did not take advan- 
 tage of Henderson's weakness on bunted balls. 
 Long Tom was duly appreciative and said so. 
 
 " Shucks," commented the catcher, " if I ever 
 get into the big money, it will be because of your 
 help. You and me are fifty-fifty. One of these 
 days we'll grab ourselves a section down in the 
 Imperial Valley and go to farming." 
 
 " Now you're talking," said Long Tom. 
 " Hogs and alfalfa with a dairy on the side and 
 some one to — " 
 
 " We can do all the work ourselves, Tom ; we 
 don't need no help unless maybe it's a China- 
 man to do the cooking." 
 
 Long Tom flushed slightly under the tan. 
 " I hate Chink cooking," he confessed. " I was 
 merely thinking that maybe — I was just think- 
 ing of something else," he concluded lamely. 
 ** I'm thirty-five, you know." 
 
 Babe Randall did not see the relevancy of 
 his friend's remark. He was engaged at that 
 
60 HEAKTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 moment in his daily task of oiling the short, 
 chunky bludgeon with which he had batted his 
 way into the charmed circle of .300 hitters. 
 
 But Long Tom Henderson stared dreamily 
 into space, and the vision that came to him had 
 nothing to do with hogs or alfalfa, or even base- 
 ball. 
 
 " Pop " Dugan's chop house was on Main 
 Street just above Sixth, where electric trains 
 spread out for mountains and seashore like the 
 five fingers of your hand. There were many pic- 
 tures on the walls, framed photographs, all of 
 ball players, for Pop had at various times in 
 his eventful career been a pitcher, an outfielder, 
 and one of the Coast League's few respected 
 umpires. 
 
 To have your picture anywhere on the south 
 wall, between those of " Roaring Bill " Slattery 
 and " Mysterious '' Miller, was to be listed among 
 the immortals, but to be posted up by the en- 
 trance opposite the cash register and the tooth- 
 pick holder — ah, that was to bask in the smile 
 of Dugan's daughter and to be the envy of all 
 good men and true who wield the ash and hurl 
 the horsehide, and at evenings gather at " Pop's " 
 for arguments and rib steaks medium. 
 
 The day after the Tigers took a double 
 header from the Oaks, thereby moving into first 
 
LEAVE IT TO ANGEL-FACE 61 
 
 place, the photo of Babe Randall was moved 
 from the south wall to a point nearer the door 
 and not two inches distant from a picture which 
 bore in a large irregular hand the inscription 
 " Yours truly, Tom Henderson." 
 
 Among those who noticed the change were 
 Pop Dugan and ninety per cent of his regu- 
 lar patrons. No one was surprised. Were not 
 Long Tom and Babe battery-mates — room-mates 
 — twin stars in the Tiger constellation? What 
 more ijatural than that Norah Dugan should 
 afford them equal honor in the gallery of the 
 elect? 
 
 " But Angel-Face,'^ cautioned " Pop," " Norah 
 darlin' — don't get your signals crossed — they're 
 both fine lads and steady customers. You can't 
 have two runners on the one bag, mind." 
 
 "Can't I?" retorted Norah, "well, you just 
 leave it to Angel-Face ! " And to Norah with her 
 violet eyes, flaxen hair and seraphic smile — was 
 left the decision. 
 
 The same night, when the battery-mates 
 dropped in for their regular onslaught against 
 the city's supply of rib steaks she got her first 
 test as an umpire. 
 
 " There is a swell show on at the Grand," said 
 Long Tom, " I was thinking, Angel-Face, that 
 since Babe here is going to turn in early to-night, 
 you and I might — " 
 
62 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 " Off your foot—" interjected Randall, " off 
 your foot, you big hay-baler; Angel-Face and I 
 are going to the dance at Venice — she prom- 
 ised." 
 
 "I did not," said Angel-Face; "you boys are 
 coming out to my house. Pop has got me a 
 ouija board and you are going to help me run 
 it." 
 
 Of course they did as she commanded, and the 
 mysteries of the " master-mind " impressed them 
 deeply. They learned among other things that 
 the Tigers would certainly win the pennant and 
 that Babe Randall would finish the season in 
 the .300 class of hitters. To the question of 
 whether Long Tom would win the next opener 
 the ouija entered a negative. . Angel-Face in- 
 sisted that there must be some mistake, and they 
 tried it again with the same result. 
 
 A little later, when they demanded to know 
 over the girl's laughing protest, the identity of 
 the future " Mr. Angel-Face " the board spelled 
 out " S-A-F-E." 
 
 " Good-night," sighed Randall, " she's going to 
 marry ^ Bull ' Feeney. He's been umpiring for 
 twenty years and all he ever says is ^ Safe ! ' I 
 nailed a guy by twenty feet the other day and — " 
 
 " I'm not going to marry any one," declared 
 Angel-Face, " I'm going to play it safe, like the 
 board says. Now run along home, both of you 
 
LEAVE IT TO ANGEL-FACE 63 
 
 — and if you don't beat the Saints to-morrow, 
 I'll take both your pictures off the wall." 
 
 But as the season progressed the role of benev- 
 olent neutrality presented many perplexities, and 
 a fine vertical line made its appearance between 
 Norah Dugan's eye-brows. Long Tom called 
 for her on his day off and they went into the 
 country and talked about farm life in the Im- 
 perial Valley. Babe Randall appropriated her 
 on afternoons when J. Pluvius interfered with 
 the schedule. 
 
 "What did I tell you?" Pop Dugan 
 mourned, when she confided her worry. " You 
 must choose between them quickly or they will 
 be at each other's throats, and the club will wind 
 up in the cellar." 
 
 " But I love them both—" 
 
 " Oh, aye," said her father, " but the play calls 
 for a decision one way or the other. A man is 
 safe or he is out. Now here you have a tie base 
 and two runners, and they are both on the home 
 club. You must call it the way you see it, dar- 
 lin'." 
 
 " But I don't see — " she complained. 
 
 " Then," advised the former umpire, " by the 
 power of Dinty Carroll's right arm I would give 
 the decision to the side that it helped the most! " 
 
 Late in August, after the Tigers had returned 
 
64 HEAKTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 from a road trip that put the club ten points in 
 the lead, Henderson sought out Norah Dugan 
 to tell her that he had found his farm in the rich 
 El Centro section and had made the first pay- 
 ment. His usually solemn face was radiant. 
 
 " Oh, Angel-Face, it's class double A ; it's the 
 goods I'm tellin' the world — forty acres with the 
 water rights — a little bungalow under the cot- 
 tonwoods and — " He broke off abruptly, his 
 eyes on the paper she had been reading. It 
 was open at the sporting page. There was a 
 picture of Babe Kandall crouched behind a 
 plate, his hands extended, waiting for the ball. 
 A seven-column line read : " Major league scouts 
 are bidding for Coast League idol." A smaller 
 head, underneath, ran : " Fame and fortune 
 await young star." 
 
 Angel-Face folded the paper quickly and 
 looked up as a child does who is caught in some 
 act of mischief. Her soft eyes were trouble- 
 east. 
 
 " I'm so glad you've found what you've always 
 wanted, Tom," she told him ; " do tell me all 
 about it." 
 
 But his enthusiasm was gone and he found dif- 
 ficulty in describing the place that a moment be- 
 fore had fired his imagination. Finally he 
 changed the subject. 
 
 " I will write to-night to McGraw.. If any one 
 
LEAVE IT TO ANGEL-FACE 65 
 
 gets Babe it should be the Giants. New York 
 is a wonderful city, Angel-Face, and the Kid is a 
 real major leaguer — the sweetest young catcher 
 in the business.'' 
 
 " But I thought you wanted him to take up 
 ranching with you?" Angel-Face put the ques- 
 tion with averted eyes. 
 
 " I did,'' confessed Long Tom, " but I was 
 only thinking about myself. Babe is a major 
 leaguer — and — ^you are, too ! " 
 
 "What about yourself, Tom?" she protested 
 softly. 
 
 "Girlie, I've had my fling at the big time — 
 now I'm headed for the bushes — and it's natural 
 for a man to think of home, and a wife and kid- 
 dies — but that shouldn't blind him to the fact 
 that others can still play ball." 
 
 Norah Dugan smiled through her tears. 
 
 " Tom," she exclaimed, " you talk like you were 
 an old man, and you're the leading pitcher of the 
 Pacific Coast. Why — it's you who may go to the 
 majors instead of Babe. 
 
 He shook his head. " No, Angel-Face — the 
 ouija was right. If I ever go to the majors it 
 will be to see Babe Randall working behind the 
 bat in a world's series. I'd crawl there on my 
 hands and knees to see that." 
 
 Angel-Face beat her hands softly together in 
 distress. " You mustn't lose heart, Tom — ^you're 
 
66 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 too big and fine a man — wait until October when 
 everybody's looking to you to cinch the flag for 
 the Tigers — then the scouts will be seeking you, 
 too/' 
 
 He smiled down at her ruefully. " I love to 
 hear you talk like that, Angel-Face, but I'm slip- 
 ping and the Chief knows it just as well as I do. 
 To-morrow morning the papers will have the 
 whole story." 
 
 " What story? " she demanded in quick alarm. 
 
 " Lawlor has traded me to the Wolves for a 
 shortstop. I'm going North to-morrow." 
 
 "No!" 
 
 " Yes," he assured her gravely, " the Chief is 
 right. He needs a shortstop worse than his right 
 eye since Johnson got hurt, and you know I lost 
 my last two starts. Oh, I'm not out of the league 
 — I'll be back here once in a while, but it will be 
 with a third-place club. Are you sorry, girlie? " 
 
 " I think it's p-perfectly dread-ful," quavered 
 Angel-Face, " and I don't know whether I'd like 
 New York nearly as well as — as — " 
 
 "As what?" he asked, puzzled; "you surely 
 wouldn't want to see Babe go to St. Louis or 
 any of the Western clubs — they don't pay noth- 
 ing like the Giants." 
 
 " I wasn't thinking of that," she protested. 
 "Oh, Tom, you're such a dear stupid, some- 
 times." 
 
LEAVE IT TO ANGEL-FAOE 67 
 
 *^ I know/' he admitted ; " you see the pitchers 
 don't have to take skull practise like the infield. 
 I didn't get you at all." 
 
 " Don't you want to? " she asked archly. 
 
 Long Tom crimsoned. " I'm leaving that 
 to you, Angel-Face," he said ; " as between the 
 majors where you and Babe belong, and the 
 bushes where I am headed — it wouldn't be fair 
 for me to urge you one way or the other. On the 
 face of it, girlie, the situation calls for me to ad- 
 vance two runners on a sacrifice play. That's 
 good baseball." 
 
 " I think I prefer a home run." 
 
 " Well," he said, " it's up to you, Angel-Face. 
 I want you to be happy." 
 
 1. 
 
 The following Tuesday, Coast League fans 
 made two important discoveries with the aid of 
 the astute gentry in the press box. One was 
 that " Brick " McGovern, manager of the Wolves, 
 had started a belated rush for the pennant that 
 promised to cut down the Tigers' lead to an ex- 
 tent none had thought possible. Long Tom 
 Henderson, in a Wolf uniform, sat with McGov- 
 ern on the bench, enjoying a thorough rest be- 
 fore starting under his new colors. 
 
 " When I send you in there, Tom," McGovern 
 confided, "you're going to be right, and you're 
 going to win. Nobody ever got the best of me on 
 
es HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 a trade. We'll beat the Tigers out of the pen- 
 nant, if it's the last act of my life." 
 
 The big pitcher said nothing. It was a con- 
 tingency that he had never anticipated — the pos- 
 sibility that he might become a party to tumbling 
 Babe Randall's club out of the lead. The 
 idea appalled him, for the pennant bonus to the 
 winning club meant $500 per player, enough for 
 Babe and Angel-Face to make a start with. 
 
 " Spike " Pollard, dean of the sporting scribes, 
 made the second discovery. 
 
 "Boys," said he, "Randall has hit safely in 
 seventeen straight games. There are thirty more 
 games in the schedule. If he hits safely every 
 day, that will be forty-seven consecutive games 
 or one more than the world's record. Will that 
 make him a drawing card? Well, I guess yes! " 
 
 " He won't hit to-morrow," observed Darrow, 
 of the Star^ gloomily. " The Bears are going to 
 work Jennings, and the Kid never could connect 
 with a left-hander." 
 
 But the following day Randall did hit safely, 
 and the next day, likewise. 
 
 A week later, the Associated Press began send- 
 ing out three-line squibs that appeared at the 
 bottom of sporting pages all over the country. 
 The baseball world, which loves nothing better 
 than to watch a new record in the making, sat up 
 and took notice. Thirty-one games straight, thir- 
 
LEAVE IT TO ANGEL-FACE 69 
 
 ty-two — thirty -three. And then the Pacific Coast 
 League was treated to a second sensation. The 
 Wolves clawed their way through a double- 
 header and into second place, took four straight 
 from the Beavers, and invaded the South for the 
 last week of the season only seven points behind 
 the Tigers, who were their opponents in the cru- 
 cial series. 
 
 Major league " ivory hunters " swarmed 
 around the ball park in the afternoon, and at 
 night gathered in the lobby of the hotel where 
 the Wolves were domiciled. Kumors of trades, 
 sales and options followed one another with such 
 rapidity that veteran newspapermen grew dizzy. 
 Randall was the inspiration for most of the ru- 
 mors. One paper said he had been bought by the 
 Braves for |15,000 cash. Another announced 
 that the Giants had agreed to give the Tigers 
 two pitchers and a whole outfield. 
 
 Andy Lawlor, grizzled pilot of the leaders, 
 looked wise and made no move to contradict the 
 rumors. He was shrewd enough to know that 
 every day while the club held its slender grip on 
 the top of the ladder and Babe continued to 
 hit safely at least once, the youngster's value as 
 a drawing card was piling up. 
 
 Meanwhile the city got out its brass bands, its 
 rooting clubs, its civic enthusiasm and prepared 
 to put fresh heart in the tiring Tigers. The 
 
70 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 South had not enjoyed a pennant in many years 
 and its pride was aroused. But the feverish flush 
 that spread over the city awakened no corre- 
 sponding thrill in Long Tom Henderson. A 
 year ago, his muscles would have quickened and 
 his nostrils dilated as those of an old war-horse 
 to whom the whiff of powder comes from across 
 the field of battle. 
 
 Now for the first time he felt depressed and 
 anxious, and his concern was not for the safety 
 of his own club, but for that of the Tigers who 
 had cast him off — the Tigers who were his oppo- 
 nents — in short, Babe KandalFs team. 
 
 He wanted the Tigers to win because of old as- 
 sociations, because of Pop Dugan, because of 
 Babe Eandall, and because of Angel-Face, 
 whose happiness he felt was linked with his 
 chum's success on the diamond. But on the other 
 hand. Long Tom loved baseball with all the 
 artless sincerity of his quiet temperament. Loy- 
 alty to his friends and his team was as funda- 
 mental with him as cleanliness of speech, and no 
 one had ever heard Long Tom swear. Brick 
 McGovern was now his employer and his friend, 
 and as boss of the wolves. Brick was out to 
 drag down the Tigers in the very last stride 
 of the race. The big pitcher sighed and kept 
 away from Angel-Face and his former battery- 
 mate. 
 
LEAVE IT TO ANGEL-FACE 71 
 
 Pop Dugan chanced upon him outside the 
 park on the third afternoon of the week, just 
 after the Wolves had hammered the offerings of 
 three Tiger twirlers all over the lot and were only- 
 two victories behind the leaders. 
 
 " Easy there, you ^big man," Pop upbraided, 
 " for why do you run away — have I called a bad 
 play on you? '' 
 
 " It isn't that, Pop,'' Long Tom returned. 
 " I haven't got the heart to face you all — ^like 
 this. I'd never have stood for the trade, if I had 
 thought I'd be one day helping to beat the old 
 town out of the flag. How does Angel-Face feel 
 about it? " 
 
 " I don't know," Pop Dugan said slowly ; 
 "I don't know. She's at every game, but she 
 isn't saying much, which is unusual in women. 
 When do you work? " 
 
 " Sunday," said Henderson ; " it's the last 
 day. Roth will go back at them to-morrow 
 and Sweeney on Saturday. That leaves it up 
 to me. I'm dreading to have to face the 
 Kid." 
 
 " Oh, aye," nodded Dugan; " he hit safe again 
 to-day. 'Tis his forty-fourth game. What a 
 hand the bleachers gave him. Let's see, if you 
 work in the last game and the Kid catches for 
 us, which of course he will do, that means not 
 alone the flag but the forty-seventh hitting game 
 
72 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 for Babe, and a world's mark. Do you make 
 it that way? " 
 
 " I do," the pitcher agreed, " and," he added 
 slowly, "that is what worries me." 
 
 " Why should you be afraid, you big man? " 
 
 " Because," Henderson explained patiently, 
 " Babe will not get a hit off me. I know his 
 weakness." 
 
 The prayers of the Sons of Swat were an- 
 swered. The Wolves, hitting like fiends, took two 
 more games and on Saturday evening were neck 
 and neck with the bewildered leaders. 
 
 Sunday morning stole over the city at the heels 
 of a heat wave — scorching and oppressive. 
 
 " Made to order for the old soup-bone," Long 
 Tom assured himself. " This is Henderson 
 weather and Brick knows it. The only way I 
 can get out of working is to break a leg in the 
 first inning." 
 
 As he left his hotel for a morning stroll a news- 
 boy with a bundle of early sporting extras, 
 shrilled at him : " Official line-ups for the after- 
 noon's game. Get your score card on page four." 
 
 He bought a paper, and almost the first thing 
 that caught his eye was a headline : " Babe 
 Randall out with a split finger. Loses chance to 
 break world's record." 
 
 The pitcher remained rooted to the spot while 
 he read the few lines in boldface type. His first 
 
LEAVE IT TO ANGEL-FACE 73 
 
 sensation was one of keen sympathy for the young 
 catcher — swift realization of what it meant to 
 Eandall to have a world mark almost within his 
 grasp and to lose it through no fault of his own. 
 The next instant a wave of relief swept over him 
 — fate had decreed that the responsibility for 
 shattering the youngster's record should not rest 
 with Long Tom. 
 
 " Now," muttered the pitcher, " if it would 
 cloud up and rain, the whole problem would be 
 solved." He scowled at the flawless sky with 
 puckered eyes. " No chance — no chance a-tall. 
 Brick always was a fool for luck. If * Lefty ' 
 Wilson is in form it will be a pitcher's battle, and 
 I'm feeling pretty dog-gone good." 
 
 By one o'clock the red cars that passed Pop 
 Dugan's place bearing the legend " Direct to the 
 Ball Grounds," were running four minutes 
 apart, and loaded to the guard-rails. An auto- 
 mobile parade of rooters headed by the brass 
 band and Mayor Rufus T. Penfield wound 
 through the down-town district. 
 
 As Pop remarked : " The town was as crazy 
 as ' Wild Bill ' Cassidy before he got religion." 
 
 " Now, mind," Tim Riordan warned, as he 
 buckled on his umpire's armor and attacked the 
 homeplate with a whiskbroom, " Feeney calls 
 all plays in the field except at the rubber — that's 
 something I look out for. And another thing — 
 
74 HEAKTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 nobody makes a goat out of me to-day before a 
 mob like this. Do you get that? " 
 
 " I do," was the grim reply of " Red " Car- 
 miehael, catcher for the Tigers, " and listen to 
 me, Tim, if we lose again to-day because you 
 don't call 'em when they're over, you'd better tell 
 me what's your favorite flower, for you'll never 
 get out of this park alive." 
 
 " Is that so? " hissed the man in blue. " My 
 eyes are better than yours, and there will be no 
 funeral unless I have to swing on you with my 
 mask. Listen to my pipes, will you — " He 
 lifted his face to the packed grandstand. ^^ La- 
 dies and Gentlemen," he bellowed, " the batt'ries 
 for to-day's game — for the Wolves — Henderson 
 and Darrow; for the Tigers — Wilson and Car- 
 michael. Batter up ! " 
 
 The band crashed into a rollicking air; the 
 fielders moved into their places ; Rube Ferguson, 
 lead-off man for the Wolves, took his stand in 
 the batter's box; and "Lefty" Wilson glancing 
 over his shoulder to make sure that everything 
 was set, took the full wind-up and a streak of 
 white flashed past the batter's breast. 
 
 " Strike." 
 
 The game was on ! 
 
 The luck of the ballfield can never be foretold. 
 Sometimes it rests with the pitchers and every 
 ball that is hit is driven into the hip pocket of 
 
LEAVE IT TO ANGEL-FACE 75 
 
 some fielder who couldn^t get out of the way if 
 he tried. At other times, the best twirlers in 
 the world will go down under an avalanche of 
 hits that are more accident than design; balls 
 that hop badly when they near the infielders, or 
 Texas leaguers that dent the turf in the exact 
 spot no outfielder can reach. 
 
 Fortune favored Long Tom Henderson and 
 Lefty Wilson. Inning after inning rolled by 
 scoreless, with both clubs putting up a superb 
 defense and the two pitchers working slowly and 
 carefully. The Tiger slabster was using speed, 
 speed and still more speed. Long Tom nursed 
 his strength carefully, profited by his knowledge 
 of the kind of balls his former team-mates did 
 not like, and mixed up an occasional spitter with 
 tantalizing curves and a change in pace. He was 
 matching his experience against Lefty Wilson's 
 youthful strength and ability. 
 
 Not until the seventh inning did the break 
 come. Two errors behind Henderson put Tiger 
 runners on first and third, and the first run of 
 the game was registered on a sacrifice fly to the 
 outfield. Long Tom retired the next two men 
 on strikes. 
 
 " Never mind,'' consoled Brick McGovem, 
 " we'll get it back ; " and the Wolves did get the 
 run back with two slashing drives along the right 
 field foul line in quick succession. 
 
76 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 Instantly the stubby figure of Andy Lawlor 
 rose from the Tigers' dugout. He waved a hand 
 peremptorily, and Lefty Wilson folded up his 
 glove, stuffed it in his hip-pocket and trotted 
 from the field. Carlisle, lanky right-hander and 
 master of a baflBiing " hop " walked out to replace 
 him. It was the first move of either manager to 
 replace any one, and it showed that the Tiger 
 leader was taking no chances. 
 
 The switch from a left hand delivery to a 
 pitcher with the opposite swing checked the Wolf 
 attack, and the two clubs went into the ninth in- 
 ning with the score tied and excitement 
 growing. 
 
 Despite Brick McGovern's wild exhorta- 
 tions, the Wolves could only get a man as far as 
 second in their half of the ninth, and when they 
 took the field the crowd was on its feet yelling 
 for the Tigers to come to life. 
 
 " Can you hold them, Tom? '' 
 
 McGovern's deep-lined face was anxious as lie 
 walked out on the diamond with the pitcher, pat- 
 ting him on the shoulder. 
 
 " I'm doing my best. Brick," responded Long 
 Tom, and added under his breath, " I wish I 
 wasn't." 
 
 The mysterious quality known as "the breaks," 
 by wliich the wheel of baseball fortune stops and 
 moves, again entered into the situation and this 
 
LEAVE IT TO ANGEL-FACE 77 
 
 time it operated in favor of the men who wore 
 the black and yellow stripes of the Bengal tribe. 
 
 Patterson, a left-hand hitter, was saved from a 
 strike-out by the catcher's failure to hold a foul 
 tip that marked a third strike. The next instant 
 Patterson slashed viciously at a " grooved " ball 
 and sent it screaming over first base. 
 
 The ball curved sharply in the wind, struck 
 fair by inches only, and bounded off against the 
 bleachers, recoiling sharply and away from the 
 pursuing fielder. Before it had been returned 
 to the infield, Patterson slid safely into third. 
 The bleachers let loose a tornado of noise. The 
 grandstand rocked. 
 
 Henderson tightened his belt, methodically ad- 
 justed his cap and studied the next batter. It 
 was " Swede " Jensen, short-stop. Long Tom 
 fed him two fast balls that cut the inside corner 
 and drove him back from the plate and then put 
 three high and on the outside. Jensen fanned. 
 
 The Wolf pitcher looked expectantly at the 
 enemy's bench. As he anticipated, Cy Master- 
 son, the best pinch-hitter in the Coast League, 
 was being sent up in place of Carlisle. 
 
 Masterson swung at the first ball pitched. It 
 came to him waist high and flashed back — a line 
 drive over Long Tom's head. The big pitcher 
 felt on the instant that the game was lost and 
 he wondered at the absence of any bitterness — 
 
78 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 but the incipient roar of triumph from the crowd 
 was cut short as Barry, the Wolf shortstop, leap- 
 ing high in the air stabbed the ball with his 
 gloved hand. Patterson had barely time to 
 scramble back to third to avoid the double play. 
 
 " 'Atta boy, Jim," said Long Tom ; " great 
 work, we'll get them yet.'' 
 
 Again he took up his position mechanically. 
 Two out, the ninth inning, Patterson on third, 
 and the pennant hanging on the next play. 
 
 There was a sudden commotion on the Tiger 
 bench. Lathrop was holding a consultation with 
 his men. Kilgore, whose turn it was to bat, stood 
 uncertainly looking at the cluster of men near 
 the bench. Suddenly a decision was reached, the 
 conference melted and a slender figure swinging 
 a short and chunky black bat came running for- 
 ward. The crowd recognized the player and 
 shrieked approval. 
 
 " Randall," bawled the umpire, " Randall bat- 
 ting for Kilgore." 
 
 I The thing which Long Tom Henderson had 
 dreaded most had come to pass. With everything 
 depending upon the result, Andy Lawlor had 
 pinned his faith on his young catcher — given him 
 the chance to hit safely in the forty-seventh 
 straight game — sent him up, sore finger and all, 
 to get the hit that meant both a pennant and the 
 world's record. 
 
LEAVE IT TO ANGEL-FACE 79 
 
 Henderson's eyes searched the grandstand for 
 a familiar figure he had located early in the after- 
 noon. He caught it again, a bright blue dress 
 and a bobbing summer hat — ^Angel-Face was 
 watching — probably praying for Babe to win 
 the fame and glory all his friends had predicted 
 for him. 
 
 Long Tom stalled deliberately, digging with 
 the cleats of one shoe at an imaginary rock 
 in the soft dirt of the pitcher's box. A scant 
 sixty feet from him, Babe Randall, as loyal 
 a friend as he had ever known, waited with his 
 feet braced, his lithe body coiled like a spring, 
 and the bat jerking nervously over and across 
 the plate. The pitcher stole a glance at the 
 youngster from under his visor, and fancied that 
 the boy's face looked pale and strained. He 
 wondered whether Babe had volunteered to 
 bat or had been ordered up, and if the latter case 
 whether the youngster felt as he himself did. 
 
 From his position back of the catcher. Umpire 
 Tim Eiordan waved a watch at Long Tom 
 Henderson. 
 
 " Two minutes," he yelled, " go on and pitch 
 — what do you think this is? " 
 
 The man in the center of the diamond did not 
 answer. He was busy revolving an idea that had 
 suddenly occurred to him. If he knew Babe 
 Randall's weakness he also knew his strength. 
 
80 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 A fast ball across the shoulders and a little close 
 to the body — no one need ever suspect — and the 
 Kid would get his record, his bonus — and Angel- 
 Face would be happy. What girl could resist a 
 hero such as " Babe '' would be with a pennant- 
 winning hit ! 
 
 Henderson turned his back on the plate and 
 looked over the outfield. His team-mates were 
 all in position, crouched low with their eyes ap- 
 pealing to him. From every side, encouraging 
 cries came to him. " Pitch to him, Tom, pitch to 
 him, old boy,'' they called ; " we're back of you — • 
 don't mind the crowd. Heads up, fellows." 
 
 Over on the bench. Long Tom knew that 
 Brick McGovern was watching — ^warm-hearted, 
 generous, game old Brick McGovern who be- 
 lieved in him. And at that instant the Wolf 
 twirler knew that he was going to pitch better 
 than he had ever done in his life. All the 
 training which the diamond had given him in 
 the years of his service; all his love of clean sport 
 and his natural instinct to win came to his 
 rescue. 
 
 Suddenly Henderson's long arm flashed back 
 and forward. It was a surprise delivery and it 
 caught the batter napping. The ball crossed the 
 plate at Randall's knees. 
 
 " Strike," yelled Riordan. 
 
 The next two were spitters that broke on the 
 
LEAVE IT TO ANGEL-FACE 81 
 
 outside. Kandall fouled off the fourth offer- 
 ing. 
 
 " Strike two. Two and two." 
 
 The tumult dwindled to an expectant hush.^ 
 
 Randall passed the palm of his left hand across 
 the bosom of his shirt. It was apparently noth- 
 ing- more than a nervous movement, but the quick 
 eye of the veteran pitcher detected a significance 
 in the action. He saw Patterson crouched, not 
 flat-footed, but on toes that were pointed toward 
 the plate. In a flash he understood the play. 
 Babe was going to risk a bunt and try to beat 
 the throw to first — the move would be unexpected 
 and Patterson would score with the winning run. 
 Randall even with an injured finger could man- 
 age a swinging bunt to the pitcher, and that was 
 Long Tom's weakness — fielding a bunted ball. 
 
 For a brief moment, Long Tom appeared 
 to hesitate, but it was only the better to steady 
 himself. The youngster facing him, he knew, 
 wanted above all else a straight ball, waist high, 
 not too fast and on the inside corner where he 
 could deflect it slowly along the ground in the 
 direction of third. That was precisely the ball 
 Long Tom resolved to throw. 
 
 Henderson's loose-jointed form assumed its 
 familiar position in the box. Three times he 
 shook his head at the catcher's signal. Finally 
 he nodded, swung back in a quick motion and 
 
82 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 sent the ball low and sure toward the batter's 
 waist. Babe saw it coming, his bat dropped 
 into position, clicked lightly and he was off like 
 the wind. It was a perfect bunt but the crowd, 
 electrified into triumph, babbled incoherently as 
 they noted what happened. 
 
 Quick as Randall had been, some one on that 
 ball field had moved faster, and that some one 
 was Long Tom Henderson. His long legs had 
 taken him into position and he was there waiting 
 for the sphere when it rolled toward him. He 
 got his fingers on the ball, straightened up, and 
 with the roar of twenty thousand voices in his 
 ears saw the racing figure of Babe Randall a 
 scant twenty feet from first base. The youngster 
 had flashed toward the bag with amazing speed. 
 
 " You're out. Babe," the pitcher muttered 
 hoarsely, and put all he had in the throw. He 
 felt something tear in his shoulder, and stood 
 there with his legs apart, panting — waiting for 
 the verdict. The ball thudded into the out- 
 stretched glove of Daley at first, a fifth — a tenth 
 — of a second ahead of Babe Randall's flying 
 figure, but ahead — of that "Long Tom" was 
 sure. Then swift intuition came that it was too 
 close — would Bull Feeney have the nerve to 
 call it? 
 
 Henderson caught the look, swift as the flash 
 of a bird's wing, that passed over the umpire's 
 
LEAVE IT TO ANGEL-FACE 83 
 
 face — a look of panic — and knew that he was 
 lost. Bull's right hand made an involuntary 
 movement toward his shoulder, reversed itself 
 and he spread both hands out before him, palms 
 down. 
 
 "Safe! ''he cried. 
 
 A mist appeared before Long Tom's eyes. 
 The shouting of thousands of delirious men and 
 women came to him as the booming distant surf. 
 Dully he thought of Babe Eandall's words on 
 the night they had consulted the ouija board. 
 " She's going to marry Bull Feeney — he's been 
 umpiring twenty years and all he knows is 
 ' safe.' " 
 
 He was aware finally that he was walking to- 
 ward the clubhouse through a tide of fans who 
 had surged over the field, and that Brick Mc- 
 Govern was at his side. The game was over — 
 Babe Randall had his forty-seventh hit — the 
 Tigers had the pennant — Angel-Face would be — 
 
 " Heads up, big fellow," said McGovern, " you 
 pitched a fine game. It wasn't your fault." 
 
 " I had him nailed. Brick. He was out." 
 
 " I know it, Tom — Feeney didn't have the 
 nerve. Next year we'll win so far that all the 
 umps in the country can't hold us." 
 
 " I'm through. Brick." 
 
 " Can that stuff," remonstrated McGovern. 
 " You're still the best pitcher in the league." 
 
84 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 Long Tom shook his head. " I'm through," 
 he repeated dully. " I threw my arm out on the 
 last play." 
 
 He undressed and spent ten minutes on the 
 rubbing-table. When he was half way into his 
 street clothes, the door to the clubhouse opened 
 and Babe Randall beckoned to him. He fin- 
 ished and went out. 
 
 " Tom," said the new holder of the world's 
 record for consecutive hitting games, " Bull is 
 as blind as a bat. I was out." 
 
 " No, you weren't," contradicted the pitcher, 
 "you were ^afe. Babe, I wanted to see you 
 make that hit — and I'm sorry I come so close to 
 nailing you." 
 
 " Huh," commented the catcher, " do you know 
 that I went up there intending to strike out? 
 Well, I did — and something says to me, * play it 
 straight. Babe, old Tom would rather have it 
 that way. So I did!" 
 
 " And you were safe, Babe." 
 
 " I was not — I leave it to Angel-Face.'' 
 
 " Angel-Face? " 
 
 " Sure^-she's waiting with Pop — down at the 
 ticket office. I told her I'd get you." 
 
 The pitcher flushed uneasily. "Why me?" 
 
 "Why not?" asked Babe; "she's been ask- 
 ing for you for two weeks, every night. You're 
 not mad at her? " 
 
LEAVE IT TO ANGEL-FACE 85 
 
 " Mad? '^ ejaculated Long Tom, " mad? Good 
 Lord!'' 
 
 They found Norah and Pop Dugan in the 
 little room in the rear of the secretary's offtce. 
 As sooji as they straggled through the door, An- 
 gel-Face brushed past her father and went 
 straight up to Long Tom Henderson, put- 
 ting a small white hand on each of his coat 
 lapels. 
 
 " Tom, he is out ; it is you they ought to be 
 cheering." 
 
 "You see?" said Babe Randall. "That's 
 just where I stand — not ' was out ' but * is out.' " 
 He grinned mischievously. 
 
 " But, girlie," protested Long Tom, " even 
 if Bull was a little careless, you mustn't adver- 
 tise the fact. The decision stands and ' Babe ' is 
 a world beater. The Giants have bought him — 
 you can go to New York — think what that 
 means." 
 
 Norah Dugari stamped her foot. " I don't 
 want to go to New York, or Boston, or anywhere 
 else," she cried, " I want a farm — ^with a little 
 bungalow — among the cottonwoods — and forty 
 acres of — of — rich soil and — ^if some one don't 
 say something real quick — I'm going to c-cry, 
 right here." 
 
 Babe Randall prodded his former team-mate 
 with the toe of his shoe. 
 
86 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 " You," lie hissed. " You — the squeeze play — 
 don't you get the signals? ^' 
 
 Long Tom Henderson contrived somehow to 
 take Angel-Face in his arms and kiss her. He 
 was still dazed with the wonder of it all. 
 
 "And you're not going to the majors?" he 
 stammered. 
 
 " Why, certainly, dear," protested Angel-Face; 
 "we're both going when Babe catches for the 
 next world's series. We'll go on our hands and 
 knees, if necessary." 
 
 " Oh, Norah girlie — and I wanted you so — I 
 need you." Long Tom Henderson was return- 
 ing to consciousness. 
 
 Angel-Face smiled wisely. " That's what 
 helped me decide, Tom. The majors need Babe 
 — and you need me — so I called the play the best 
 I could." 
 
 " And that, mark you," said Pop Dugan, " is 
 the best decision of the afternoon." 
 
RAINBOW 
 
 WHEN the Great Umpire orders a sus- 
 pension of play on account of dark- 
 ness, and Gabriel blows his horn, there 
 will appear far down in the Of&cial Box-score, 
 the name of H. Rinkholm, and the record will 
 read something like this : 
 
 AB R H PO A E 
 » Rinkholm 1 1 3 
 
 And then explaining the asterisk, another line 
 in agate: 
 
 * Batted for Carroll in the nintli. 
 
 Whereupon one of those wise fans who are 
 always hanging around the press-box after the 
 game, looking for arguments, will turn upon the 
 Of&cial Scorer and hand out the old razz : 
 
 " What's the idea, givin' that bonehead a hit 
 and three assists? Didn't he boot in all over the 
 park? How d'ya get that way? " 
 
 Then the Ofiicial Scorer can either call a cop 
 or explain that there is no provision in the box- 
 score for errors of judgment, and that old Doc' 
 Rainbow — that's Rinkholm — made a reasonable 
 effort to handle what were difficult chanties. 
 
 87 
 
88 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 " You'd applaud him if he'd made the play, 
 wouldn't you? " the O. S. will ask. 
 
 ^^Sure!" 
 
 " Well, then, why should I give him an error 
 because he didn't? " 
 
 Official scorers are all alike ; they give the bene- 
 fit of the doubt to the batter, on the theory that 
 while one more hit won't hurt the pitcher, a 
 fielder will yelp forever if he is charged with one 
 questionable bobble. 
 
 At that, there is room for argument. This 
 whole case should be reviewed by the National 
 Commission. Whatever it decides will be wrong, 
 and we can reasonably accept the contrary as 
 correct. 
 
 Want to sit in the grandstand while we play 
 it over? Wait until we dust off the plate. Now 
 then, all set? Let's go! 
 
 Long before Wild Bill Cassidy got religion and 
 Ping Podie first came out from Cow Hollow, old 
 Doc' Rainbow attached himself to the St Clair 
 ball club. In ten years he became as permanent 
 an institution and as familiar a part of the 
 landscape as the Roll-your-own sign in center 
 field. 
 
 Assistant groundkeeper, bat boy, court jester 
 —that was old Doc' Rainbow, possessor of thirty- 
 five uniforms, all different, and a place on the 
 payroll at twelve dollars a week. He got twenty- 
 
EAINBOW 89 
 
 five cents for every ball he recovered from over 
 the fence, but because of the activities of the 
 junior generation of Barton Alley, this additional 
 source of revenue was uncertain. 
 
 Doc' was constructed on the general prin- 
 ciples of a cuckoo clock, long and narrow and 
 rickety. The resemblance even extended to his 
 brain. Not that he was actually " cuckoo '' in 
 the unpleasant sense of the word, but as " Brick " 
 McGovern put it, old Doc' Kainbow thought in 
 much the same way that " Lefty " Taylor pitched, 
 which is to say that his control was not of the 
 best. 
 
 On special occasions. Doc' scrambled his ward- 
 robe and appeared in a medley of uniforms which 
 produced the desired effect of perpetual novelty. 
 Not Joseph in his futurist coat, nor Solomon in 
 all his glory had anything on the ancient jester 
 of the &t. Clair club when he chose to array him- 
 self from the fulness of his wealth. Nor was 
 any man more content with his lot than old Doc' 
 Kainbow when some pitcher, warming up before 
 the game, summoned him to the plate and tossed 
 over a few balls while the catcher was buckling 
 on his armor. That gave old Doc' a chance to 
 pull his comedy stuff — to pretend that the ball 
 had hurt a finger, to blow on the injured mem- 
 ber, to wring one hand in anguish, and then pick 
 up the ball and rainbow it down to second, re- 
 
90 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 treating off-stage with a limp and registering of- 
 fended dignity. 
 
 There were always enough strangers in the 
 stands for the stunt to produce a laugh, and this 
 daily chuckle was food and drink and the breath 
 of life to old Doc' Rainbow. 
 
 Never once did it occur to him that any one 
 would ever take his job away. He had seen ball- 
 players come and go^ bushers rise to stellar 
 heights, bright stars pale to Class B mediocrity, 
 and the firmament assume unfamiliar aspects; 
 but Doc's job was his own; he had created it; it 
 was his by right of discovery, exploitation and 
 possession. Therefore, when the blow did come, 
 on the very day that he wanted most to be in the 
 line-up, the day of the big benefit for the Chil- 
 dren's Hospital, it caught old Doc' Rainbow 
 utterly unprepared. 
 
 It was no less a personage than Templeton 
 Carroll, star comedian of the " Isle of Boola " 
 Company, who showed the jester of the St. Clair 
 ball-club that there is no man in this world who 
 cannot be replaced. While; the players were 
 warming up before the game, and chorus-girls 
 were selling pencils in the grandstand, Carroll 
 appeared on the ball-field made up as old Doc' 
 Rainbow. His form was garbed in a fashion that 
 not even the man he was impersonating had ever 
 been able to attain^, Wads of paper carried out 
 
RAINBOW 91 
 
 the effect of ludicrous muscles in the calves of 
 his legs, and in the arms of his pink jersey; a 
 radiant nose achieved the final touch. 
 
 It is not often that an actor gets the chance to 
 play to an audience of twenty thousand people. 
 Carroll was at his best. All the stunts which old 
 Doc' Rainbow had conceived in years of ponder- 
 ing, the actor duplicated and added a few more 
 on his own account. 
 
 The climax came, when he circled the bases 
 against Time with the two umpires holding their 
 watches on him, and the crowd yelping in glee 
 as the long arms and legs jerked up and down 
 like a bent piston. 
 
 In the great throng that filled the park, there 
 were only two men who did not relish the per- 
 formance. One was old Doc' himself, self -shorn 
 of his finery, and sitting unnoticed in street 
 clothes far up in the grandstand; the other was 
 Brick McGovern, manager of the St. Clair club, 
 frowning in the dug-out. 
 
 The veteran leader of the Wolves was an Irish- 
 man, warm of heart, quick-tempered, and firm in 
 the defense of his men. He shook his head at 
 the antics of Carroll, and turned uncomfortably 
 to "Pee-wee" Patterson. "He's laying it on too 
 strong," he complained. "I wish I'd sent Doc' 
 out of town for the day ; it'll just about break the 
 old boy's heart." 
 
92 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 Pee-wee looked about him. "Rainbow's gone/' 
 he observed. 
 
 "I know it," said McGovern. "That's what I 
 don't like. Somebody ought to follow him. The 
 poor nut is liable to go home, and — * Blooey- 
 Blooey ! ' " He illustrated the suggestion by cock- 
 ing a forefinger to his temple and crooking the 
 thumb significantly. 
 
 The third baseman demurred. "He ain't 
 crazy enough for that. Come on, Brick; there's 
 the bell !" 
 
 McGovern hesitated, uncertain whether to fol- 
 low his hunch or not. The umpire calling for 
 the batting order decided the matter. A mana- 
 ger cannot attend to everything. 
 
 Carroll remained as the bat boy, and after the 
 first inning old Doc' Rainbow went home — that 
 is, he went to the little front room that faced on 
 Barton Alley. There he garbed himself in a 
 vain attempt to out-shine the man who had taken 
 his place. From the bottom of an ancient trunk 
 he resurrected a 44-caliber revolver, fully 
 loaded. This done, he walked over to the win- 
 dow for a final look at an ungrateful world. 
 Doc' should have accomplished the business at 
 hand and let it go at that. For opposite his 
 window wag a billboard, and on it the face of 
 Templeton Carroll, with the lips parted in a 
 characteristic grin, and the eyes looking straight 
 
EAINBOW 93 
 
 at the St. Clair Jester. Undoubtedly the litho- 
 graphed portrait had been there for some time, 
 but Doc' had never noticed it before. Now it 
 assumed Machiavellian significance, a jeering 
 witness to the Rainbow's exit. 
 
 Doc' lowered the revolver. Even to his disor- 
 dered mind, the suggestion was plain. The log- 
 ical target for a bullet was not himself — but the 
 man whose picture was now laughing at him. 
 The Jester removed his uniform, got back into 
 his street clothes, pocketed the revolver, and 
 went out. He spent the afternoon in the mo- 
 tion picture houses along Mission street, where 
 one film drama impressed him deeply. A wo- 
 man who had been wronged lay in wait for her 
 persecutor in his own office, and fired as the man 
 opened the door. Doc' sat through two runs of 
 the film. 
 
 Later, he ate a meager supper in a cheap res- 
 taurant, and when night came, showed up at the 
 stage entrance of the Central Theater, while the 
 first act was still on. 
 
 " Peg " O'Connor, the grizzled doorkeeper, 
 recognized him. 
 
 " Hello, Doc'," he called, " how are they com- 
 in'?" 
 
 " Pretty good, Mr. O'Connor, how are they 
 comin' with you? " From a vest pocket he pro- 
 duced a slip of pink paper, bearing the signa- 
 
94 HEAKTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 ture of the president of the ball club, and held 
 it out. " Thought maybe you might like to take 
 in the Sunday game/' he said. 
 
 The doorkeeper pocketed the pass gracefully. 
 " Much obliged,'' he acknowledged. " Sorry I 
 can't return the compliment, but the house is 
 full. Some other night — " 
 
 " Oh, that's all right," interposed old Doc' 
 Rainbow. " Only I wonder, Mr. O'Connor, if 
 I could stand just inside the stage-door a min- 
 ute? I've always wanted to see what it looked 
 like." 
 
 The doorkeeper hesitated. He felt himself un- 
 der obligations by virtue of the pink slip of 
 paper. " The rules are pretty strict," he de- 
 bated, " but I guess it won't hurt none, just for 
 once. This is get-away night; the company's 
 jumping to San Jos^. Go on in a minute, but 
 keep back by the wall. If anybody says 
 anything, tell 'em you're one of the express- 
 men." 
 
 Give Peg O'Connor an error or an assist on 
 this play just as it appeals to you. Old Doc' 
 Rainbow passed through the door, up three 
 steps, and along a passageway that led to an un- 
 familiar land. He stumbled over coiled rop'BS, 
 bumped against odd pieces of scenery slanting 
 against the brick fire-wall, but managed to keep 
 out of the way of the stage-hands. A girl in 
 
EAINBOW 95 
 
 spangled chiffon came tripping down a spiral 
 stairway. 
 
 " 'Sense me/' said the Jester, " but can yoU' 
 tell me where is Mr. Carroll's dressing-room? " 
 
 The girl pointed a white finger, and hurried 
 on toward the wings. Down the stairway flowed 
 a stream of more girls. The orchestra quickened, 
 and a distant patter of applause and laughter 
 drifted back stage. Turning, he saw a row of 
 dressing rooms at the right, and tacked on the 
 door of one of them a cardboard sign : " Mr. 
 Carroll." 
 
 The door opened to his light pressure; the 
 room was empty. Unseen he slipped in and 
 closed the door. The single window of the small 
 room opened on a fire-escape that led to the 
 ground not six feet below. Against the wall on 
 one side was a dressing-table flanked by trunks 
 and chairs. The opposite wall was hung with 
 costumes and afforded the best view of the door. 
 The Rainbow edged in among the garments, a 
 drab blur amid the chaos of gaudy satins worn 
 by " King Co-co of the Boola Islands." Fum- 
 bling the revolver. Doc' Eainbow waited. 
 
 Mark how Fate can gyp a Jester! This was 
 Templeton Carroll's farewell performance in his 
 home town. His friends had arranged a demon- 
 stration in his behalf to follow the first act, and 
 in accordance with the plan, the actor had 
 
96 HEAKTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 agreed to come before the curtain and recite 
 " Casey at the Bat/' garbed as old Doc' Kain- 
 bow. This necessitated a quick change in the 
 wings, and so Carroll did not go to his dressing 
 room. But some one else did. Some one who, 
 like the Jester, expected to meet Templeton Car- 
 roll there. 
 
 The handle to the door turned. Old Doc' 
 Eainbow raised his arm. Slowly the door 
 opened. The Jester aimed shakily at the spot 
 where the actor's head should have appeared, 
 but instead of the tall comedian there came into 
 the room, the most exquisite morsel of humanity 
 old Doc' Kainbow had ever seen; — a little girl 
 who brushed yellow curls out of violet eyes, held 
 out her arms, and exclaimed " Daddy ! " 
 
 For the second time that day, the clown of 
 the St Clair ball club lowered his revolver with 
 the trigger unpressed. 
 
 The child closed the door behind her and ad- 
 vanced on the Rainbow confidently. 
 
 " I'm Winnie — Daddy," she confided, " and 
 Mama says I am to give you this note and you 
 must not be angry any more.'' 
 
 Mechanically he took the note and opened it. 
 Once, a long time ago — but that has no bear- 
 ing on this story except in extenuation of what 
 followed. A man does not plumb the depths of 
 murder, and attain the responsibilities of par- 
 
RAINBOW 97 
 
 enthood, and delve into the treasure-chest of 
 memory, all in one breath, without being a trifle 
 dazed. A brighter man than old Doc' Rainbow 
 would have done just what the Jester did, which 
 was to sit down upon a chair, take the child on 
 his knee, and gaze rather stupidly at the note. 
 
 It was some minutes before the letters ceased 
 to dance and resolved themselves into a femi- 
 nine chirography on the stationery of the Palace 
 Hotel. 
 
 Dear Tempy: I am in the house to-night dear, as 
 in the old days. Won't you let Winnie heal the 
 breach between us? And she needs her father. 
 
 If yes is the answer, flash the old signal. I will 
 be watching. 
 
 Your repentant Wife. 
 
 Old Doc' Rainbow blinked down at the child 
 in his lap. He was never very good at " inside 
 baseball ; '' the note went far over his addled 
 head. But he liked children, and they were re- 
 sponsive to him. Not a youngster in Barton 
 Alley who didn't exercise a proprietary interest 
 in Rainbow. 
 
 Moreover, this was no ordinary child who now 
 sat on the Jester's knee. There was none of the 
 timidity that might be expected from a little 
 girl encountering her father for the first time in 
 her recollection. Winnie had the composure 
 
98 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 and assurance of every child of the stage; be- 
 sides, she was playing a role in which she had 
 been patiently coached. 
 
 In two minutes, old Doc' Rainbow was a hyp- 
 notized tabby cat purring to the caresses of a 
 four-year-old Circe. 
 
 Dimly the Rainbow comprehended that for 
 some unknown reason the Great Manager had 
 sent him in to bat for the man who had taken his 
 job, and reckless of the consequences, conscious 
 only of an opportunity too wonderful to be put 
 aside, old Doc' Rainbow ambled up to the plate. 
 
 " My, my, my! " he ejaculated, " and so you're 
 my little girl ! " 
 
 Winnie nodded, " And I am very sleepy," she 
 confessed. " Are you going to take me home, or 
 is Mama going to take me home? " 
 
 Winnie extemporized this. It was no part of 
 her practised lines, but the Jester recognized it 
 as a cue which called for some decision on his 
 part. While he was debating the matter, the 
 second act ended, the applause percolated back 
 stage, and there was a rush of pattering feet 
 past the door. 
 
 A quick, unreasoning panic seized old Doc' 
 Rainbow. What explanation could he offer 
 when they found him in Templeton Carroll's 
 dressing room? What if they searched him, and 
 found the revolver, and guessed the truth? 
 
EAINBOW 99 
 
 Once again th^ Kainbow booted the ball. 
 He set the child down hurriedly and made 
 his way to the window that opened on the 
 fire-escape. 
 
 " You be a good girl, Winnie," he admonished. 
 " Old Doc's got to go away ; you'd better stay 
 there. You're a fine little girl, and Daddy loves 
 you. You remember that! Maybe some- 
 time—" 
 
 Winnie's face puckered. She looked back at 
 the closed door, and then at the man climbing 
 out of the window. Her hand reached up ap- 
 pealingly. 
 
 " Daddy, I want to go with you. I want to go 
 home with you ! " 
 
 Alas, for old Doc' Kainbow's fielding record! 
 That word " Daddy " did it. He swung one 
 1^ back across the window-sill and opened 
 his arms. Winnie waited for no second invita- 
 tion. 
 
 When Templeton Carroll entered the room he 
 crossed over to his dressing table, took off his 
 wig and sat down to light a cigarette. 
 
 Just as the Eainbow reached the last step, he 
 leaned for support against the brick wall at a 
 spot immediately below the huge stage switch- 
 board. He recoiled sharply. Had he been able 
 to think of more than one thing at a time, he 
 might have asked himself why the wall should 
 
100 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 have been so hot to the touch. But Winnie's 
 arms were curved about his neck, and an an- 
 cient memory clutched his heart. 
 
 A vigilant taxi-driver spied him as he gained 
 the sidewalk. The nocturnal prowler turned 
 into the curb, one finger in the air. Taxicabs 
 were a novelty in old Doc' Rainbow's life, but 
 he set the child down and fumbled in his pocket. 
 His fingers assured him that sufficient remained 
 from his week's pay to make the adventure 
 possible. 
 
 " Going riding in an automobile," he chuckled, 
 " Winnie and Daddy — ain't that swell? " 
 
 Winnie assured him that she liked " orter- 
 beels." 
 
 " Where to ?" the driver asked. 
 
 The Rainbow hesitated. Taxicabs did not 
 often penetrate the narrow limits of Barton 
 Alley, but at the corner of Sixteenth and Valen- 
 cia, only half a block from his home, there was a 
 six-story structure with a showy front. He 
 bridged the distance mentally. 
 
 " Hotel St. Paul," he directed. " It's out by 
 the ball-park." 
 
 The driver let in the clutch; the machine 
 jerked forward; and Winnie, snuggling within 
 the curve of the Rainbow's arm, went content- 
 edly to sleep. 
 
 The cab was half a block distant from its ob- 
 
RAINBOW , /\; il^l, 
 
 jective when old Doc' Rainbow lost his nerve 
 and rapped vigorously on the window. 
 
 " I want to get out here," he announced. 
 
 The driver had his own ideas on the subject. 
 " You said the St. Paul, and it's half a block up ; 
 keep inside." 
 
 "I want to get out here," persisted the Rain- 
 bow. 
 
 The chauffeur shrugged, drew up to the curb, 
 and boosted the regular rate one dollar. The 
 Jester paid the charge without protest, and 
 walked away, Winnie's hand in his, and quite 
 aware that the driver was watching him. 
 
 In the glare of the hotel entrance he paused 
 and looked back. The taxi was veering around 
 the corner. The Rainbow bent down, took the 
 sleepy child in his arms, and turned the corner 
 into Barton Alley. 
 
 " Pretty near home, Winnie," he comforted. 
 " Daddy's going to fix you up some bread and 
 milk ; and then you can go to sleep." 
 
 " And then we'll have Mama come," Win* 
 nie answered drowsily. 
 
 Old Doc' Rainbow frowned as he made his 
 way up the dark stairway. This was an angle 
 that had not occurred to him. He did not reply 
 until they had gained the little front room and 
 he had lighted the gas. Then he took up the 
 matter, but cautiously. 
 
X02 ,fl3i:iVJaTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 " You love Mama? " he asked. 
 
 Winnie nodded gravely. "And my Daddy," 
 she amplified. 
 
 The Jester busied himself with providing from 
 his bachelor's larder a repast for his small guest. 
 Winnie attacked the refreshments energetically. 
 When she broke the long silence, it was to re- 
 quest a " story." 
 
 Old Doc' Kainbow did his best; he plunged 
 into a narrative that had neither head nor tail, 
 but revolved about a certain little girl who went 
 out for a walk and encountered at each corner 
 an animal who made a weird and wonderful 
 noise. And after each encounter, the narrator 
 demanded : 
 
 ^'^ And what was that? " 
 
 Winnie displayed remarkable skill in inter- 
 preting the noises. 
 
 " That was kitty. . . . And that was a 
 rooster. . . . And that was a moo-cow. . . . 
 And that was birdie. . . . 
 
 Finally the Eainbow exhausted his knowledge 
 of domesticated animals, and the story weak- 
 ened. 
 
 " I guess you better undress me and put me 
 to bed," hazarded Winnie. 
 
 The Jester regarded her with dismay. " Don't 
 you know how to undress yourself? " 
 
 " I guess you better," she repeated. 
 
EAINBOW 103 
 
 And then it began to dawn on old Doc' Eain- 
 bow that a substitute is only a substitute, and 
 that he could no more qualify for the job of par- 
 ent to Winnie Carroll than he could hope ever 
 to become a regular member of Brick McGov- 
 ern's ball club. In this brief moment of clarified 
 vision, many things returned to hurt him. Once 
 it might have been possible, but now — 
 
 Gently the Jester folded the child in his arms, 
 removed shoes and stockings and slipped off the 
 outer dress. 
 
 " Daddy hasn't got any night-clothes for you,'' 
 he explained. " I guess you'll have to sleep like 
 that and pretend that it's all right." 
 
 Winnie was too sleepy to offer any serious ob- 
 jections. 
 
 " And are you going to go to bed, too? " she 
 inquired. 
 
 The Jester nodded. " This is going to be your 
 room, and I'm going to sleep in my room right 
 alongside." 
 
 He tucked the child under the covers and bent 
 to kiss her. " You go right to sleep," he ad- 
 jured. 
 
 The Jester extinguished the light and tiptoed 
 from the room, carrying an extra pillow and an 
 overcoat. Out in the corridor there came to him 
 the wail of sirens, and he walked to the window. 
 
104 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 A crimson glare, as from a blast furnace, roofed 
 the downtown district. Dropping the pillow to 
 the floor, he stretched himself on the carpet and 
 drew the overcoat about him. 
 
 Toward morning, he fell asleep and dreamed, 
 first that he was pitching in a World's Series, 
 with Winnie watching him, and later that they 
 were being pursued by the whole United States 
 Army. Aching in every limb, he awoke at day- 
 light and made his way to the street in search 
 of a morning paper, fully convinced that the 
 headlines would shriek his name. 
 
 What he saw on the first page shocked him into 
 such complete paralysis that he collapsed against 
 a telegraph pole and remained there for ten min- 
 utes, staring at the printed lines. 
 
 The Central Theater had burned. Templeton 
 Carroll, standing before the lowered asbestos 
 curtain that cut off the flames, had quelled the 
 panic, and enabled the ushers to empty the house 
 quickly. Not until then had he learned that his 
 four-year-old daughter had been secreted in his 
 dressing room, adjoining the switch-board where 
 the fire had started. The child had undoubtedly 
 perished. Mrs. Carroll was prostrated in her 
 rooms at the Palace Hotel, and her husband was 
 with her. 
 
 The story of the fire, the escape of the au- 
 dience, the heroism of the entire company, and 
 
KAINBOW 105 
 
 Mrs. Carroll's dramatic attempt at a reconcilia- 
 tion with her husband, leading to Winnie Car- 
 roll's death, covered two pages of the paper old 
 Doc' Rainbow held in his shaking hands. 
 
 Gradually his dazed senses focused on two con- 
 clusions : first, that the child would never be dis- 
 covered, now, if he chose to keep her as his own ; 
 second, that he must take her back to her father 
 and mother, who were together again. 
 
 He reentered the house, ascended the stairs, 
 and opened the door softly. Winnie was sitting 
 on the floor, endeavoring to put on her shoes. 
 She brushed the curls out of her eyes, and smiled 
 at him. 
 
 The Rainbow gave clumsy assistance to the 
 shoe problem, and when this was solved, they 
 went hand in hand to a restaurant around the 
 corner. During every minute of the break- 
 fast the Rainbow expected that a policeman 
 would walk in the door and drop a heavy 
 hand upon his shoulder. But they were not in- 
 terrupted. 
 
 Again on the sidewalk, Winnie looked up at 
 him. " I guess we'd better go back to Mama, 
 now," she suggested. 
 
 " I guess you're right," the Rainbow answered. 
 
 They boarded a downtown car, and fifteen min- 
 utes later were walking through the long cor- 
 ridor of the crowded Palace toward the desk. 
 
106 HEAKTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 Just in time old Doc' Rainbow thought of some- 
 thing and drew his companion aside. 
 
 " I almost forgot to tell you," he hurried, 
 " you've really got two daddies ; you're a mighty 
 lucky young lady. You see, I'm your play daddy, 
 and I was just batting in your other daddy's 
 place. You mustn't be surprised when you see 
 him ; you must treat him like you did me. Here's 
 that note." 
 
 Winnie was bewildered. She clung a little 
 closer to the Jester. " I want my Mama," she 
 declared. 
 
 ^' Sure you do," agreed the Rainbow. " That's 
 just who we're going to find." 
 
 The dignified clerk who spun the big register 
 and extended a pen got the shock of his life when 
 the man facing him explained : 
 
 " This is little Miss Carroll, and it's all a mis- 
 take about her being dead. She wants her 
 mother." 
 
 "What? "cried the clerk. "What? Say that 
 again ! " 
 
 . Old Doc' Rainbow repeated it patiently. 
 I The man behind the mahogany counter blinked 
 at the Jester, then at the child by his side, and 
 back at the Jester. 
 
 " Good God ! " he exclaimed, and darted into 
 the office of the assistant manager.. 
 
 Shift the spotlight! Lower the curtain on a 
 
RAINBOW 107 
 
 woman running down a hotel corridor — a man 
 striding behind, with the joys of heaven and the 
 doubts of the damned fighting for control of his 
 features, and old Doc' Rainbow standing there 
 forgotten, twirling a battered hat in his wrinkled 
 hands. Into the bedlam trickled the house-de- 
 tectives and bell-boys and members of the " Isle 
 of Boola" company. Such scenes are enacted 
 only in real life; they form no part of the enter- 
 tainment provided by the stage or the ball- 
 field. 
 
 Twenty minutes afterward Templeton Carroll 
 was still clinging to the arm of the Jester, and 
 repeating over and over: 
 
 " Can't we get a drink in this whole darn town 
 — can't we get just one drink? " 
 
 Down in the historic Palace buffet, under the 
 original painting of the Pied Piper of Hamelin, 
 with all the little children tumbling along in 
 the wake of a figure that might almost have been 
 the Rainbow himself, they came across Otto, 
 whose business it was to sit up nights with the 
 Eighteenth Amendment. Otto went to work on 
 a concoction which was mostly stomach bitters, 
 but which burned all the way down, and so was 
 welcome. 
 
 Thus fortified, the actor dragged his com- 
 panion into a cushioned booth and sat him down. 
 
 "What I can't get through my head is," he 
 
108 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 complained, " why should you want to kill 
 me?" 
 
 " You took my job away," explained the Jes- 
 ter ; " you showed me up. Nobody will want to 
 laugh at me any more. I'm through. I'll never 
 put on a uniform again." 
 
 And then Templeton Carroll understood, and 
 saw clearly wherein his duty lay. He recognized 
 the type at once, for the theater also has its old 
 Doc' Rainbows — many of them. In addition to 
 being a great actor, Carroll, when he chose, could 
 be a golden liar. He summoned all his skill in 
 both accomplishments and fell to work. 
 
 " Doc'," he said, leaning across the table. 
 "You've got it all wrong — all wrong! Let me 
 tell you something. You know, Cornelius Mc- 
 Gillicuddy — Connie Mack? " 
 
 " Sure. He's the manager of the Ath-e-letics." 
 
 " That's him ! He's a personal friend. Well, 
 when the company was playing in Philadelphia 
 last fall, Connie Mack sent for me and said: 
 ' Carroll, I want you to do me a favor. When 
 you get out to the Coast, I want you to go to the 
 St. Clair ball-park, and watch this fellow they 
 call the Rainbow. He's got the best line of com- 
 edy there is in baseball, and I want some of my 
 coaches to use his stuff.' 
 
 " Now, Doc', do you see why I went out there? 
 I just wanted to try myself out so I could repeat 
 
RAINBOW 109 
 
 the stuff to Connie Mack — and I failed, Doc\ 
 The whole company told me I was rotten ! " 
 
 " Oh, no,'' protested the Rainbow, " you was 
 good ! " 
 
 Carroll shook his head. " Doc', we're both en- 
 tertainers, and the only difference is that where 
 you play to thousands, I only play to hundreds. 
 Now, if you'll show me how you manage that 
 funny limp, maybe I can suggest some signals to 
 pull when you go to the plate with a glove." 
 
 " Why," said the Rainbow, " there ain't much 
 to the limp ; it goes like this." 
 
 Otto stopped polishing his glasses to watch 
 them as they maneuvered on the tiled floor. 
 Presently a uniformed boy traversed the room, 
 crying : " Call for Mister Carroll. Mister 
 Carr-oll!" 
 
 The actor hailed him. 
 
 "Five reporters at the desk," said the boy. 
 " They want to see you right away." 
 
 Carroll turned to the Rainbow. " Doc' maybe 
 you'd better let me handle this thing. You can 
 go out the other door, but remember I'm going 
 to take Mrs. Carroll and Winnie, and the whole 
 company out to the park this afternoon; you 
 mustn't fail us." 
 
 " I'll be there," promised the Jester. 
 
 Carroll met the reporters and lied like a gen- 
 tleman. He described how old Doc' Rainbow 
 
110 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 had come to the theater to help him make up, 
 how he had learned of the presence of Winnie 
 and had dashed into the blazing room and car- 
 ried the little one to safety, spending most of 
 the night thereafter in a vain effort to locate her 
 parents. 
 
 After the interview the newspaper men held 
 a conference out on the sidewalk, and came to 
 the sensible conclusion that while Carroll was 
 undoubtedly holding something back, there was 
 no use in probing any further and running the 
 chance of spoiling a perfectly good story. 
 
 So they went back to their respective editors 
 and turned in a rattling good follow-up on what 
 was really a morning paper story; but it being 
 a dull day otherwise, the afternoon papers played 
 it across the boards and even deigned to call 
 upon the sporting editors for assistance; and 
 each, according to the wealth of his imagina- 
 tion, bestowed upon old Doc' Rainbow antece- 
 dents, exploits and characteristics, which varied 
 according to the authors but served the purpose 
 well. 
 
 Enterprising circulation managers, hustled the 
 early editions out to the ball-park, where they 
 were disposed of in such quantities that when 
 old Doc' Rainbow dyspeptically arrayed in a 
 yellow and green uniform, with purple socks, 
 
EAINBOW 111 
 
 emerged from the clubhouse, the crowd arose to 
 a man and gave him an ovation only equaled by 
 the uproar that ensued when Truck Darrow poled 
 the ball clear into Fifteenth Street with the pil- 
 lows packed! 
 
 The Kainbow forgot all the stunts that Carroll 
 had shown him, and most of his own, which was 
 just as well, for it took the combined services of 
 both umpires and several players to help him 
 pick up all the money that was showered upon 
 him from the stands. 
 
 So you see it came out all right after all, 
 though it was a very complicated play, and the 
 National Commission can be forgiven for balling 
 it up if it ever comes before that august body. 
 
 But the Official Scorer is All-Wise. He will 
 undoubtedly rule that old Doc' Eainbow is en- 
 titled to three assists and a hit, on general prin- 
 ciples, and of course, His decision is the one that 
 will stand. 
 
TIN CAN TOMMY 
 
 THE crowd arose as one man. Across the 
 expanse of dark-green turf in right field, 
 the white-uniformed figure of Tethering- 
 ton flashed toward the fence and then steadied 
 itself under the descending ball. Blue-clad ath- 
 letes of the opposition loped leisurely toward the 
 plate from second and third. In the Wolves' 
 dugout a few pitchers and utility men snatched 
 up sweaters and gloves preparatory to the scram- 
 ble for the dressing-rooms. The game was as 
 good as over. No outfielder would miss a chance 
 like that. 
 
 From a spot high up on the right-field bleach- 
 ers, a leather-lunged fan gave tongue. A stento- 
 rian yell, the embodiment of defiance and deri- 
 sion, blasted the expectant hush that lay upon 
 the ball park. 
 
 " Tin Can ! " roared the voice. " Tin Can 
 Tommy ! Tin Can ! " 
 
 A hundred throats, then a thousand, caught up 
 the cry and hurled it at the Wolf outfielder. 
 Above the vocal crescendo sounded the unmis- 
 takable raucous jangle of ancient tin cans tied 
 to strings and shaken violently. A thought wave, 
 
 112 
 
TIN CAN TOMMY 113 
 
 tidal in proportions, engulfed Tommy Tethering- 
 ton. In vain he tried to wall out the telepathic 
 storm that battered at his self-control. Panic 
 froze him. The descending ball took on weird 
 proportions. 
 
 "Tin Can! Tin Can!" 
 
 At the last instant he tried to shift his hands 
 so as to take the ball up close to his chest. But 
 his fingers fumbled, fear blinded him, and the 
 unbelievable thing for which the shrieking crowd 
 dared to hope actually happened. 
 
 Tetherington dropped the ball. 
 
 Hours afterward, " Brick " McGovern, the 
 astute leader of many a long and hard-fought 
 campaign upon the diamond, sent for Tethering- 
 ton, and the two men met in McGovern's room. 
 
 The fiery -haired manager came straight to the 
 point. " What was the matter out there to- 
 day? " 
 
 Tetherington's gray eyes darkened in helpless 
 misery. " Honest, Brick, that's the worst sun- 
 field on the circuit.'' 
 
 " Oh, it was the sun, was it? " 
 
 " Well, the wind kept blowing the ball back." 
 
 " Oh, it was the wind, eh? " 
 
 " Yes, it was the wind." 
 
 " Tommy," said McGovern, " you dropped that 
 ball because a bunch of yaps shook some tin cans 
 at you. Wasn't that it? " 
 
114 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 " Yes," admitted Tetherington ; " that was 
 it" 
 
 McGovern nodded. " Well/' he observed, " I'm 
 selling you to Donovan of Terre Haute who once 
 sold me an outfielder with a busted leg. I've 
 heard of ball players losing their goats in all 
 sorts of ways, but why a man should go to pieces 
 w^hen some one shakes a tin can at him is beyond 
 me. Maybe they won't have any tin cans in Terre 
 Haute." 
 
 " Yes, they will," Tetherington returned 
 quietly. " The newspapers will print the story, 
 and the cartoonists and the funny guys will put 
 in their oars, and it won't be long before they'll 
 be selling tin cans outside of the bleacher en- 
 trance, wherever I'm scheduled to play. If they 
 did that to you long enough it would get your 
 goat, too." 
 
 McGovern looked concerned. He was a kindly 
 man, gentle as a woman under his rough exterior.. 
 Moreover he liked the wiry, clean-cut youngster 
 standing quietly before him. 
 
 " I'm sorry — " he began. 
 
 " Sure ! " agreed Tetherington " It's not your 
 fault. I was just born to have a tin can tied on 
 me, I guess. Whenever I go on a new club, I 
 know that sooner or later something will happen, 
 like to-day, and I'll be canned. The fans know 
 it, the newspapers know it, and it always comes 
 
TIN CAN TOMMY 115 
 
 true. I'm not called ^ Tin Can Tommy ^ for noth- 
 ing." 
 
 " And yet/' muttered McGovern, " it is all fool- 
 ishness. Some day you may get over it. You're 
 only a kid yet. Of course, I'd heard about it, but 
 I couldn't believe it till I saw it." 
 
 A thought occurred to him, and he rubbed his 
 jaw reflectively. " Tell you what I'll do, Tommy ; 
 I can't keep you, but I won't sell you to the 
 bushes. I'll make you a free agent, and you can 
 take the best job that you can find. Only," he 
 hastened to add, " there's one condition." 
 
 "And that is?" 
 
 " That if you ever get your goat back under 
 control — ^you know what I mean. Tommy — ^if you 
 ever get over this tin-can stuff, you come to old 
 Brick and give him first chance at your services." 
 
 " Fair enough ! " nodded Tetherington. 
 " Well, I guess I'll be going." 
 
 They shook hands awkwardly. The " free 
 agent" left the hotel and walked aimlessly in 
 the direction of the downtown district. At the 
 corner of an alleyway he stopped. Lying in the 
 gutter was a discarded and badly battered tin 
 can. The partly opened top presented the ap- 
 pearance of a mouth that leered up at him ma- 
 lignantly. 
 
 The morning papers carried Tetherington's 
 
116 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 picture under seven-column lines. " Tin Can 
 Tommy on his way again/' read one. " Tether- 
 ington pulls his last bloomer in the Coast 
 League/' said another. The column writers fea- 
 tured his departure with jest and jingle.. It was 
 one of the best jokes of the season. 
 
 Before Tetherington's vision floated a scene 
 he had been trying for many years to erase from 
 his memory. Now, it was more distinct than 
 ever. He saw a curly-haired youngster of five, 
 standing horror-stricken in the middle of tracks 
 over which a street car had just passed. At the 
 little one's feet, a black-and-tan puppy was dying. 
 The clatter of a tin can fastened to the animal's 
 tail beat an accompaniment to weakening yelps. 
 Long after puppy and can were still, the child 
 stood there until a woman led it gently away. 
 
 The curly-haired youngster was Tetherington ; 
 the puppy his first love. It mattered not who 
 among his play-mates had committed the prank. 
 Upon the memory of the sensitive child was im- 
 printed, so clearly as to tap the subconscious, 
 an association of tin can and horror as unrea- 
 soning as that which impelled the puppy to rush 
 headlong to its fate. 
 
 The passing years had brought him no relief ; 
 rather they had deepened the obsession. Through 
 school and on to the diamond, the nickname for 
 which he had such an aversion trailed him relent- 
 
TIN CAN TOMMY 117 
 
 lessly. And sooner or later his nerves snapped 
 under the strain, and his Nemesis scored again. 
 Tetherington closed his eyes and shuddered. 
 
 In a calmer moment he packed his few belong- 
 ings and boarded the first train for San Jos6, 
 reasoning that among the semipro clubs operat- 
 ing in the Santa Clara Valley he could find tem- 
 porary employment. 
 
 The spell of a mid-autumn Sabbath lay upon 
 the bay section. Tetherington knew that later 
 on in the day " Foghorn " Reilly, mounted on a 
 fat pony, would ride down Market Street, mega- 
 phone in hand; turnstiles would begin to click 
 in ball parks from Portland to Los Angeles; the 
 heat would draw the pitch from the new boards 
 in the Oakland bleachers, and the hot-weather 
 twirlers w^ould be clamoring for a turn on the 
 mound. In right field for the Wolves would be 
 "Rube" Dallas, weak at the bat, but a sure 
 fielder. There would be no rattle of cans. 
 
 At Fruitvale a crowd of young people, bound 
 for the picnic grounds at Alum Rock, swarmed 
 into the day coach where Tetherington sat. He 
 surrendered his seat to a laughing girl with a 
 pale face, vivid-red hair, and a light-green dress. 
 Green, white, and red — his college colors! She 
 thanked him, with a side glance from under curv- 
 ing eyelashes. He responded awkwardly and 
 moved toward the smoking car. At the door he 
 
118 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 changed his mind and remained standing in the 
 aisle, affecting to be interested in his newspaper, 
 but holding it in such a way that he could sur- 
 vey his fellow passengers. The vision in green 
 caught him looking at her, and he hastily shifted 
 his paper, but not before he had seen her smile 
 demurely. 
 
 He was suddenly conscious of the bitter lone- 
 liness to which the professional ball player is 
 heir. Known to thousands so intimately that 
 they could identify his every movement in the 
 field, he knew scarcely any one. Off the diamond 
 his world was a thing of hotel lobbies, cheap 
 shows, lunch counters, and railroad trains. The 
 sporting page encompassed his interests, and his 
 social attainments were recorded only in the cur- 
 rent baseball guides under the batting averages. 
 Now he felt a great longing to speak to this girl 
 with the red hair and the green dress who smiled 
 at him. 
 
 The local left the main line and curved off to 
 the right on a single track. Scarcely a half mile 
 from the junction, the whistle sounded once, 
 short and sharp, air brakes screeched, and the 
 train jerked to a standstill. 
 
 Through the window, Tetherington made out 
 two men in the striped overalls of the mail crew, 
 running bare-headed toward the plowed field that 
 flanked the right of way. At the fence, they 
 
TIN CAN TOMMY 119 
 
 turned and looked back, much as small boys 
 do who have reached a safe distance after light- 
 ing the fuse of a giant cracker. 
 
 Mild wonder possessed him, succeeded by quick 
 fear as his ears caught the rush of an approach- 
 ing train. Others divined the danger at the 
 same moment. Men and women stood up, wide- 
 eyed and white-faced. Tetherington's baseball 
 instinct served him in good stead. He moved 
 swiftly and surely down the aisle toward the 
 girl in green and as naturally as though she had 
 known him all her life, she rose to meet him 
 with outstretched hands. In the eyes of each 
 flamed a light as old as Eden. 
 
 The ground shook, the rail clicked as the two 
 trains crashed. The shock hurled Tetherington 
 and the girl together, and the man twisted his 
 body to ward off the flying glass as they went 
 down. The coach, rearing on end like a thing 
 alive, swayed under tumbled trucks, and then 
 settled back in a cloud of dust. 
 
 The thing was over with astonishing swift- 
 ness, yet, for a moment, Tetherington's faculties 
 were so numb that the near-by screams of women 
 came to him as through a telephone, and he saw 
 only, felt only, the unconscious girl in his arms. 
 
 In another moment he was on his feet, sup- 
 porting the limp form and working his way to- 
 
120 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 ward the car door. He saw that she was appar- 
 ently unhurt and, once outside on the ground, 
 he turned the girl over to a number of women 
 who followed them, gave curt orders, and dashed 
 back, into the coaches to render what help he 
 could.. 
 
 Apparently there were no serious injuries. The 
 steel mail cars and baggage equipment had acted 
 as a buffer, and the engine crews of both trains 
 as well as the messengers had received warning 
 in time to jump when they saw the impending 
 collision. 
 
 Tetherington went ahead to where two tele- 
 scoped locomotives lurched drunkenly in a litter 
 of broken trucks and uptorn rails. On the way 
 he passed a conductor. The man limped along 
 painfully, eyes on the ground, his face expres- 
 sionless. On his sleeve there were four gold 
 stripes and two stars. 
 
 Surrounded by a group of attentive passen- 
 gers, a brakeman was chattering volubly. Teth- 
 erington caught fragments : " No. 24, half an 
 hour late — told Sam that wasn't her we passed 
 on the main — must have been a special — guess 
 he signed the train register without looking — 
 tough after thirty years — The can? — ^you said 
 it!'' 
 
 So some one else was being canned ! And after 
 thirty years' service ! A wish that he could say 
 
TIN CAN TOMMY 121 
 
 something to the conductor moved Tetherington. 
 He wanted to clap the veteran on the shoulder 
 as men do on the ball field and say : " Heads up, 
 old boy. The best of us boot 'em once in a 
 while!'' 
 
 Instead he went back to the place where he 
 had left the girl and found her sitting up, await- 
 ing him. 
 
 " Somebody pulled a bonehead play," he ex- 
 plained ; " there's nobody hurt, but the track is 
 torn up, and we'll have to stick here for a few 
 hours. Looks like your picnic is off." 
 
 " Bother the picnic ! " she exclaimed indig- 
 nantly. "You're hurt. Come here and let me 
 l^x you up." 
 
 Tetherington submitted ungraciously. From 
 some mysterious source the girl produced an im- 
 promptu bandage and adjusted it around his 
 head, ignoring his protests that "it was solid 
 ivory, any way." 
 
 " There now," she said, " you're all right. My 
 name's Kitty Carey. You helped me out, didn't 
 you? I was scared to death. Let's go up and 
 take a look at things." 
 
 After they had poked around amidst the wreck- 
 age and watched the emergency repairs being 
 made, they hunted out a shady tree and sat down 
 to await the relief train that the conductor an- 
 nounced was already on its way. 
 
122 HEAKTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 " Do you live in San Jos6? " she asked. 
 
 " No," he responded ; " I was going there to 
 hunt for a job. You don't know of any in Fruit- 
 vale? '' He had intended to be facetious, but she 
 took the query in all seriousness. 
 
 " Can you drive a truck? '' 
 
 "Can I?" he echoed. "Sister, how did you 
 guess it? I was in the M. T. C. for a year.'' 
 
 The girl looked at him, a blank expression on 
 her face. 
 
 " The Motor Transport Corps," Tetherington 
 explained. " France, you know." 
 
 Kitty's blue eyes lighted in admiration. She 
 clapped her hands. " Then I've got it ! " she 
 exclaimed. 
 
 " Got what? " he inquired, grinning. 
 
 " A job, stupid ! One of the drivers quit yes- 
 terday. The boss is on the train. Come on and 
 we'll find him, and I'll introduce you." 
 
 ■ Tetherington hesitated. " Wait a minute, sis; 
 I've got to be free on Sundays and Saturday aft- 
 ernoons. I can make good dough playing ball." 
 
 " That's all right," she assured him ; " this is 
 no sweatshop. It's the National Can Factory. I 
 w^ork there myself — why, what's the matter? " 
 
 The young man's face had gone white. He 
 glared at her so strangely that she drew back. 
 The move convinced him that she attached no sig- 
 nificance to her words. 
 
TIN CAN TOMMY 123 
 
 " The what factory? " he asked slowly. 
 
 ^' The National Can Factory — where they make 
 tin cans; we turn out four thousand every day. 
 Come on ! " 
 
 Tetherington drew back. " Listen, sis," he 
 said, speaking deliberately ; " if there's one thing 
 more than another I hate, it's tin cans. They get 
 my goat. I can't stand them. I would as soon 
 work in a morgue. Here, read this, and maybe 
 you'll get it!" 
 
 He produced a copy of the morning paper and 
 turned to the sporting page, indicating his pic- 
 ture and the headlines. 
 
 Kitty read the paper in silence while he sat 
 by her side, digging his heel into the turf and 
 waiting sullenly. He expected her to laugh, in 
 which case, he told himself, he would be on his 
 way. 
 
 When she had finished, however, she put a 
 small hand on his own. " You poor kid ! " 
 she said sympathetically. " Tell me all about 
 it!" 
 
 An hour later, when relief trains came up from 
 either direction, Tetherington had told her all 
 about the dying puppy and other things that had 
 lain deep within him for many years. 
 
 Passengers climbed into the cars. Conductors 
 waved at them from two directions. 
 
 " I don't suppose," Kitty ventured, " that any- 
 
124 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 body could induce you just to try that job I spoke 
 of?" 
 
 " Sister," replied Tethering ton, " I'll sign up 
 for any job you say. The worst they can do is to 
 can me, and I'm getting so I don't mind that. 
 Let's go." 
 
 Hand in hand they ran for the Fruitvale train. 
 
 The days that followed held a new interest for 
 Tetherington. For the first time since his boy- 
 hood, life assumed a more normal aspect. On 
 week days he hauled heavy crates from the fac- 
 tory at Fruitvale to the various freight houses 
 from which the plant shipped its products. Sun- 
 days were given over to baseball, evenings to 
 Kitty Carey and the movies. 
 
 Soon the girl was accompanying him to the 
 games in which he participated, watching his 
 every move in the field, and at bat, and twisting 
 her handkerchief tight whenever the ball went 
 his direction, or he was sliding into a bag and 
 the play was close. 
 
 All ball players have their bad days. Tether- 
 ington had his, and Kitty was present to witness 
 his downfall. For the first time she heard them 
 call " Tin Can " at him. It was a youngster in 
 short trousers who shrilled it and Tetherington 
 missed a catch that ordinarily he would have 
 made easily. 
 
TIN CAN TOMMY 125 
 
 The next inning he stumbled in starting after 
 a hard drive, and the ball rolled to the fence. 
 
 The fans were on to him then in earnest, hoot- 
 ing and jeering and demanding to know where 
 he was last night. 
 
 As Tetherington trotted in at the close of the 
 inning, stuffing his glove into his hip pocket, a 
 fan leaned over the low railing. 
 
 " Say, Tin Can," he roared, " why don't you 
 get your lady friend to make you a basket? '' 
 
 Tetherington detected the fan with one swift 
 glance, whirled toward the railing, leaped it, 
 and got both hands on the man's throat. By- 
 standers separated the pair just in time to pre- 
 vent murder, and a dozen fights started between 
 those who wanted the player arrested and those 
 who insisted that Tin Can did right in resenting 
 the reference to his girl. 
 
 This incident, however, ended Tetherington's 
 connection with the Fruitvale Eagles, and it also 
 ended his peace of mind. 
 
 With Kitty's hand in his as they walked 
 through the park that evening, he tried to say 
 what was in his mind, but found it difficult. At 
 last she had to come to his aid. 
 
 " You're a dear boy. Tommy, and I love you, 
 but I won't marry you now, and you're wrong 
 about going away some place where you're not 
 known. The trouble is you, Tommy, and you 
 
126 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 can't run away from yourself ; you've got to stay 
 and fight this thing out." 
 
 Tetherington offered no comment and Kitty 
 continued : " Can't you see, dear, that if we were 
 to marry, and you were still afraid of tin cans, 
 we would both be thinking how different things 
 might be if it wasn't for your weakness, and the 
 first thing you know we would forget to be pa- 
 tient with one another — and I would be afraid 
 to have a tin can in the house. Why, Tommy, 
 everybody tells me you ought to be in the majors 
 — think of it, dear, back East in the great cities 
 — that's where they say you belong." 
 
 " I know," he muttered ; " and I could get there 
 if you would only string along." 
 
 Kitty did not reply to this, and they walked on 
 in silence. 
 
 The next day Tetherington was in the hospital 
 with a dislocated shoulder and three fractured 
 ribs. They told Kitty Carey at the factory, and 
 she hurried, hatless, to his side, dumb appeal in 
 her eyes. 
 
 " Don't worry, sis," he told her ; " I'm only 
 scratched. The truck's busted to pieces, I guess. 
 Went off the road in broad daylight. Can you 
 beat it? " 
 
 " Tommy, it wasn't what we were talking about 
 last night that bothered you? " 
 
 " No, sis ; not exactly. It was the cans again 
 
TIN CAN TOMMY 127 
 
 — ^hundreds of them — jangling along at my back 
 just as if they were tied to me. They got my 
 goat just like I knew they would — every darned 
 one of them clinking and clanking and saying, 
 *Well, even Kitty tied the can to you — Kitty- 
 can, Kitty-can, Kitty-can ! ' '' 
 
 " Tommy ! " She dropped to her knees beside 
 Ms bed. " Tommy, I'll marry you right now, 
 right this very minute ! " 
 
 "You will not," he contradicted her; "youll 
 marry me on the day I bust back into the Coast 
 League, and believe me I'm going to bust ! " 
 
 The girl's eyes sparkled as he went on boy- 
 ishly : " I'm not going to have my girl put it up 
 to me that I'm afraid of a tin can. Afraid — 
 that's what you said. Funny I never looked at 
 it like that before, but I've been lying here think- 
 ing and thinking, and all of a sudden it came to 
 me." 
 
 " What came. Tommy? " 
 
 "Why, that puppy of mine was killed by 
 fear. The tin can never hurt him, did it? If he 
 hadn't run away, he wouldn't have been run 
 over." 
 
 " That's right," she agreed. 
 
 " And the tin can never prevented me from 
 catching a ball — it was just the fear that it 
 would." 
 
 Again she nodded vigorously. 
 
128 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 " So what I have to do now is to learn to like 
 the rattle of a can." 
 
 "I'll help, Tommy," Kitty told him. "I'll 
 shake a can at you when we're alone in the eve- 
 nings if you want." She was laughing through 
 her tears. 
 
 " No, sis," he returned soberly ; "I'm going to 
 bat for myself this round — all by myself — and I 
 want you to promise me one thing." 
 
 " I promise ! " 
 
 " Well, don't come to see me, don't write, don't 
 try to find out what's happened to me. I'll be 
 out of the hospital in a week, and Kid Jinx and 
 I are going to the mat. When I put my fist to a 
 Coast League contract, I'll come around with a 
 minister." 
 
 " But, Tommy, maybe tjiey won't have 
 you ! " Kitty Carey's pale face went a shade 
 whiter. 
 
 " Won't, eh? " returned Tetherington. " Kitty, 
 two years from now, we'll be in the majors. 
 You'll see!" 
 
 Of the winter that followed, Kitty Carey never 
 could recall more than two days — Christmas and 
 New Year's. On each occasion, Tetherington 
 sent by parcel post a box of candy and followed 
 it with a letter which bore no address. 
 
 " Everything's coming out all right, sis," he 
 
TIN CAN TOMMY 129 
 
 wrote; "you and I are going to keep that date 
 with the minister." 
 
 As a postscript to the first letter he had scrib- 
 bled : " Oil cans are the best. They squash 
 easier." 
 
 When Kitty came to the bottom of the second 
 letter, her growing suspicion as to Tethering- 
 ton's state of mind was confirmed. She read 
 through tears : " Tin cans are O.K., so long as 
 they're not too rusty." 
 
 Spring came, a California spring, with green 
 hills calling to all lovers to come out and play. 
 
 McTigue, forewoman at the can factory, big of 
 bone and heart, sent for operator No. 305. 
 " What's this about your fainting this morning, 
 dearie? Aren't you feeling right? " 
 
 Kitty Carey looked out of the open window 
 and twisted her apron. " McTigue," she said, 
 " do people know it when they go crazy? " 
 
 The forewoman banished the quick look of 
 alarm that crossed her face. " See here, honey, 
 don't you talk about such things. Get your hat 
 and go for a long walk. I wish McTigue had a 
 hundred dollars, and she'd stake you to a week 
 in the country where you'd never see a can." 
 
 " Do they get on your nerves, too? " 
 
 " Of course, dearie. Now run along, and don't 
 come back. I'll punch your time." 
 
 The girl obeyed mechanically. As she left the 
 
130 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 factory and headed down the broad street that 
 led to the channel, a touring car stopped abruptly 
 in its approach to the front entrance, turned, 
 and followed her. 
 
 An automobile horn honked at her twice, in- 
 sinuatingly. She quickened her pace without 
 looking up. The driver ran his machine to the 
 curb ahead, opened the tonneau door, and waited 
 until she was abreast of him. Once more he 
 sounded his horn. 
 
 The girl turned furiously. " You'd better let 
 me alone if you know what's good for you ! " she 
 flared. " Why — why — Tommy ! " 
 
 In the completeness of the surprise she swayed 
 uncertainly, and Tetherington leaped to her sup- 
 port. Eyes closed, and lips upturned, she 
 permitted him to crush her in their first 
 embrace. 
 
 Later, snuggled by his side in the front seat, 
 and the machine headed for the boulevard, she 
 stole a wondering glance at him. 
 
 " Tommy, I don't believe you're crazy at all ! 
 You look simply fine, and I'm mad at you — so 
 there!" 
 
 He looked down at her, puzzled. 
 
 " The letters, you know — you spoke so funny. 
 Oh, Tommy, I was worried! What have you 
 been doing? " 
 
 For the first time, Tetherington saw how frail 
 
TIN CAN TOMMY 131 
 
 she was, and noticed the shadows under her 
 eyes. He berated himself aloud. " I've got no 
 more sense than an umpire! Here I go away 
 and have a lot of fun, figuring how surprised 
 and happy you'll be when you learn all about it, 
 and I never think about the play being too deep. 
 Say, I'm an awful skull ! " 
 
 He pondered in silence over his amazing stu- 
 pidity while sending the machine across Oak- 
 land and into the manufacturing center of Em- 
 eryville. At last he paused before a dilapidated 
 structure that resembled an abandoned coal yard. 
 Over the one-room shack that served apparently 
 as an office a huge sign read : " T. Tetherington, 
 Tinsmith." 
 
 " For pity's sake ! '^ the girl exclaimed. " Tin- 
 smith!" 
 
 " Sure ! " he returned. " Come into the yard, 
 and I'll show you what I've been doing since I 
 last saw you." 
 
 She followed him into a huge inclosure and 
 stared with uncomprehending eyes. Wherever 
 she looked, on all sides, piled into miniature 
 mountains, stacked under rough sheds, heaped 
 on the ground, on wagons, on wooden trays, were 
 battered, broken, disreputable, and infinitely 
 dirty tin cans. 
 
 A great fear sprang into Kitty Carey's eyes. 
 Her lips quivered. 
 
132 HEAKTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 " Hold on ! " Tetherington cried. " I'm not a 
 nut, sis ; this is on the level. Eight dollars a ton 
 I get for* them — contract with the Universal 
 Chemical Company — I've got four hundred tons 
 more coming." 
 
 " What on earth—" 
 
 " Copper/' explained the proprietor of the Teth- 
 erington tin yard ; " they use them in recovering 
 copper, can you beat it? I've got every hotel and 
 restaurant in Central California tied up on a 
 contract, and an agreement with the Garbage 
 Dealers' Association. I — " 
 
 " Tommy," the girl interrupted, " you've won, 
 oh, you've really won ! " Her face was trans- 
 figured. 
 
 " Batting .400," he assented. " Got to admit it 
 myself." 
 
 "And the cans don't talk to you any more? 
 They don't say ^Kitty-can '? " 
 
 "They talk to me all right,'^ he replied 
 gravely ; " but not in the same way. You know, 
 sis, I told you I would go to the mat with this 
 thing— well, I did ! All winter, I've hunted tin 
 cans in the daytime, and slept on them at night. 
 I've studied them, dreamed about them, prayed 
 to them. There isn't anything about a tin can 
 in the public library that I haven't read ; that's 
 where I got the tip as to what they were good 
 for. Then I said to myself, ' I'll get five hundred 
 
TIN CAN TOMMY 133 
 
 tons of the blame things — that's four thousand 
 dollars — and I'll go back to my girl.' Night- 
 times I've come down here just to listen to the 
 music. Listen ! " 
 
 He picked up a can and threw it on a near-by- 
 heap, where it clattered and clanked untunefully 
 to lower levels. 
 
 " What did it say? " he asked. 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Pshaw ! " he grumbled. " Where are your 
 ears? Didn't you hear it say ' Clinkety-Kitty- 
 kiss ' and then ^ Kitty -can '? " 
 
 " But you were going to get back in the Coast 
 League," she reminded him. 
 
 " I know, sis — ^look here ! " 
 
 He produced a long envelope from which he ex- 
 tracted a legal document for her inspection. " I 
 wrote to Brick McGovern," he told her, " and he 
 sent me a contract. Of course, I have to make 
 good in the training camp, or it won't mean any- 
 thing." 
 
 " Oh, Tommy, I want to help — I want you to 
 win ! " 
 
 " You are helping, sis ; it's all you. We're go- 
 ing back to the majors sure, little girl." 
 
 They regarded one another for a moment in a 
 way that is known only to lovers in April — ^lovers 
 to whom the whole world belongs. 
 
 " Kitty -kiss? " he queried. 
 
134 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 " Kitty-can," she answered, and went into his 
 arms. 
 
 Mounted on a fat pony, Foghorn Reilly rode 
 down Market Street early one afternoon, of the 
 following autumn. In one hand he held his 
 familiar megaphone, while the other was engaged 
 in swinging a string of tin cans which banged 
 and clattered in the path of traf&c. 
 
 The Honorable Julius Hetling, United States 
 senator from California, addressed his old and 
 intimate friend Barney Guthrie over the coun- 
 ter of the latter's cigar stand. "What is the big 
 idea?" he asked. 
 
 Guthrie looked shocked. " Do you mean to 
 tell me you don't know about ' Tin Can Tommy 
 Day?' That's what comes of a man sticking in 
 Washington when he ought to be out mingling 
 with his constituents! You remember Tether- 
 ington of the Wolves? " 
 
 " Certainly ! " responded the senator. " Every- 
 body knows Tin Can Tommy. Whatever hap- 
 pened to him ? " 
 
 " He's back." 
 
 " They never come back," deplored the Honor- 
 able Julius. " Tetherington was a good man, 
 bu1>-" 
 
 " Tommy is back with both feet," insisted Bar- 
 ney Guthrie, " They have sold him to New York 
 
TIN CAN TOMMY 135 
 
 for twenty thousand dollars, and this is Ms day 
 at the ball park. You should keep in touch 
 with—" 
 
 Senator Hetling consulted his watch. ^^At 
 three o^clock I was to address the League for the 
 Preservation of Our Native Wildflowers," he 
 mused. " I suppose I could be summoned unex- 
 pectedly by affairs of State." 
 
 " Of course," returned Guthrie, " and I will 
 have my boy bring the car around. We had bet- 
 ter 'phone for seats. Do you like them back of 
 first or third? " 
 
 At eight dollars a ton, the Universal Chemical 
 Company was a piker in the prices it paid for tin 
 cans. Concessionaries at the entrance to the 
 Wolves' ball park got ten cents apiece for small 
 cans, and twenty-five cents for those of larger 
 and noisier tendencies. The supply ran out after 
 the first ten thousand fans had streamed into 
 the grounds. 
 
 " Ee-yah ! " sighed umpire " Bull " Feeney, as 
 he took up his stand back of the catcher. " This 
 is going to be the worst game in history. Mind 
 you keep off my toes, Bill, or I won't give you the 
 corners. S-T-R-I-K-E O-N-E ! " 
 
 It was not the worst game in history, but from 
 the standpoint of baseball technique it was un- 
 doubtedly the worst of the season, likewise the 
 most satisfying. When two clubs like the Wolves 
 
136 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 and the Angels acquire twenty-one runs in three 
 hours, having gone into extra innings before 
 reaching a decision, the gentlemen in the press 
 box may sniff in the direction of Denmark, but 
 the bugs in the bleachers and grand stands will 
 go home hoarse and happy, convinced that they 
 have had their money's worth. 
 
 In this case, the Wolf fans came to see Tin 
 Can Tommy in action. They wanted to see the 
 man who had batted in more runs for Brick Mc- 
 Govern than any three others on the team, and 
 they wanted to cheer him while he batted in 
 more. Also, they wanted to see him cut off a 
 runner at the plate with the unerring peg that 
 had caused major-league managers to wire their 
 scouts to "bid the limit.'' 
 
 Fate, or whatever influence decides the breaks 
 of baseball, ordained that Wolf fandom should 
 get its fill. Tim Gleason, clean-up man for the 
 Angels, caught the ball full on the nose in the 
 seventh inning, with the bags full and two out, 
 and drove into right center where only one out- 
 fielder in the world could have got it. And just 
 because that outfielder was there, the crowd, held 
 spell-bound in the ecstasy of its hope, saw Tether- 
 ington throw himself forward in a head-long 
 dive, roll over twice, and come up with the ball 
 in his bare hand. 
 
 Then, and not until then, came a tin-can bed- 
 
TIN CAN TOMMY 137 
 
 lam! The air was full of tin cans; the grand 
 stand erupted them ; the bleachers rained 
 them. 
 
 When Tetherington came to bat in the next in- 
 ning, Foghorn Reilly, heading a committee of 
 leading citizens, interrupted the proceedings long 
 enough to present Tin Can Tommy with a silver 
 and gold loving cup, fashioned in the shape of a 
 tin can. Everybody posed for pictures, and then 
 Tetherington struck out, which did not disap- 
 point any one, since that is always the way such 
 ceremonies conclude. His revenge came in the 
 last of the twelfth, with one run needed to win, 
 and the crowd up on its feet rooting for Tin Can 
 Tommy to turn the trick. 
 
 Perhaps "Slim" Eoberts had tired; perhaps 
 he thought that the hero of the day had done all 
 the damage he was likely to do ; perhaps — who 
 knows? Anyway, the Angel pitcher grooved a 
 ball, shoulder-high, and Tetherington swung on 
 it with all the strength of his eager young body. 
 " Crack ! '' 
 
 Far out in left field, Cy Donovan saw the ball 
 coming, but he did not move out of his tracks. 
 He had been too long in the game not to know 
 where that particular ball was headed. As it 
 passed twenty feet over his head, he blew it a 
 farewell kiss, and started for the clubhouse. He 
 heard the thump of flying leather in the bleachers 
 
138 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 as he ran. " That kid can sure bust 'em," was 
 his only comment. 
 
 Tin Can Tommy's teammates got to him first 
 as he jogged over the plate, but the crowd was 
 right behind. They caught him up and surged 
 over the field in an aimless flood, depositing him 
 at last in rags at the clubhouse entrance. There 
 he made a speech, which had nothing to do with 
 the game, but a whole lot to do with the advan- 
 tages of matrimony. Nobody saw the connection, 
 but they cheered him on general principles. 
 
 Kitty and Brick McGovern were waiting for 
 him in a taxicab. 
 
 " I was just telling your wife," said the vet- 
 eran, " that if you ever get in a slump back there 
 in New York, all she has to do is to shake a can 
 at you." 
 
 Tetherington put one arm around his wife and 
 drew her to him. " Sweetest music in the world," 
 he chuckled. " Klinkety-Kitty-kiss? " 
 
 " Kitty-can," whispered his wife. 
 
 Brick McGovern sighed and looked out of the 
 window. 
 
KERRIGAN'S KID 
 
 FROM a bedroom window that overlooked 
 the St. Clair ball park, a boy looked down 
 intently through a pair of old-fashioned 
 opera glasses. 
 
 Jimmy Kerrigan was a very little boy, and he 
 took more than ordinary interest in the uniformed 
 figures far below him, skimming around like gray 
 water-bugs on a big green pond. One glance un- 
 der the bed-clothes at the little leg encased in 
 plaster of Paris from knee to hip, and you would 
 have understood why Jimmy's area of entertain- 
 ment was limited. 
 
 On Friday afternoons, when a section of the 
 left-field bleachers, almost under his window, was 
 filled with jubilant youngsters who had been ad- 
 mitted free, the boy liked to imagine that he was 
 sitting in the very front row, where he had a 
 fair chance to scramble for the balls occasionally 
 batted into the inclosure. 
 
 One afternoon, an almost unbelievable thing 
 happened. A ball from the bat of Truck Darrow 
 actually passed over the fence and hit not twenty 
 feet below the boy's open window. In a frenzy 
 of excitement, Jimmy Kerrigan stretched out one 
 
 139 
 
140 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 hand as far as he could, but the sudden move- 
 ment disturbed the heavy weight affixed through 
 a pulley to his left leg, and he dropped back upon 
 his pillow, a little whiter than usual. 
 
 When the score-board opposite him showed 
 that the Wolves had lost, he closed the window 
 slowly and turned to his remaining diversion — 
 a homemade scrapbook liberally adorned with 
 newspaper illustrations, nearly all of the same 
 individual, a big, heavy-shouldered man in a St. 
 Clair uniform. 
 
 Underneath a picture, pasted in his book only 
 that morning, Jimmy came upon a name with 
 which he was perfectly familiar, but there was a 
 two-word prefix that was new to him. He spelled 
 out the letters, but they did not seem to make 
 any sense. He was still puzzling over the prob- 
 lem when the door opened and the original of 
 the picture entered the room. The boy's eyes 
 brightened. 
 
 "H'lo, Dad!" 
 
 "'Lo, Son!" 
 
 " We lost again to-day, didn't we? But they 
 didn't hit you hard." 
 
 " Not very hard. Son. But that's the way the 
 luck goes sometimes. One of these days it will 
 change ; it's got to ! You keeping quiet like the 
 Doc' said?" 
 
 " Sure," 
 
KERRIGAN'S KID ^ 141 
 
 " That's good, Son. I've got some swell news 
 for you. There's a big French doctor coming out 
 here next month, a regular major-leaguer, and 
 they tell me at the hospital that if anybody can 
 fix up your leg, it's him. Now, ain't that 
 swell? " 
 
 Jimmy's eyes glistened. " And will I be able 
 to play ball again? Will I? " 
 
 " Shouldn't wonder. But we got to get a few 
 more games under our belt and pull down that 
 bonus. Take just about a thousand dollars to 
 put you on your feet again, I guess." 
 
 " Gee whiz ! That's a lot of money, ain't it? " 
 " Uh-huh ! Now lie quiet till I get supper." 
 The boy flattened out obediently. Then: 
 " Dad, what does ' toolie-woolie ' mean? " 
 Down went the glass of water that Big Bill 
 Kerrigan was carrying; its contents raced over 
 the floor. He strode across the room and looked 
 down at his son. 
 
 " Where'd you hear that? " he demanded. 
 The boy laid a small finger on the picture in 
 the scrapbook. " See? It's right in front of your 
 name." He spelled out : " T-o-o-l-i-e-w-o-o-l-i-e." 
 Kerrigan snatched up the book and read the 
 caption. Then he laid the volume down, forcing 
 a laugh. 
 
 " That's just a name the boys gave me," he ex- 
 plained. " It don't mean anything. You see, 
 
142 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 I'm trying hard to win and — and things are not 
 just breaking right.'' 
 
 The boy thought a moment. " I am little 
 ' Toolie-woolie/ " he decided. " I am little Too- 
 lie-woolie Kerrigan; ain't I, Dad? " 
 
 " Yes, Son," answered Bill, '' you are little 
 Toolie-woolie, sure enough." 
 
 Now there are things beyond our philosophy 
 and hence beyond our power to express in the 
 terms of the dictionary. A man boasts that he 
 has never met with an accident in his life, and 
 the next day he is in bed with a broken leg, and 
 he says : " I should have knocked on wood." An- 
 other man buys a famous jewel which has a tra- 
 gic history, and when his wife is run down by an 
 automobile he says : " Of course the thing is ab- 
 surd." But he sells the jewel. The magician 
 says : " Abracadabra ! " or " Mumbo-jumbo ! " 
 and immediately a glass of water becomes a white 
 rabbit. 
 
 Similarly the baseball fan, when he sees his 
 favorite club suffer persistent misfortune, injury- 
 after injury, and finish in the basement year 
 after year, despite all the money that is spent for 
 new players and new managers, shakes his head 
 and looks around for a Jonah to throw over- 
 board. Thus it happens that every so often in 
 some ball-park where the situation has taxed 
 human comprehension, there is a certain day set 
 
KERRIGAN'S KID 143 
 
 apart for the burial of " Julius Jinx," and that 
 mysterious personage, incased in a coffin, is car- 
 ried to the home plate in the presence of a holi- 
 day throng and incinerated with befitting cere- 
 monies. 
 
 This is purely a conceit of fandom and is not 
 relished by the ball-players themselves. The men 
 of the diamond do not like the word jinx ; it has 
 a sinister sound. They recognize, however, bet- 
 ter than anybody else, that there is a factor in 
 baseball which is often beyond their control. Or- 
 dinarily, it is referred to as " the breaks of the 
 game," meaning the way the luck goes. But 
 when this factor transcends the ordinary rules 
 of chance and deliberately takes issue with a 
 hard-working ball-club, there are always some 
 men on a team who will cross their fingers in 
 the seclusion of the clubhouse and whisper 
 knowingly: " Toolie-wooUe," or " Oofty goof! " 
 After all, what else is there to say? 
 
 Toolie-woolie Kerrigan was a whale of a 
 pitcher, loose of muscle, long of arm, and with an 
 easy movement that belied the speed which was 
 his greatest asset. 
 
 Why the White Sox should have left him be- 
 hind when they started East after a spring train- 
 ing-visit to California was a mystery to Coast 
 League fans, the only possible explanation being 
 that the Chicago club was so plentifully supplied 
 
144 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 with seasoned right-handers, that it became nec- 
 essary to farm out even such promising talent as 
 the big pitcher from Vancouver. 
 
 At all events Kerrigan was left with the 
 Wolves, in exchange for Jimmy Thompson, a 
 base-running phenomenon, and the big pitcher 
 speedily became the main support of a club that 
 for four years had finished in the basement. 
 
 For a year, he was Big Bill Kerrigan, a silent, 
 morose man, a good deal of a mystery to his own 
 team-mates, but an idol with the fans — a win- 
 ning pitcher on a losing ball-club. 
 
 It was his second season with the Wolves, not 
 long after he had demanded and obtained a con- 
 tract calling for a thousand dollar bonus if he 
 won twenty games, that the sobriquet of Toolie- 
 w^oolie appeared as a prefix to his name. It was 
 whispered first in the clubhouse by Truck Dar- 
 row, the club's first-string catcher, and it had no 
 reference then to any one man in particular ; but 
 as the season progressed it became apparent that 
 the Wolves, for one reason or another, could not 
 hit behind the best pitcher on the circuit, the 
 thing that was in the mind of every man in the 
 Coast League narrowed down until it rested 
 squarely on the broad shoulders of Toolie-woolie 
 Kerrigan. 
 
 For all things there are plausible explanations. 
 Had a psychologist, for example, been called into 
 
KERRIGAN'S KID 145 
 
 consultation his verdict no doubt would have 
 been something like this: 
 
 " What has happened is very simple. You 
 have a ball-club that finishes one season and 
 starts the next very badly. The fans arrange a 
 Jinx Day, and between the time the affair is 
 planned and the day it is carried out, the team 
 begins winning. But you have advertised the 
 Jinx Day, and a large crowd is on hand; so you 
 decide to go ahead. The program is poorly 
 planned. The casket should have been of card- 
 board which w^ould have burned quickly, and 
 the band should have played more jazz and less 
 dirges. 
 
 " You should have made the fans themselves 
 carry the coffin instead of picking out ball-play- 
 ers like Strowbridge, Prentiss, McRae, Yates, 
 Cluff and the other man. You selected the very 
 men who were most likely to re-act to a gruesome 
 suggestion. 
 
 " To make it worse, you got tired watching the 
 thing burn, and you put it out with water, and 
 the groundkeeper carted the unconsumed frag- 
 ments of the casket out, leaving the skull and 
 cross-bones facing the home club's bench. 
 
 " Don't you see what a stupid thing it all was? 
 You visualized a thought before twenty thousand 
 people and then burned the visualization, leav- 
 ing the thought itself to germinate and eventu- 
 
US HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 ally bear fruit. Now your club actually is 
 jinxed.'^ 
 
 But Big Bill Kerrigan was not a psychologist. 
 He knew only what had occurred and not the 
 underlying reason for it, and he was keenly, pain- 
 fully aware that in the clubhouse the Wolves 
 exchanged significant glances as, one after an- 
 other, five pall-bearers who had figured in the 
 mock funeral met with misfortune. Kerrigan 
 had been the sixth man. 
 
 And because the thing admitted of argument, 
 there was much talk, which is the worst thing 
 possible for a ball-club. 
 
 Strowbridge, an outfielder from Little Rock, 
 was the first to suffer. While playing his first 
 game with the Wolves on Jinx Day, he ran into 
 the fence head-on in the sixth inning, chasing a 
 foul ball, and crumpled up with a broken 
 collar-bone. He was carried off the field un- 
 conscious. 
 
 It was then that Truck Harrow, waiting until 
 all the others had got into their street clothes and 
 left the clubhouse, approached Peewee Patter- 
 son, and raised one huge paw with the middle 
 digit fiexed over a stubby forefinger. 
 
 " Toolie-woolie," he whispered. " The old 
 Oofty-goof!" 
 
 " Forget it," admonished the little second-base- 
 man. " The grounds were new to him, and he 
 
KERKIGAN'S KID 147 
 
 was trying to get off to a good start with the 
 fans." 
 
 But Darrow shook his head.. '' There was a 
 man on third," he reminded, " and only one out. 
 If he'd caught the ball, the runner would have 
 scored. Why should a man go after a ball like 
 that? " 
 
 " Maybe he thought there were two gone." 
 
 It was a plausible explanation. Similarly, 
 when the club released Prentiss and McRae, 
 Sweeney pointed out that the Wolves never had 
 got a pitcher from St. Louis who was worth any- 
 thing, and most of the players were compelled 
 to admit the truth of the observation. 
 
 " But," said Darrow, " they were Number Two 
 and Number Three on the right ; why didn^t they 
 get fans to carry that coffin instead of ball-play- 
 ers?" 
 
 The question was not intended for Kerrigan's 
 ears, but from the shower-bath, he heard it. Also, 
 he was among those present when Brick McGov- 
 ern, manager of the club, stormed into the office 
 one morning while the team was sitting around 
 reading the daily papers and waiting for the 
 pay-checks to be distributed. 
 
 " I told you fellows to keep away from that 
 fly-trap lunch-counter at Vernon," flared McGov- 
 ern. " Yates and Cluff are down with typhoid, 
 serves you right if you all get it. The very 
 
148 HEAKTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 day after we left, the Health Office closed the 
 place.'' 
 
 Out of the corner of one eye Kerrigan saw 
 Truck Darrow look at Patterson and hold up 
 first four fingers, and then five, before resuming 
 his perusal of the sporting page. In the silence 
 that followed, the pitcher sensed what was in the 
 minds of every one, except possibly McGovern. 
 They were wondering whether the sixth pall- 
 bearer, still in their midst, would succumb 
 quickly to the cycle of misfortune, or whether he 
 would stubbornly fight and compel the whole 
 club to continue under the influence of the 
 " Oofty-goof .'' 
 
 Kerrigan merely tightened his belt and his 
 lips and set himself to fight the thing out. It 
 was late in June that he first became aware that 
 the Wolves were not hitting behind him as well 
 as was their habit. At first he put it down to 
 the fact that he was invariably pitted against 
 the best pitchers on opposing clubs, and that with 
 the coming of hot weather, twirlers as a rule 
 have an edge on the batsmen. He discarded both 
 suggestions in the face of the obvious fact that 
 the club hit better behind every other man on 
 the staff, no matter who was opposing them. 
 
 Never for a moment did he harbor the thought 
 that his team-mates were deliberately lying down 
 on him. There are easier ways of throwing away 
 
KERRIGAN'S KID 149 
 
 a game than failing to hit. Batting is the breath 
 of life to a ball-player ; his " average '^ is his 
 bread and butter. The Wolves hit hard behind 
 Kerrigan, but either at the wrong time or into 
 the hands of the fielders. 
 
 For a while he did what any other man would 
 do under the circumstances — pleaded with his 
 team-mates between innings to come to life. 
 
 " Come on, boys, stake me to a couple of runs, 
 and I'll hold 'em. You hit this guy all over the 
 lot last week. Stake me to just one marker." 
 
 But when, with fourteen victories to his credit, 
 the Wolves went three full games, twenty-seven 
 innings behind him without scoring a run, Ker- 
 rigan accepted the inevitable, and sat day after 
 day in the dug-out, staring up at an open window 
 that overlooked the St. Clair ball park. If the 
 others only knew it, up there, behind that win- 
 dow, was really the sixth victim. 
 
 There are limits to what a ball-club will stand. 
 Matters came to a head in the last game of a 
 series with the Portland club. For once it 
 seemed as if the Goddess of Fortune had relented 
 and again condescended to beam upon the 
 Wolves. But the fickle jade, it developed, was 
 only laughing. 
 
 Kerrigan was pitching his usual hard-luck 
 game, but in the last half of the ninth the Wolves 
 filled the bases, with no one out and only two 
 
150 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 runs necessary to win. All the more promising, 
 it was Darrow's turn at bat, and the big catcher 
 was a deadly man in the pinches. 
 
 He dug his cleats into the loose soil of the bat- 
 ter's box, and with the count on him standing 
 " one and two," flashed the signal that he would 
 hit the next ball. The runners got into stride 
 with the swing of the pitcher's arm, and were 
 legging it halfway down the base-lines when 
 Darrow's bat rang full and true against the 
 horse-hide. A white bullet shot toward left- 
 field. 
 
 Now, the luck of the diamond is a curious 
 thing. Six inches higher or to either side, and 
 the drive would have won the game. But the ball 
 went to one target, and to one target only — 
 straight into the gloved hand of the third base- 
 man, who leaped into the air to meet it. It took 
 but a moment to touch third and snap the ball 
 to second, completing a triple play that ended 
 the contest. 
 
 The team undressed in that ominous silence 
 that marks a ball-club that has something on its 
 mind. One after another they straggled into the 
 open until there remained only a heavy shoul- 
 dered figure sitting on a bench and plucking 
 thoughtfully at a worn-out glove. 
 
 Kerrigan was conscious that the parting of the 
 ways had come. Five days later he found him- 
 
KERRIGAN'S KID 151 
 
 self facing McGovern across a table in the ball- 
 club's of&ce. 
 
 " Bill," said the manager, " I'm sorry, but I've 
 got to let you go. Maybe a change of uniform 
 will help you ; sometimes it works out that way." 
 
 Kerrigan nodded. 
 
 " I've tried to place you back with the White 
 Sox, and then with the other clubs in this League, 
 but they all seem willing to waive on you. I 
 don't understand." 
 
 " It's simple," said the pitcher ; " toolie-woo- 
 lie." 
 
 McGovern sighed and tapped the desk. " I 
 don't believe in such things. Bill, but the boys 
 do ; and it's bad, very bad. I could make a deal 
 for you in the bushes, but I don't like to do that 
 with a man who's been on the square with me. 
 I'm going to make you a free agent, and you can 
 take the best job that's open." 
 
 Kerrigan thanked him. *^ I was trying hard 
 to win, Brick." 
 
 " I know it. Bill." 
 
 " I wanted the bonus for a purpose," pursued 
 the pitcher. " You see — " 
 
 He hesitated and then sealed his lips, aware 
 that a man does not under certain circumstances 
 capitalize the misfortunes of his flesh and blood. 
 
 " I suppose you had some special reason," Mc- 
 Govern commented. " A thousand bones come 
 
152 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 in handy once in a while; I'd like to have seen 
 you win it, but if you were my brother, I couldn't 
 do any different." 
 
 " Sure," assented Kerrigan ; " that's baseball. 
 It's the luck of the game, only sometimes it's — 
 pretty tough." 
 
 He rose abruptly. " Good-by, Brick, and I 
 hope you win the flag." 
 
 " And I hope you catch on with a real ball- 
 club. Bill," McGovern echoed, " not a lot of damn 
 fools. Drop me a line, old-timer, and keep your 
 head up ! " 
 
 Kerrigan walked out of the office and turned 
 mechanically to the left. Halfway to his flat he 
 stopped and retraced his steps, then repeated the 
 maneuver. Finally he struck off in the direction 
 of his doctor's address. Following the consulta- 
 tion, he walked down-town and paused in front 
 of a window which displayed that for which he 
 was looking. He entered the store. 
 
 " I want," he told the man behind the counter, 
 " a pair of crutches." 
 
 " For yourself? " 
 
 " No,'.' Kerrigan replied, " for a little boy." 
 
 " I understand," nodded the man. "I have two 
 of them at home myself." 
 
 Kerrigan tucked the long bundle under his 
 arm and walked slowly home, to discover his son 
 peering out the window through the glasses. 
 
KERRIGAN'S KID 153 
 
 " Why, Dad/' Jimmy exclaimed, " it's Wednes- 
 day, and your turn to work. Did you get a day 
 off? Is that bundle something for me? " 
 
 " Yes, Son, I got a day off, and I brought you 
 home something." He sat down heavily by the 
 bed and took a small hand in his own, fingering 
 it tenderly. 
 
 " You poor little Toolie-woolie," he crooned, 
 " you been rooting mighty hard for your old Dad, 
 haven't you? " 
 
 a We're going to win, too," nodded the boy ; 
 "ain't we? We're going to win the pennant. 
 The luck's going to change; you said it always 
 does." 
 
 Kerrigan took the plunge. 
 
 " Yes, Son, the luck is going to change some 
 day — sure enough ; but — first, you and I have to 
 go away somewheres; don't know just where 
 right now, but I'm going to send out some tele- 
 grams. You see, I haven't been going very good, 
 and when a pitcher don't win in one place, he's 
 got to go somewhere else." 
 
 " And will Truck Darrow and Peewee Patter- 
 son and the rest of the Wolves go along too, Dad? 
 I like the Wolves; I can tell every one of them 
 by sight." 
 
 Kerrigan's lips twitched. " I'm afraid we got 
 to go alone. Son ; it's the luck of the game ; we've 
 got to join some other club." 
 
154 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 While the boy watched, wide-eyed, Kerrigan 
 unfastened the weights at the foot of the bed and 
 then unwrapped the bundle he had brought. 
 
 "Am I going back to my crutches. Dad?" 
 Jimmy asked. " I thought I wasn't to do that till 
 I went to the hospital, till the big league Doc' 
 came? " 
 
 Kerrigan sighed. The situation was beyond 
 him. " We need a little more money. Son. I was 
 counting on that bonus, and now I'm not going 
 to get it. We got to make a start all over, and 
 meanwhile the Doc', our old Doc', says it won't 
 hurt you to move around a little on crutches 
 again, so long as you don't disturb the splints. 
 When we get to where we're going, you can go 
 back to bed, and maybe we can still get that big 
 leaguer. Swing around now easy, and I'll put 
 your clothes on." 
 
 When this operation was completed, and one 
 leg of the small trousers fastened over the splints 
 with safety pins, Jimmy Kerrigan swayed pre- 
 cariously across the room on the crutches. 
 
 " I feel kind o' funny," he announced, " I guess 
 it's from being in bed so long. I guess I better 
 practise a bit. Are we going away in a train, 
 Dad? " 
 
 " I think so. Son ; I'll know when I come back. 
 I'm going out to send some telegrams. You bet- 
 ter get back on the bed now and rest before you 
 
KERRIGAN'S KID 155 
 
 do any more. I'll tell Mrs. Ruether to look in 
 on you. All you got to do is to rap on the floor 
 if you need anything." 
 
 " I'll be careful, Dad. I'll keep right here by 
 the window. It's the third inning, and the Tigers 
 are ahead. Gee, whiz! there's Truck at the bat 
 now. He most always hits it this way, don'lb 
 he?" 
 
 "If they feed him one on the inside," agreed 
 Kerrigan. " Yep, there it goes ! Two bases, 
 Truck! Hit the dirt!" 
 
 Far below them a figure flashed into second 
 and arose in a puff of dust. Kerrigan drew a 
 deep breath. 
 
 " Well, I got to be going, Son. You ain't blam- 
 ing your dad for not winning more games, are 
 you, kid? " 
 
 The boy shook his head and smiled. Then once 
 more he looked out the window. Kerrigan closed 
 the door softly. 
 
 Mrs. Ruether puffed up the stairs twice. On 
 the last occasion the boy was standing on his 
 crutches by the window, absorbed in the ninth- 
 inning tussle, going on out there. 
 
 " I'm running down to the corner after some 
 potatoes, Jimmy," she announced ; " I won't be 
 gone long." 
 
 He did not so much as turn his head. Peewee 
 Patterson was at bat, with three and two on 
 
156 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 him, and there were two out. The infielder 
 fanned. Down below Jimmy Kerrigan's window 
 the bleacher gates swung wide, and the crowd 
 debouched into the street. 
 
 The boy sighed. He would like to have seen 
 the Wolves win, even though his father was not 
 pitching. He would like to have been able to 
 think of them always as winning. He looked 
 down at the big green pond, now cleared of its 
 gray, skimming water -bugs. His father had said 
 they were going away. He would not see the 
 Wolves for a long time, he might never see them 
 again. 
 
 With a sick child's imagination, he had en- 
 dowed each man on the St. Clair ball club with 
 heroic qualities. He knew just what he would 
 say to each of them when he was able to go down 
 and be introduced. He had rehearsed it all many 
 times. And now he would never meet them ; he 
 would not be able to even say good-by. 
 
 He pondered over this subversion of the natu- 
 ral order of things, until, out of his meditations 
 grew an idea so daring that it almost swept his 
 breath away. He took a firmer hold on his 
 crutches and leaned out the window, the better 
 to study the situation. A steep, spiral stairway 
 descended from the back porch to the yard be- 
 low, where a gate opened into the street. Thence 
 it was only a matter of fifty feet to the bleacher 
 
KERRIGAN'S KID 157 
 
 entrance to the park. The place was empty save 
 for the ground-keeper and a score of small boys 
 who were collecting cushions and pop-bottles in 
 the grandstand. The players were in the club- 
 house. 
 
 Thumping across the room, Jimmy paused at 
 the door and listened. No sound came from the 
 hall or from below. Cautiously he made his way 
 to the back porch, and clinging with one hand to 
 the wooden railing, began a laborious descent. 
 It took him so long that when at length he 
 reached the bottom, he was fearful that his father 
 or Mrs. Ruether might have returned, and that 
 he would be intercepted before he could attain 
 his mission. Therefore he made as much haste 
 as he could, hunching forward through the big 
 gate, and along the turf of the outfield. 
 
 He was halfway to the ramshackle clubhouse 
 when the reaction came and he paused to look 
 back dizzily. Gradually the high fence ceased 
 to revolve, and earth and sky assumed their nor- 
 mal positions. At which moment Truck Darrow, 
 half-clad, appeared in the doorway and descended 
 to hang a damp undershirt on the clothes-line. 
 The sight of one of his heroes gave Jimmy 
 renewed courage. He set his small teeth firmly 
 together and began to count as he swung his 
 crutches forward. 
 
 Three times he counted up to twenty and 
 
158 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 started over again, when he heard a voice, that 
 seemed to come from ever so far away, call : 
 
 " Here you are, kid; you want a ball? " 
 
 Jimmy looked up to find himself within hand- 
 shake distance of his favorite. Once more the 
 world turned into a topsy-turvy, green bowl. 
 He pulled himself together and forced the 
 speech: 
 
 " I'm little Toolie-woolie Kerrigan," he gasped, 
 " I've come to say good-by, and I wish you — " 
 
 He toppled gently forward into the catcher's 
 arms. 
 
 Of what followed, Jimmy Kerrigan remem- 
 bered nothing. He was unaware that Truck Har- 
 row picked him up, crutches and all, and car- 
 ried him into the clubhouse ; that the Wolves, not 
 knowing that Kerrigan was a father, swarmed 
 helplessly around Big Bill's miniature until old 
 Mrs. Ruether, bare-headed and wringing her 
 hands, hurried into their midst with a story that 
 set them to jabbering worse than ever. Nor did 
 the boy know that Brick McGovern himself car- 
 ried him home and called two doctors, and then 
 met Bill Kerrigan hurrying up the stairs and 
 called the big pitcher some most extraordinary 
 names. Also he was blissfully ignorant that Mc- 
 Govern went back to the clubhouse and closed 
 the door on the entire team, and that in the con- 
 ference that followed. Truck Harrow pointed out 
 
KERRIGAN'S KID 159 
 
 that he had two children of his own at home, and 
 that if any man thought that he, Darrow, was 
 going to run a crippled kid out of the league, let 
 that man step out into the middle of the room 
 and he'd show him. 
 
 " Oh, to hell with that stuff," was Rube Fer- 
 guson's terse comment. " We all run his old man 
 off the club, and you know it. Now, what are 
 we going to do about it? " 
 
 It was little Peewee Patterson, whose batting 
 average for, the season was only two points over 
 his own weight, who picked up a bat and weigh- 
 ing it thoughtfully, solved the riddle by remark- 
 ing : " Something tells me there is a hit left in 
 this stick. Send Big Bill into work to-morrow, 
 and let the kid watch from the window. We've 
 bucked this thing long enough; now let's try it 
 the other way." 
 
 As it was, when Jimmy Kerrigan opened his 
 eyes, his father and Dunlap, the club physician, 
 were bending over him. 
 
 " I don't think any more damage has been 
 done," Dunlap was saying. " But how in the 
 name of Adam could he get that far with those 
 splints on him? By all means let Courtier look 
 at him when he comes. It is a badly comminuted 
 fracture of the femur, and nothing but a bone 
 graft, a very wonderful bone graft, can save the 
 limb. I remember now, Hinsdale was telling me 
 
160 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 of the case. Hello, sonny, had a good sleep, didn't 
 you: " 
 
 " Was I sleeping? '' Jimmy Kerrigan frowned. 
 " Gee whiz, Dad, I had a funny dream ! Seems 
 like I was saying good-by to Truck Darrow and 
 wishing him good luck ; and then, I guess, I woke 
 up. Ain't we going away, after all?" 
 
 Mrs. Ruether knocked on the door, at that mo- 
 ment. " Mr. Boland is on the 'phone," she an- 
 nounced, " and wants to know how Jimmy is get- 
 ting along." 
 
 " I'll speak to him," said Kerrigan. 
 
 He was back again a few minutes later, to put 
 long arms around his boy. 
 
 " You weren't dreaming, Son," he said, " you 
 did say good-by to Truck, sure enough, but we 
 may not go away for a little while longer. I'm 
 going to work to-morrow ; we're all going to work 
 to-morrow. Feeling all right? " 
 
 Jimmy nodded drowsily. 
 
 Peewee Patterson got his hit. It came when 
 the shadows were deep over the outfield in the 
 last half of the fifteenth inning, after the Wolves 
 and Tigers had been battling unavailingly for 
 almost three hours. It w^as the scratchiest sort 
 of a hit, a ball that bounded badly over the key- 
 stone, eluding Walsh at second; and it scored 
 Ferguson with the only run of the game. And 
 because it was a fluke hit, Peewee Patterson gath- 
 
 i^^'iiL. 
 
KERRIGAN'S KID 161 
 
 ered his tired team-mates around him in the club- 
 house and loudly demanded : 
 
 " Do I know something, or don't I? Pitch Big 
 Bill three times a week, and keep little Toolie- 
 woolie in the window. The luck's turned ! " 
 
 The following day, when the team was dress- 
 ing for the game. Slim O'Connor, the first base- 
 man, stamped over the littered floor in his un- 
 derwear with murder in his eye. " My shirt," 
 he raved, " my red undershirt — some guy swiped 
 it! I wore it yesterday, and I hung it right on 
 that hook. What son of a skull — " He stopped 
 as he discovered the missing article under a pile 
 of bath-towels, and calmed down. 
 
 McGovern grinned, aware that every man on 
 his club was dressing exactly as he had done the 
 day before, as is the custom of a team which de- 
 sires to encourage the God of Things As They 
 Should Be. 
 
 For a while the Wolves picked up amazingly, 
 climbing to the top of the second division; then 
 they faltered, for Kerrigan won his twentieth 
 game, and took the night train out of Los An- 
 geles, and every man on the team knew that little 
 Toolie-woolie, who had come to say good-by, was 
 going under the knife and it was a matter of 
 doubt whether the old " Oofty-goof " was finally 
 driven off or not. 
 
162 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 In all truth, the Wolves were afraid, not for 
 themselves, but for some one else; and that is 
 " the most soul-satisfying fear on earth.'' 
 
 They were nearly all married men, and yet 
 children at heart, as most ball-players ever re- 
 main; little Toolie-woolie Kerrigan had touched 
 them to the quick. 
 
 Rumors came down from San Francisco — how 
 no one knew — and they were passed from mouth 
 to mouth on the bench, then out to the coaching 
 line: The operation was not a success. They 
 had taken little Toolie-woolie's leg off. The kid 
 was dead. . . . 
 
 " I didn't get any such wire at all," McGovern 
 denied. *' I'll telephone to the hospital to-night. 
 For the love of God, play ball ! " 
 
 McGovern rang up over a distance of four 
 hundred miles, and the reply he received from 
 the hospital was professionally non-committal 
 and cautious. The patient was doing as well as 
 could be expected, it seemed. It was too early 
 to tell anything definite as yet. 
 
 " You didn't even get to first," complained 
 Truck Darrow. " Why the hell didn't you find 
 out whether they took his leg off." 
 
 But the next day there came a telegram from 
 Big Bill which set their minds at rest : " Opera- '. 
 tion complete success. Jimmy sends regards." 
 
KERRIGAN'S KID 163 
 
 That afternoon the Wolves shut out the league- 
 leaders by a score of seven to nothing. 
 
 Truck Darrow was on third with one out when 
 the Tiger rightfielder loped forward and took a 
 short fly not fifty feet back of first. The out- 
 fielder looked at the runner hugging his bag, and 
 tossed the ball to the pitcher. And what did 
 heayy-hoofed, slow-thinking Truck Darrow do? 
 Oh, nothing — only note the careless swing of the 
 fielder's arm, and lower his head like a Durham 
 bull and charge for the plate. And with the aid 
 of all the angels and a high throw, he made it ! 
 
 Ham Dolan, in left, hurdled the railing twice 
 and took two foul balls off the first step of the 
 bleachers, something that no one had ever seen 
 done before. 
 
 And Peewee Patterson, confronted with a 
 throw that was impossible to field cleanly, put 
 his one hundred and thirty-one pounds in the 
 path of Digger Grimes and pinned the runner six 
 inches off second, while he pawed for the ball, 
 found it and hammered it home on the runner's 
 ribs. 
 
 Then there was a most excellent fist-fight, but 
 Ump Munholland stuck to his decision, for um- 
 pires are only human, and they always ride with 
 a fighting team. 
 
 There is no stopping a ball-club once it begins 
 
164 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 to play over its head. It will murder the best 
 pitcher that ever stepped on the mound, and steal 
 the clothes off the opposing catcher. The game 
 is won even before the umpire brushes off the 
 plate, and both teams know it. It is merely a 
 question of the size of the score. 
 
 Coast league history records how the 
 Wolves broke into the first division the last week 
 in August, and a month later came pounding 
 down the home-stretch on the heels of the Tigers, 
 with the fans of seven cities urging them on. 
 
 But history omits one detail. When Big Bill 
 Kerrigan, pitching a nervous and self-conscious 
 game, won the pennant for the St. Clair club by 
 virtue of the vicious hitting of the men behind 
 him, the Wolves paused in their triumphant rush 
 to the clubhouse to gather under a window that 
 overlooked the left-field bleachers. At that win- 
 dow Jimmy Kerrigan, now able to sit propped up 
 on his pillows, waved both small arms in ac- 
 knowledgment of their cheers and asked them to 
 come up, an invitation which they accepted, to 
 the last man. 
 
 For all things there are explanations. Spike 
 Norton, baseball analyst for the Tiger follow- 
 ing, went to some pains to interview a University 
 of California professor, who said among other 
 things : 
 
 " There is a law of average that underlies all 
 
KERRIGAN'S KID 165 
 
 games of chance. This law operates on the prin- 
 ciple of a pendulum, which having swung so far 
 in one direction, must eventually swing just as 
 far the other. The Wolves, having suffered from 
 a long series of misfortunes, experienced a cor- 
 responding run of luck, demonstrating an inter- 
 esting scientific principle.'' 
 
 " Well, mebbe so," commented Truck Darrow, 
 " and mebbe not ; anyway. Big Bill pitches for us 
 next season, and little Toolie-woolie is the bat 
 boy, or I jump the club ! '' 
 
THE SPEED PILL 
 
 THE practised eye of "Brick" McGovem 
 discerned the trouble long before the base- 
 ball writers began to ask one another: 
 *' What's the matter with the Wolves? " Night 
 after night, the veteran manager of the cham- 
 pions remained in the clubhouse after the others 
 had dressed and departed. 
 
 In the semidarkness, observed only by " Pebble 
 Pop '' Connelly, the ground-keeper, and by 
 " Blinker '' Burke, club trainer, McGovern strove 
 to come to some conclusion. His sound baseball 
 judgment said to him : " Scrap the club now 
 and build again from the bottom with young 
 blood.'' His heart, beating in sympathy for 
 the men who had made his name synonymous 
 with baseball success, whispered to him: 
 " Stand by your friends ! Luck may pull you 
 through." 
 
 For the Wolves were slowing up ! They were 
 hitting and fielding as superbly as ever, but on 
 the bases they were being nipped by a stride 
 where in former years they would have made it. 
 That one stride, day after day, even when the hot 
 weather came and stiffened muscles began to 
 
 166 
 
THE SPEED PILL 167 
 
 loosen, told the story to the sorrel-topped man- 
 ager watching silently from the bench. In vain 
 he waited for Cunningham, Travers, and Walsh 
 to make up that lost stride. Never again in this 
 world would these wonderful ball players regain 
 that one step. It was gone forever with their 
 youth. The time-old tragedy of the diamond was 
 being enacted before an unwilling ^^ master of the 
 show." 
 
 Better men than Brick McGovern have faced 
 the same struggle. Some have seen their duty, 
 wrecked their club before even the fans had seen 
 that it was weakening, and thus brought upon 
 their heads the wrath of press and populace. 
 Time, however, justified their judgment. Others, 
 recalling the wives and children of the men who 
 counted them a loyal friend, have clung grimly 
 to their veterans and gone down into the ruck 
 with them, struggling loyally in their defense to 
 the last. 
 
 Torn between the love for his men and the love 
 for a winning ball club, a club that might realize 
 for him what no manager in baseball had yet 
 achieved — a fourth straight pennant — Brick Mc- 
 Govern laid the whole matter before Senator 
 Frank Lathrop, the owner of the club. 
 
 " It's a gambler's chance, and I want to take 
 it, senator," the manager implored. " Maybe I 
 should bust the club wide open^but I can't. I 
 
w 
 
 ±68 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 just can't. Ain't I a veteran myself? Don't I 
 owe everything to these same boys? " 
 
 Senator Lathrop drummed thoughtfully on his 
 desk, " Brick, sentiment has no place in busi- 
 ness, and for me baseball is a business." 
 
 " I know," McGovern replied wearily ; " for 
 you it's a business, and for me it's a sport, and 
 I'm pleading for a sporting chance." 
 
 "You want — " 
 
 "A speed pill, senator," McGovern broke in; 
 " one young outfielder who can travel those bags 
 faster than the Coast League has ever seen. Get 
 me a real base runner who can lead off and go 
 from first to third on a hit to right, and I'll 
 bench Dawson and take a chance on the others." 
 
 " Where am I going to get this phenom? " 
 
 McGovern tossed over a piece of paper on 
 which were written a number of names. " Any 
 of these men may do," he replied ; " it will take a 
 heap of money to pry them loose from the majors 
 even on option but it will be cheaper in the long 
 run than building up a new club." 
 
 The club owner nodded. " Money's no object, 
 Brick," he said; "what I want is that fourth 
 pennant. Hadn't we better get a shortstop and 
 two more pitchers? " 
 
 "No! " The Wolf Pilot snapped out his re- 
 ply aggressively. " I'll put just one man on the 
 bench and no more. The club's all right. You 
 
THE SPEED PILL 169 
 
 get me a speed pill, and I'll get the fourth flag. 
 Do you think I don't want it, too? " 
 
 During the next two weeks, owner and man- 
 ager strove, each in his own way, to attain the 
 same end — to check the downward flight of the 
 champions. Neither was successful. McGov- 
 ern ran into raw, cold weather on the road in 
 the Northwest ; weather that the Wolves detested. 
 The team did its best, and was lucky to break 
 even with clubs that were also in the second divi- 
 sion. 
 
 As for Senator Lathrop, the telegrams that 
 poured into his office from major-league man- 
 agers were all of the same tenor. If there was 
 one thing more than another that every club 
 needed at that moment, it was a fast young out- 
 fielder. They offered the Wolves pitchers, catch- 
 ers, pinch hitters, first basemen^anything but 
 the type of player that was needed. 
 
 The lines of worry about McGovern's blue eyes 
 deepened. He shrank from the players and news- 
 paper men more and more. His temper, never 
 of the best, developed into an open sore upon 
 which every close defeat acted like vitriol. 
 
 Then, out of a clear sky one early August aft- 
 ernoon, there dropped into the Wolf ball park 
 Clyde Brennan, of Calgary, Canada, with a note 
 from Bart Sanderson, veteran magnate of the 
 
17a HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 Twilight League and hunting pal of Brick Mc- 
 Govern. 
 
 The note was brief and to the point : 
 
 Dear Brick: Our club is on the rocks and dis- 
 banded. I'm sending you this kid in return for the 
 dog. They're both winners. Come North after you 
 grab the flag, and I'll steer you to the biggest moose 
 in Canada. Yours, 
 
 Bart. 
 
 McGovem kept his face straight until he was 
 alone wit^i Senator Lathrop. Then he laughed 
 for the first time in a month. 
 
 " Can you beat it? I gave Bart a hunting pup, 
 and now he sends me a busher. Ain't that a hot 
 trade? And he's an outfielder too." 
 
 "What's his record?'^ 
 
 McGovern shrugged carelessly. " They're all 
 Ty Cobbs in the Twilight League, and Joe Mc- 
 Gees everywhere else. If the kid was any good 
 at all, Sanderson wouldn't have to trade him for 
 a dog." 
 
 Senator Lathrop made no reply. He was 
 listening to the voice of Clyde Brennan as it 
 came to him through the half-open door of the 
 adjoining office. The Calgary recruit was ad- 
 dressing McCarthy, the club secretary — McCar- 
 thy, the most confirmed pessimist in baseball. 
 
 " Wait until I'm in there a couple of days," 
 
THE SPEED PILL 171 
 
 Brennan was saying, " and you'll see this club 
 come out of its slump. Never hit less than .340 
 in my life, and I figure I ought to do better right 
 along. To-morrow I'll show you the gold bat 
 and the Willie Keeler trophy they gave me just 
 before I left. Those Calgary merchants are 
 pips." 
 
 President Lathrop smiled ruefully. Brick Mc- 
 Govern sighed. From the clubroom that flanked 
 the secretary's office on the opposite side came 
 unmistakable evidence that the Wolves, gathered 
 there for the usual round of checkers and chat- 
 ters that precedes a game, had also overheard 
 Brennan's monologue. The voice of Rube Fer- 
 guson rose complainingly in the familiar train- 
 ing-camp refrain : 
 
 **0h, a busher in spring 
 Is a wonderful thing, 
 But where will he be in the faUf 
 Back pitching hay 
 At a dollar a day, 
 Oh, that's where he'll be in the fall!" 
 
 The Twilight Leaguer wheeled quickly and 
 strode to the entrance of the reading-room. 
 " Hello, fellows ! " he called cheerfully. " Mind 
 if I introduce myself? I'm Brennan, outfielder 
 from Calgary ; going to help you fellows clean up 
 another flag! Atta way to talk, eh?" 
 
172 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 He stood there, confidently expectant. No one 
 moved. No one looked up. 
 
 At last, Peewee Patterson, second baseman, 
 addressed the player sitting opposite to him: 
 " Pete, what's the best thing to do with a goat? " 
 
 " Cut off his horns," came the answer, " and if 
 that doesn't keep him from butting in, shoot 
 him ! '' 
 
 " Thanks," returned the second baseman 
 gravely. " Fellows, do you notice anything goaty 
 about the atmosphere? " Every man elevated 
 his head like a hunting dog sniffing suspiciously. 
 
 " No doubt about it ! " asserted Truck Darrow, 
 the catcher. " There is a goat somewhere to 
 windward. Pop must have left the gate open." 
 
 A dull red suffused the face of the youth in 
 the doorway. He opened his lips twice to make 
 rejoinder, but apparently he could think of noth- 
 ing sufficiently cutting. He turned away, fol- 
 lowed by a chorus of derisive bleats. 
 
 The manager of the Wolves turned despon- 
 dently to his superior. " Didn't I tell you, sena- 
 tor? He's a Joe McGee. I wish I had my dog 
 back." 
 
 If the youth from the North anticipated any 
 more favorable reception at the hands of the fans 
 than he had received from his team-mates, he 
 was doomed to disappointment. The warm-up, 
 prior to the game, had not been in progress more 
 
THE SPEED PILL 173 
 
 than fifteen minutes before the fans in the left- 
 field bleachers were deriding the youngster with 
 all the biting sarcasm and crude wit peculiar to 
 bleacherites. 
 
 The youngster was nervous and anxious to 
 please. His natural tendency to fidget was ag- 
 gravated by unfamiliarity with his surroundings, 
 the fact that he was just off a train, and the fur- 
 ther handicap of atmospheric conditions that 
 were peculiarly hard on a newcomer. 
 
 The Wolf ball park had a notoriously " high 
 sky.'' All ball players know what that means — 
 rarefied air, against which the ball has no back- 
 ground. It is the most difficult sky under which 
 to judge the course of a baseball. The youngster 
 managed to catch every ball in practise, but only 
 after he had danced around in circles that led 
 the bleacher throngs to believe he was showing 
 off. 
 
 « Oh, you Tango Kid ! " they yelled at him. 
 " Back to the Twilight League! " 
 
 When Brennan walked in to the bench at the 
 call of play and found that he was not in the aft- 
 ernoon's line-up he showed mild surprise not un- 
 mixed with relief. 
 
 As the game progressed, however, the young- 
 ster's enthusiasm returned, and he bawled advice 
 from the bench to men twice his age. Several 
 times he was perilously near death and quite ob- 
 
174 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 livious of the fact. The Wolves chose to ignore 
 him on the theory that Brick McGovern would 
 attend to his case. 
 
 There came a time in the ninth inning, how- 
 ever, when " Deacon " Dawson, veteran right 
 fielder, conscious of the young recruit sitting on 
 the bench ready to take his job, forgot his cau- 
 tion in his desire to prove that he was still the 
 brilliant outfielder who had won so many games 
 for the club. Pursuing a foul ball, he crashed 
 into the low right-field railing and crumpled up 
 with a broken leg. 
 
 When they had carried him off the field, Mc- 
 Govern came back to the Wolf dugout and ran 
 his eyes over the utility men. His lips tightened 
 grimly when he noted Brennan. The Wolves 
 were leading by two runs. He could afford to 
 take a chance. 
 
 " Get out there. Kid," he said ; " youVe had a 
 lot to say, now let's see what you can do.'^ 
 
 Almost before McGovern was through talking, 
 the Tango Kid was trotting into right field to 
 make his d^but as a player in the Coast League, 
 and the umpire was giving his name to the grand 
 stand. 
 
 The accident to Dawson appeared to unsettle 
 Brown, the diminutive southpaw, who was in the 
 box for the Wolves. He walked two men in rapid 
 
THE SPEED PILL 175 
 
 succession ; then he tightened up and retired the 
 next two players on pop flies to the infleld. The 
 fifth man, Sweeney, a left hander, accepted the 
 first pitched ball, and drove it high in the air 
 into Clyde Brennan's territory. The crowd arose 
 noisily and surged toward the exits, taking it 
 for granted that the ball would be caught. 
 
 Running back into position under the descend- 
 ing ball, the Tango Kid discovered suddenly what 
 the sporting writers meant when they said that 
 the Wolves had the worst sun field in the country. 
 A dazzling afternoon sun focused its rays full 
 on the outfielder's upturned face. Unwarned 
 and unprotected by sun glasses, burned cork, or 
 any of the other devices employed by rival play- 
 ers in that scorching field, Brennan " lost '' the 
 ball as it crossed the face of the sun. He reeled 
 blindly back with his arms groping in the air. 
 
 Not until the ball was a few feet overhead did 
 he see it through the mist of tears that welled 
 into his tortured eyes. He tried gamely to turn 
 his body into position, failed, and fell. The ball 
 struck his head a glancing blow and bounded 
 toward the foul lines, with the center fielder in 
 pursuit. 
 
 Before the ball had been recovered and re- 
 turned to the infield, the three runs had been 
 scored that put the visiting club in the lead. 
 
 McGovern's team tried desperately to recover 
 
176 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 the lost advantage in the last half of the ninth, 
 but the game ended with the Wolves, as usual, 
 beaten by a single run. The clownish awkward- 
 ness of a busher had robbed them of a victory 
 that was almost in their grasp. 
 
 As the players tramped sullenly toward the 
 clubhouse, the Tango Kid tried once or twice to 
 explain what had happened, but no one paid any 
 attention to him. 
 
 Not until the Wolves had gained the seclusion 
 of the water-splashed dressing rooms did they 
 proceed to divest their minds of certain bur- 
 dens. 
 
 " Sure is a clever goat ! " commented Park 
 Slattery, third baseman. "Never butted less 
 than .340 in its life, and does all its butting in 
 the outfield.'^ 
 
 " Not having any brains,'' explained another, 
 " it don't hurt a goat none to use its head, but 
 it's sure tough on a baseball. That pill was lop- 
 sided when Larry picked it up." 
 
 Truck Darrow, first-string catcher, stepped 
 from under a shower bath and applied a towel 
 to his Herculean frame. He was a quiet, serious- 
 minded giant on whom the long succession of 
 defeats rested heavily. An idea was slowly form- 
 ing in his head, an idea which bloomed into ac- 
 tion as his eyes fell upon Clyde Brennan's scant- 
 ily clad figure at a far corner of the room. He 
 
THE SPEED PILL 177 
 
 walked soberly over to the Calgary recruit, gath- 
 ered the latter's remaining clothes in one quick 
 sweep of his arms, and hurled them out of the 
 open window, 
 
 " Out ! " he commanded. " This room is for 
 men. Get out before I kick you out ! " 
 
 Brennan's brown eyes suddenly hardened. 
 " Hello, papa ! " he said lightly. " How's the 
 rheumatism?'' At the same time, his right fist 
 shot up and outward and came in swift contact 
 with the catcher's jaw. 
 
 In a flash they were at each other in a rough- 
 and-tumble m^l^e such as all baseball clubhouses 
 delight in. 
 
 The Wolves clambered to places of vantage, 
 eager to witness the punishment of the Tango 
 Kid, for Darrow was rated the best man in the 
 Coast League when it came either to using his 
 fists or blocking a runner off the home plate. 
 
 Under the impetus of the youngster's attack, 
 the older man reeled backward on the defensive, 
 but in a few minutes the scales had turned, and 
 the huge catcher took the offensive, his superior 
 weight and strength enabling him to close with 
 Brennan and send the latter to the floor three 
 times with sledge-hammer blows to the body and 
 face. Each time, the youngster was back like a 
 fox terrier seeking an opening in his opponent's 
 defense. 
 
178 HEABTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 When he went down again, and a fourth time 
 staggered to his feet — this time a bit slowly — 
 Darrow glanced questioningly at his team-mates, 
 and at a word from Brick McGovern, a number 
 of players stepped between the fighters. As if 
 recognizing that the Tango Kid's gameness was 
 entitled to recognition, the pilot of the Wolves 
 himself went outside and brought back the out- 
 fielder's clothes. 
 
 Supporting himself against the wall, the 
 Tango Kid spoke thickly between crimsoned lips : 
 " Some little reception you birds hand out all in 
 one day! Now you listen to me! When I get 
 ready to move out of this old ladies' home, it 
 won't be because you run me out — it will be be- 
 cause the majors have drafted me. Get that? " 
 
 Darrow elbowed forward. " I'll smear you 
 from here to the home plate if you don't shut 
 up ! " he promised. 
 
 Brick McGovern interfered. " Easy, Truck," 
 he said. " Let the Kid alone." 
 
 Brennan donned his coat painfully and left 
 the clubhouse, striding across the diamond with 
 an attempt at dignity. The pilot of the Wolves 
 stepped to the clubhouse doorway and stood 
 there, staring after the boy's retreating figure. 
 McGovern's face reflected deep interest. 
 
 The days after the Wolves left for the South 
 
THE SPEED PILL 179 
 
 for an important series with the Angels, Pop 
 Connelly, the veteran ground keeper, paused in 
 his task of manicuring the grass on the diamond, 
 mopped his brow, and gazed in some perplexity 
 at the motionless figure of a man standing bolt 
 upright against the right-field fence. 
 
 " 'Tain't a ball player," he decided, " for Mc- 
 Govern took the whole gang. Maybe he's look- 
 ing for a job on the grounds." 
 
 x4s Pop, bent on investigation, advanced into 
 right field, the figure resolved itself into that of 
 a young man who held his hands lightly behind 
 him and whose face was turned full in the glare 
 of the afternoon sun. Two strips of court plas- 
 ter over either cheek bone held open the quiver- 
 ing eyelids. Deep lines of agony wrinkled the 
 youngster's forehead. Tears streamed down 
 mingling with beads of perspiration. 
 
 The ground keeper stared aghast. " Good God, 
 boy," he exclaimed, " are you crazy? " 
 
 The youngster lowered his gaze. For a few 
 seconds it was evident that he could not see at 
 all. Gradually his eyes focused on the ground 
 keeper's rotund frame. " Hello, Pop ! " he re- 
 turned. " No, I'm not crazy, yet. I'm just get- 
 ting used to this sunfield. Some day I'm going 
 to play it." 
 
 " The only field you'll ever play if you keep 
 that stunt up will be in the Home for the Blind," 
 
180 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 the ground keeper told him. " You must be Bren- 
 nan — of the Twilight League." 
 
 ^' How did you guess? " 
 
 Pop Connelly laughed. His shrewd gray eyes 
 peered from under shaggy brows and took in the 
 youngster in one swift glance. He did not think 
 it necessary to say that Brick McGovern had con- 
 signed the Calgary outfielder to his care with 
 very explicit instructions. Pop, too, was a good 
 judge of bushers. 
 
 " How was it," he asked, " that McGovern 
 didn't take you South?" 
 
 The Tango Kid flushed and dug the toe of one 
 shoe into the turf. " I guess the chief is off me," 
 he acknowledged ruefully ; " that's why I'm go- 
 ing to learn this sunfield or bust — ^but it's sure a 
 pip ! " He turned his eyes skyward again, shad- 
 ing them with one hand. 
 
 " Cut that out ! " admonished Connelly sharply. 
 " If you really want to play this field, let me 
 show you something." He led the way, forty 
 paces forward and twenty paces from the right- 
 field foul line. 
 
 The outfielder then saw that a huge advertis- 
 ing sign on the top of the grand stand shut off 
 the sun from a square of the outfield about ten 
 feet in either direction. 
 
 " Here's where you're supposed to stand, Kid," 
 the ground keeper said. 
 
 h. 
 
THE ^PEED PILL 181 
 
 " What about a short fly in right center? " 
 
 " The second baseman takes it, or the center 
 fielder. They both protect you after the seventh 
 inning, when the sun is particularly bad." 
 
 " But I've got to leave this square to get a ball, 
 and then the sun's as bad as ever. I can't stand 
 in the shade and get it." The outfielder's tone 
 was lugubrious. 
 
 " You judge it while you're in the shade. You 
 rest your eyes while you're here. You go out 
 with your head down, legging it for wherever the 
 ball is heading. Then when you look up into the 
 sun, I'll show you what to do." 
 
 The ground keeper vanished in the direction 
 of the clubhouse. He was back in a few minutes 
 with the green-striped gray cap that was part of 
 the Wolf uniform. Folded back, level with the 
 visor of the cap, was a small pair of smoked 
 glasses, so arranged that a flip of the wearer's 
 finger would drop them over the eyes. 
 
 "Well, I'll be darned!" said the Twilight 
 Leaguer. " I guess I'm an awful busher, all 
 right! I never knew there was such a cap." 
 
 " There wasn't, until I invented it," said the 
 ground keeper simply. 
 
 The Tango Kid stared. " You? " he exclaimed. 
 
 " Me," answered Connelly. " Twenty years I 
 was a ball player — ten years in this old field. 
 Twice I heard the sweetest music in the world." 
 
182 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 "World's series cash?" The younger man 
 put the question in an awed whisper. 
 
 Connelly shook his head. " I was never in the 
 majors/' he said sadly. " Me and Brick McGov- 
 ern always said the coast was good enough for us. 
 I was referring to the two times the Wolves gave 
 me the ^ good hunting howl.' " 
 
 "The what?" 
 
 " Well," said Connelly, " you'll never under- 
 stand unless some day you're fortunate enough 
 to hear it. But the Wolves are more than a ball 
 club; they're the best — they've always been the 
 best — bunch of fellows in the world. They're 
 men, every inch of them ; and when they give you 
 the ' good hunting howl ' it means that you're a 
 blood brother from then on, and they'll lay down 
 their lives for you. But you have to earn the 
 honor. You've got to have nerve and skill, and 
 you've got to show 'em both in the pinch." 
 
 Clyde Brennan put a hand tenderly to his swol- 
 len lips. " Good hunting, eh? " he repeated ; " I'll 
 say they're hunters, all right. What was it you 
 did that gave you the free concert? Shall we 
 grab a seat over there in the shade? " 
 
 That was the introduction to a chat that lasted 
 all afternoon ; a chat that sealed a bond of friend- 
 ship between a hero of by -gone days and a busher 
 who had butted into fast company and been 
 promptly and none too gently ejected. 
 
THE SPEED PILL 183 
 
 From Brennan, Pop Connelly learned a lot 
 about the youngster's nature and his ambitions. 
 From the ground keeper, the Tango Kid learned 
 a lot about Brick McGovern and his Wolves. 
 
 One thing in particular stuck in the young- 
 ster's mind. Just before Pop Connelly gathered 
 up his tools preparatory to departure, the Cal- 
 gary outfielder turned to him wistfully : " Pop, 
 the fellows were right in calling me a goat. I did 
 try to butt in just like I belonged. I can see it 
 now. Do you think if I make the club and it was 
 to get to going good, we could grab the flag with- 
 out having to drop any one? " 
 
 " Shouldn't wonder," replied Pop. " Vve told 
 you what's needed. Brick knows it; the fans 
 know it now ; every one knows it. If we could get 
 a lead-off man who was a real speed pill, some 
 one who could get on those bags and turn in that 
 missing run, we might turn the trick." 
 
 The Tango Kid took a deep breath. " Pop, I 
 never told you, but that's how I hit .340 last 
 summer — by beating out infield hits. I can cover 
 the hundred in ten flat."_ 
 
 He hesitated, and then blurted : " Pop, I won- 
 der if you would mind slipping me some point- 
 ers? You do a little fungo hitting for me in the 
 mornings, and I'll mow the grass for you in the 
 afternoons. I want to hear that ' good hunting ' 
 stuff." 
 
184 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 Pop Connelly's rubicund face glowed like an 
 electrolier. " Put it there, boy ! '^ he chortled. 
 " Just between you and me you're beginning to 
 talk like a real Wolf." 
 
 It was two days later that Pop buttonholed 
 " Blinker '' Burke, the club trainer, and insisted 
 that he show up at the park that afternoon with 
 a stop watch. He knew how to enlist Blinker s 
 interest. 
 
 " It's his build, Blinker — that's what I want 
 you to notice; and I want you to spot the way 
 he runs. If he don't remind you of some one we 
 both used to know in the old days. 111 buy the 
 supper." 
 
 Later in the day, the two veterans watched the 
 Tango Kid work out in company with the usual 
 group of hangers-on who congregate about a ball 
 park when the home club is on the road. Under 
 Pop's direction, the young outfielder was practis- 
 ing " getting down to first." Blinker Burke, 
 watch in hand, stood back in the shadow of the 
 grand stand. 
 
 "Well?" asked Pop. 
 
 The trainer's eyes glittered, but he spoke 
 quietly : " The Kid is ^ Spike ' Duffy all over 
 again — only a little faster, and he is younger 
 than Spike was when he circled the bags in 13.4 
 Also he bats from the left side, which puts him 
 
THE SPEED PILL 185 
 
 a step nearer first. See, can you teach him how- 
 to circle first?" 
 
 For two weeks, morning and afternoon, the 
 Tango Kid worked out under the observation and 
 encouragement of Brick McGovern's two pals. 
 They found the youngster a wdlling pupil — 
 though after the first week there was little more 
 they could tell him. 
 
 He knew instinctively how to get away from 
 the plate as a sprinter leaves his mark. Pop 
 Connelly taught him how to bear to the right 
 just far enough as he approached first base to cut 
 across the inside corner in full stride — a trick 
 not one ball player in fifty ever learns to master. 
 From the same authority he learned how to cir- 
 cle second and third without losing ground, and 
 how to make each bag act as a springboard under 
 his flying spikes. Blinker Burke showed him 
 how to slide into a bag with his left leg crooked 
 under him so that he rose to his feet instantly as 
 his right toe hooked the base. 
 
 " Some chaps/^ explained the trainer, " like 
 to brush off their pants and borrow a chew of 
 tobacco when they get to the keystone, but a 
 real base runner has one eye on third and the 
 other on the coach who's waving him home. Let's 
 see you step around the paths,while I hold the 
 watch on you." 
 
 While Pop served as a pitcher, the Tango Kid 
 
186 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 stepped up to the plate, swinging a short chunky- 
 bat. He tapped the first pitched ball lightly- 
 along the first-base foul lines and was off in a 
 flash. 
 
 " Full stride around first ! " yelled the ground 
 keeper. " Don't swing so wide ! That's it ! Cut 
 right over the short-stop's place — he'll be in the 
 outfield calling for the ball. Now — the coach is 
 waving you on — hit third hard — get the spring 
 out of the bag — spurt — ^spurt — now, then — hit 
 the dirt — let go everything and jump for it — 
 jump! " 
 
 Connelly's voice rose to a scream. Brennan's 
 slim body flashed over the home plate in a cloud 
 of dust. Blinker Burke looked at his watch and 
 then at the Tango Kid and his coach as they came 
 sauntering up. 
 
 " What did I make it in? " the outfielder asked. 
 
 The trainer shook his head. " I don't know," 
 he grumbled; "my watch stopped on me. But 
 you swung too wide coming around third, and 
 you want to come in behind the catcher, not in 
 front. Make him turn to find you." 
 
 When the practise was over, however, and 
 Clyde Brennan had gone to the clubhouse 
 to dress, Burke took his companion-at-arms 
 aside and held the watch before Connelly's 
 eyes. 
 
THE SPEED PILL 18T 
 
 " Look at that ! " he cried. " Look at it. 
 Either I've forgotten how to time or that kid tied 
 the world's record ! " 
 
 The split-second hand stood at 13.4. 
 
 Pop Connelly whistled. " A speed pill," he 
 said; "just a natural-born base runner. And 
 he'll do for a lead-off man, too. Did you notice 
 how he waited out Bill Patterson when the lat- 
 ter was pitching to him this morning? Never 
 offered at a bad ball once. He has a good eye and 
 patience and speed. Ain't Brick the luckiest 
 chap in the world? " 
 
 " The luckiest chap in the world " at that mo- 
 ment was bemoaning the fact that three outfield- 
 ers, procured one after the other to fill Deacon 
 Dawson's place, were all failures in the lead-off 
 role. Again and again Mc Govern shufiied his 
 batting order in an effort to get men on base 
 when his heavy hitters came to the plate, but the 
 Wolves could not climb out of the second divi- 
 sion. Every winning streak was cut short by a 
 one-run defeat. 
 
 The Wolves had been on the road for two 
 weeks, when their leader received a cryptic tele- 
 gram signed jointly by Pop Connelly and Burke. 
 It read: 
 
 it 
 
 Lead off with Tango Kid. Will burn up league.' 
 
188 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 The answer came back that night. 
 '' Send him/' 
 McGovern did not believe in wasting words. 
 
 It was a noisy and hopeful crowd that greeted 
 the Wolves when they returned from their road 
 trip to face a crucial series with the Tigers, who 
 were in second place by a margin of four games. 
 McGovern's club had apparently started its long- 
 delayed pennant drive. Five successive victories 
 had pulled the Wolves out of the second divi- 
 sion and landed them in third place. There 
 were still five weeks more of play before the pen- 
 nant could be decided. 
 
 The experts, with one exception, explained that 
 tighter pitching and more timely hitting were 
 responsible for the turn in the tide of the Wolves' 
 fortunes. " Big Bob " Purdue and Cy Peterson, 
 hitting in third and fourth place, were driving in 
 the additional run which the club had needed so 
 badly all season. 
 
 The one scribe who differed with his fellows 
 was " Steve '^ Fitzgerald of the Chronicle^ and 
 he, singularly enough, was a close friend of Mc- 
 Govern, and usually a reliable writer. Fitz- 
 gerald said that the club was not hitting any bet- 
 ter, but that the new lead-off man Clyde Bren- 
 nan — was stealing the shoes off opposing catch- 
 
 m 
 
THE SPEED PILL 189 
 
 ers and running wild on the bags. Pandom, re- 
 calling the Tango Kid and his d^but in the Coast 
 League, laughed at the Chronicle and concluded 
 that Brennan was in right field only because 
 McGovern could find no one else. They were 
 willing, however, to forgive his presence if the 
 team still won. 
 
 Pop Connelly got a few words with the Wolf 
 leader before the game. " The Kid? " he asked. 
 " How is he? " 
 
 " Some boy, Pop ! " McGovern replied. " But 
 he's got his back up; he won't open his 
 mouth to any of us. Look at him now — sitting 
 on the end of the bench as proud and lonely 
 as a setting hen. He ought to forget that 
 stuff." 
 
 The ground keeper smiled reminiscently. " I 
 remember when you and I were bushers, Brick, 
 back in the Three I League, and there wasn't a 
 finer pair of young mules in baseball. The kid 
 is just dying to be taken into the family, but you 
 told him to butt out; and now, you'll have to 
 make it easy for him to come in without using 
 his horns." 
 
 McGovern grinned. " I got you. Pop ! Wait 
 till this crowd spots Brennan in action, and you'll 
 see some fun. See you after the game." 
 
 Connelly turned and went into the grand stand, 
 where he made his way to the press box. The 
 
190 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 reporters welcomed him, for Pop Connelly was 
 ever a source of anecdote and information, and 
 the press box at the Wolf park was not the ex- 
 clusive spot it is at other grounds on the circuit. 
 He sat there, a rotund figure, expectant and 
 happy as a boy. But when the batteries were 
 announced his rosy color faded slightly, and a 
 worried look appeared. 
 
 " Lefty " Harrison, giant southpaw of the 
 Tigers, was the man nominated to stop the rush 
 of the Wolves, and Harrison was rated the most 
 effective twirler in the league. There are some 
 pitchers who for one reason or another, in the 
 language of the diamond, " have the number " of 
 some particular club. Such was the case with 
 Harrison and the Wolves. They had not beaten 
 him all season, nor for half the season before 
 that. As a consequence, his team-mates consid- 
 ered him invincible against McGovern's club, 
 while the Wolves were conscious of a distinct 
 handicap. It is such psychological suggestions 
 that frequently decide ball games. 
 
 McGovern sent Collins to the mound against 
 the left hander, and the crowd settled back for a 
 pitching duel supreme. No one was disap- 
 pointed. Inning after inning rolled by without a 
 score. Twice the Wolf infielders, with men on 
 third, crept into the grass and shut off the run- 
 ner at the plate. Twice the Tiger outfielders 
 
THE SPEED PILL 191 
 
 raced into the shadow of the fence and pulled 
 down drives that were ticketed for home 
 runs. 
 
 As the game progressed, both pitchers became 
 steadier, the opposing infields more alert, the 
 rival managers more watchful for the break that 
 was sure to come. But the great score board in 
 center field displayed two strings of ciphers that 
 grew ever longer. News of the contest spread to 
 the downtown section, and many a business man 
 locked his office early and appeared at the park 
 a few minutes later. 
 
 It appeared that the Wolves might do the un- 
 expected in the fourth inning and again in the 
 ninth. Each time, however, with men on base, 
 Harrison steadied himself and retired the Wolves 
 on strikes. 
 
 Meanwhile Pop Connelly in the press box, 
 Brick McGovern on the side line, and Blinker 
 Burke sitting in the dugout, waited to see what 
 would happen when the Tango Kid got on the 
 bags with either Peterson or Purdue batting be- 
 hind him. But inning after inning had rolled 
 around without Brennan having reached first. 
 Himself a left-hand hitter, the Tango Kid was 
 facing the hardest kind of a ball for him to hit — ■ 
 a slow^ curve from a southpaw, cutting the far 
 corner of the plate. 
 
 " If they ever feed the Kid a fast ball around 
 
192 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 the ear/' breathed Pop Connelly, "the game is 
 over.'' 
 
 If the Calgary youngster, however, was baffled 
 at the bat, he endeared himself to the Wolf sup- 
 porters when, with the bags full in the sixteenth 
 and two out, he hurdled the low railing in right 
 field, crashed into the bleacher section, and 
 caught a foul ball with the sun shining square 
 against the yellow glasses. 
 
 Wild Bill Cassidy and Blinker Burke helped 
 the Tango Kid to his feet, and the quick eye of 
 the trainer spotted a ragged tear in the out- 
 fielder's right stocking just above the ankle. 
 
 " Here, you," he ordered, " let me see what's 
 wrong ! " 
 
 Brennan, however, turned resolutely away, his 
 lips compressed, and trotted soberly toward the 
 dugout, the bleacherites thundering their appre- 
 ciation of the catch. 
 
 Protruding from under the seats against which 
 the outfielder had hurled himself, the trainer dis- 
 covered the upturned spade belonging to the 
 Wolves' ground keeper. Burke frowned and 
 made his way to McGovern's side. 
 
 " Brick," he said, " I'm afraid that Kid is hurt. 
 You'd better take a look at his leg and — " 
 
 He stopped short, for an oddity of the baseball 
 diamond was taking place. All thirty-third de- 
 gree fans have seen it happen again and again 
 
THE SPEED PILL 193 
 
 and have ceased to wonder at it. When an out- 
 fielder makes a great catch that retires the op- 
 position, Fate ordains that it shall be his next 
 turn at the bat. The Tango Kid was striding 
 forward to the plate, swinging his short chunky 
 bat. 
 
 On the Wolf bench, the group of tired veterans 
 watched Brennan dully. It was asking too much 
 of them to maintain the pace at which they were 
 playing. Another inning or so would see them 
 weaken, despite the club's gameness. 
 
 Pop Connelly's thoughts were much along the 
 same line. " Now or never I " he muttered to 
 himself, and even as he spoke he saw Lefty Har- 
 rison cut loose a high fast ball on the inside of 
 the plate, as though to drive the Tango Kid back 
 from the rubber ; he saw the Kid swing with every 
 ounce of energy in his lithe young body, heard 
 the clean, sharp crack of bat and ball, and beheld 
 the flying pellet sail into left center, with two 
 outfielders racing to cut it off. 
 
 Fitzgerald of the Chronicle leaped to his feet, 
 upsetting his telephone. " Two bases ! " he 
 bawled. " There goes your old ball game ! " 
 
 In the deafening clamor that echoed and re- 
 echoed from the blackened tiers in grand stand 
 and bleachers, three veterans of the ball field, 
 their nerves tingling and their muscles set, 
 viewed the scene with outward calm and through 
 
194 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 half-closed eyes. They were Pop Connelly in the 
 grand stand, Blinker Burke on the player's bench, 
 and Brick McGovern, standing in the coacher's 
 box at third. And of the three, the ground 
 keeper alone spoke. 
 
 " He runs just like Spike Duffy,'' murmured 
 Pop — " only faster. It's going to be close — it's 
 going to be very close — " His words were 
 drowned in a diapason of rising sound. 
 
 The Tango Kid had passed first in full stride 
 and was swerving toward second at an angle 
 which left no room for doubt as to his intentions. 
 For the first time since the immortal Duffy had 
 left for the majors twenty years before, St. Clair 
 fans were seeing a real base runner in action. 
 
 Ten thousand people saw Brennan stretch a 
 two-base hit into three bases and realized that 
 no matter how cleanly the ball was handled back 
 into the infield, the Tango Kid would beat it. 
 But they did not at once realize the full signifi- 
 cance of the youngster's quick glance at the 
 coaching line as he flashed over the shortstop's 
 position, and then the swift lowering of head as 
 he tore for third. 
 
 Pop Connelly and Blinker Burke, however, 
 caught Brick McGovern's signal, given with a 
 sweep of the arm as the grizzled pilot noted that 
 the center fielder was making the mistake of a 
 high bounding throw to third. 
 
THE SPEED PILL 195 
 
 The voice of the ground keeper rose above the 
 roar of the crowd in a shrill scream : " Home ! 
 Home! Go on, Kid! He's going to make it! 
 Home!" 
 
 Like an electric spark the cry flashed over the 
 crowd, bringing men upright. Forty feet from 
 the plate and the third baseman of the Tigers 
 snapped up the throw from the outfield, whirled 
 and with a single motion sent the ball low and 
 true to the waiting catcher. 
 
 The Tango Kid's flying body left the ground in 
 a white streak, catapulted forward with one final 
 spring, and the tip of one shoe scratched the 
 plate as the Tiger catcher pounced on him with 
 the ball. The crowd waited only long enough 
 to assure itself that the umpire had his hands 
 spread, with the palms downward. Then it ren- 
 dered tribute to the hero. 
 
 In the confusion of the darkened clubhouse, 
 the Wolves dressed silently, which is unusual be- 
 havior for a winning team — a team that has just 
 scored a one-to-nothing-sixteen-inning struggle 
 against Lefty Harrison. But the Wolves had 
 something on their mind. They felt ill at ease 
 and awkward, and one after another, having 
 dressed, they found a pretext to remain in the 
 clubhouse. 
 
 The door that led to the rubdown table opened. 
 
196 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 and Blinker Burke appeared, followed by a brisk 
 little man carrying a surgeon's black bag. The 
 little man picked his way gravely over piles of 
 towels and disappeared out of the door. Imme- 
 diately, twenty ball players surrounded the club 
 trainer. Truck Darrow's thunderous tones rose 
 above the clamor. 
 
 " Well," he demanded, " what's the idea in the 
 doc'? What's wrong with the Kid? If anybody 
 spiked him, I'll mur — " 
 
 " Lay off! " snarled Burke. " The Tango Kid 
 will do his own murdering if it's necessary. No- 
 body spiked him, but his leg is carved a bit — did 
 it in trapping that foul. He's the gamest kid this 
 league has ever seen." 
 
 The face of the big catcher reflected rank dis- 
 belief. He stamped noisily into the rubdown 
 room, where Clyde Brennan lay on a lounge, his 
 right leg from the ankle half up the shin incased 
 in bandages. By the Calgary youth's side stood 
 Pop Connelly, his usually florid face a chalky 
 white. The ground keeper looked at the Wolves 
 as they crowded into the little room. 
 
 " Boys," he said, " I come near ruining my 
 own lad — my own dear lad ; it was my shovel he 
 hit. I never thought the outfielder lived that 
 would go that far after a ball, but he did, and he 
 busted the world's record going around them 
 
THE SPEED PILL 197 
 
 " What? " they chorused. 
 
 '^ The world's record/' repeated Pop, " on a leg 
 that none of us would have stood on. Blinker 
 had three fellows holding a watch on him all 
 through the game. He made it in 13.3." 
 
 The Tango Kid turned a brick red under the 
 general awed scrutiny. " Forget it ! " he said, 
 and struggled to get up. 
 
 Brick McGovern laid a heavy hand on the 
 young man's shoulder. " None of that ! " he ad- 
 monished. '' We can't afford to have you out of 
 the game any longer than necessary. The doctor 
 says we must struggle along without you for a 
 week, but after that you run with the Wolf pack 
 until the majors grab you." 
 
 **'At's the talk!" cried Schmidt. "He runs 
 with the pack, and right at the head if he wants 
 to. What say, boys? " 
 
 In unanimous answer to the catcher's question, 
 the veterans grouped themselves about the Tango 
 Kid's temporary couch. Their faces turned to- 
 ward the ceiling, their chests expanded, and so, 
 standing, with their arms locked, they gave 
 tongue to the famous hunting cry of the pack — 
 the long-drawn howl that proclaims the election 
 of a new Wolf: 
 
 "Good hunting. Kid!" they cried. "Good 
 hunting ! " 
 
PEBBLE POP 
 
 TEN years as ground keeper for the St. Clair 
 ball club had developed in " Pop " Con- 
 nelly a deep and abiding hatred for peb- 
 bles. They interfered with the true course of a 
 baseball ; they marred the appearance of his ball 
 park; worse — they compelled him to stoop over 
 and pick them up, and he was fat and rheumatic.; 
 
 Sometimes Pop Connelly was tempted to quit, 
 but the temptation was not strong. A ground 
 keeper does not figure highly in the estimation of 
 the fans, but when the game is over, after all, it 
 is his ball park, and there is no one to kid him 
 if he wants to hark back twenty years or 
 more, and fool around first base, or go out in 
 right and imagine there's a ball heading for the 
 fence and the bags are full. 
 
 When a man has a gold watch charm to prove 
 that he once played in right field and batted in 
 the clean-up role for the old Greenwood and 
 Morans, it is asking a good deal of him to quit 
 the game altogether. 
 
 " Yes, sir," he would say : " I remember well. 
 We were playing the Alerts in San Francisco 
 the last day of the season and we had a crowd of 
 
 198 
 
PEBBLE POP 199 
 
 eighteen thousand. They had us two to nothing 
 in the ninth when we filled the sacks and I come 
 to bat. Now, ' Demon ' Carlisle was pitching, 
 and he — '' 
 
 That was about as far as Pop Connelly ever 
 got because everybody on the ball club knew the 
 story by heart and always managed to escape, 
 promising to return in a few minutes. Some- 
 times he would wait, fingering fondly the heavy 
 gold horseshoe with its faint inscription on the 
 back. 
 
 But eventually he learned that he was expected 
 to tend to the grounds and let the present gen- 
 eration of ball players do all the talking. Once 
 having reached that conclusion, he became " Peb- 
 ble Pop," with a determination to have the 
 smoothest infield in the business. Just as he had 
 been a real ball player, so as a ground keeper 
 he sought to be a champion. 
 
 If anything further was needed to inspire 
 Pebble Pop to extraordinary interest in the con- 
 dition of the St. Clair infield, it came when he 
 recommended Jimmy Moran to " Brick '' Mc- 
 Govern, and the boy made good at short for the 
 Wolves. Thereafter it was Pebble Pop himself 
 who was out on the diamond every afternoon, 
 picking ground balls out of the dirt, and not the 
 lean, wiry, red-headed youngster of twenty-two 
 whose father had played with Connelly. 
 
200 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 From the third row in the right-field bleachers 
 just back of first, where he could see each throw 
 that his protege made, Connelly watched every 
 game — tensing his muscles when the ball went 
 to short, and leaning forward desperately when 
 Jimmy "laid one down'' and tried to beat it 
 out. 
 
 Even Brick McGovern, who made a specialty 
 of developing shortstops for the majors, admitted 
 that Pop had " dug up a live one." " Swell pair 
 of hands on that kid," he commented in the dug- 
 out. " Gets the ball away from him quick and 
 doesn't have to set himself." 
 
 Such praise usually found its way to Con- 
 nelly's ears, and filled him with an elation equal 
 only to that he experienced when Jimmy Moran 
 said that the St. Clair grounds were better than 
 the new park at Vernon. 
 
 Sometimes, after the game, when the outfield 
 was spouting a hundred filmy jets of spray from 
 the concealed sprinkling system, and the copper 
 sun, sinking back of the clubhouse, painted the 
 fountains as the west wind toyed with the mist, 
 and the whole park was a great shimmering em- 
 erald. Pebble Pop loitered in the shadow of the 
 fence until the players in their street clothes, 
 came straggling along toward the exit. The 
 greeting between the young shortstop and the 
 old ground keeper seldom varied. 
 
PEBBLE POP 201 
 
 "How's it, Jimmy?'' 
 
 " Hello, Pop, what's new? " 
 
 " Nothing much, Jimmy. Everything all right 
 to-day? Didn't find no pebbles bothering you? " 
 
 " Should say not. Got to hand it to you. Pop. 
 That infield is sure a pip. Couldn't be no bet- 
 ter." 
 
 " Thanks, Jimmy. See you again." 
 
 " So long, Pop." 
 
 After encouragement like that, Connelly at- 
 tacked his evening task with fresh energy. But 
 no matter how carefully he rolled and watered 
 the broad expanse of tan soil that separated the 
 green outfield from the diamond itself, it always 
 seemed that the players' cleats, grinding into the 
 top dirt, had brought to light some new menace. 
 It was his constant fear that some day he would 
 overlook a sun-baked clod of dirt or a small stone 
 that would make a ball bound badly and per- 
 haps cost the Wolves a game. 
 
 He liked to imagine, when watching a swift 
 bit of play, that if it had not been for the in- 
 field's being so smooth, the player might not 
 have got the ball. But of course this brought an 
 equal measure of responsibility in case the ball 
 did take a bad hop. The possibility that Jimmy 
 Moran might some day be the victim of a false 
 bound was something that destroyed permanently 
 his peace of mind. 
 
202 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 And then one day, with a suddenness that left 
 Pebble Pop dazed and crushed, the very thing 
 that he most dreaded actually came to pass. He 
 was in his customary seat in the bleachers. The 
 Wolves were playing Los Angeles, and it was a 
 pitchers' battle between Claude Dugan and 
 " Lefty " Brown, with the score tied up in the 
 sixth. Ellis, a fast man, hit viciously to short 
 and was off like a flash, trying to beat the throw. 
 
 Pebble Pop saw O'Donnell at third, hurl him- 
 self to the left in a vain effort to intercept the 
 ball, and Jimmy Moran coming in fast behind 
 him to nail it on a natural bound. The next in- 
 stant there was a cry from the crowd, and the 
 Wolf shortstop reeled blindly with his hands to 
 his face. The ball, rolling slowly toward sec- 
 ond, was recovered by Peewee Patterson, who 
 signaled to the umpire to suspend play. From 
 the clubhouse in center field the stubby figure of 
 " Blinker " Burke, the club trainer, hurried for- 
 ward with his emergency kit. 
 
 Connelly tried to rise from his seat but his 
 limbs failed him. He caught the voice of the 
 man next to him. 
 
 " Got it right in the eye, didn't he? Must have 
 been buzzing around last night. That's the trou- 
 ble with them kids." 
 
 The power of speech came back to Connelly. 
 " No, no, no ! " he stammered. " It was a bad 
 
PEBBLE POP 203 
 
 hop. The ball hit something — oh, my God, it 
 was a bad hop! Couldn't you see it? Let me 
 out!" 
 
 He clawed a path to the ground. Blinker 
 Burke was leading Moran away, and Chad 
 Fisher, utility infielder, was already at short, 
 warming up. From the bleachers and grand 
 stand came the subdued ripple of hand-clapping 
 by which baseball fans try to express their sym- 
 pathy on such occasions. 
 
 Hurrying stiffly toward the clubhouse in the 
 wake of the trainer and his charge, the ground 
 keeper's mind revolved dizzily around a single 
 fixed idea : " A bad hop — the ball hit something 
 — a bad hop and it had to be Jimmy! Oh, my 
 God ! '' He accomplished the three steps leading 
 to the dressing rooms and clung to the door- 
 way. 
 
 Moran, sitting on a wicker basket used to hold 
 the uniforms when the team went on the road, 
 was submitting grimly to the ministrations of 
 the trainer. Out of one eye, he spotted the figure 
 in the doorway, and waved a hand assur- 
 ingly. 
 
 "Little bit of hard luck. Pop," he called; 
 " should have had it only I was asleep. Ain't 
 nothing to worry about." 
 
 But Pebble Pop saw the blood streaming down 
 the shortstop's cheek and then the eye itself, al- 
 
204 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 ready closed. He tried twice to say something, 
 and then turned away numbly. 
 
 The next afternoon when Senator Frank Lath- 
 rop, owner of the Wolves, arrived at his office in 
 the ball park, he found his ground keeper waiting 
 for him. Lathrop was a big, cheerful man, fond 
 of baseball, politics and black cigars. Very little 
 ever troubled him. 
 
 "Hello, Pop," he rumbled, "what's wrong 
 now? You look as if the rats had eaten up all the 
 Infield canvas.'' 
 
 The ground keeper shook his head. 
 
 " I'm quitting you, senator. I'm asking for 
 my release." 
 
 Lathrop paused in the act of lighting a cigar. 
 Had Brick McGovern come to him and asked for 
 a reduction in salary, he could not have been 
 more astonished. Mechanically he opened sev- 
 eral letters and stared at them absently. Finally 
 the solution dawned. 
 
 " Oh," he said, " oh, I see ! Now listen. Pop — 
 you're wrong. Jimmy didn't get hurt through 
 any fault of yours. McGovern told me O'Don- 
 nell tipped the ball with his glove, just as it hit 
 the edge of the grass. That's why it bounded 
 badly. Moran says the same thing. As for your 
 quitting, why we couldn't get along without you, 
 so just forget it." 
 
PEBBLE POP 205 
 
 Connelly shook his head stubbornly. " I'd 
 like to believe you, senator, but I can't. All the 
 boys are trying to frame an alibi for me, but 
 there's one thing you and they don't know. The 
 truth is I hounded it last night — my back was 
 hurting me so I could hardly stand. I went 
 home early; get me? I didn't give the infield 
 the attention I should have — first time in my life, 
 too. If we lose the pennant account of Jimmy 
 being out of the line-up it's my fault. I don't 
 deserve a job with the Wolves any more. I'm 
 not fit to work with champions." 
 
 Sitting back in his chair with his thumbs in 
 his armpits, and a cigar cocked at a degree in- 
 dicating deep thought, Senator Lathrop pon- 
 dered upon this new angle of the game he loved. 
 
 Not ten minutes before he had met Blinker 
 Burke out on the sidewalk, and the trainer had 
 solemnly assured him that he — Blinker — would 
 have Moran back in the line-up within ten days, 
 thereby winning the pennant. Now a fat and 
 bald-headed ground keeper assumed personal re- 
 sponsibility for having placed the title in jeo- 
 pardy. 
 
 With a wry smile, Lathrop acknowledged that 
 hitherto he had held positive opinions as to the 
 importance of a club owner who bought the play- 
 ers and paid them their salaries. He wondered 
 whether there was any one from Brick McGov- 
 
206 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 ern, pilot of 'the team, to Paddy, the bat boy, who 
 didn't think the game revolved around him and 
 whether it wasn't just that spirit that made for 
 success. He tapped with his fingers on the flat- 
 top desk and considered the man before him. 
 The instincts of the politician came to his rescue. 
 
 ^^ Pop," he confided, " I'll tell you what I'm go- 
 ing to do. You're too valuable a man for the 
 club to release outright, and, yet, as a ground 
 keeper, you are subject to discipline the same as 
 any other member of the club. Consider your- 
 self suspended without pay until such time as 
 Moran is back in the line-up. Mind, I don't want 
 you hanging around the park. Go home and get 
 yourself in condition. You've got to have the 
 park in good shape for the finish in October when 
 we win the old flag." 
 
 Connelly's faded blue eyes sparkled. The club 
 owner had gauged him adroitly. To be punished 
 and yet held to his job — ^to be fined and sus- 
 pended like any ball player — that was balm to a 
 wounded soul. Pebble Pop tried to look prop- 
 erly chastened as he nodded and turned his back, 
 but all the way home he walked with head erect 
 and a pink flush on his withered cheeks. 
 
 Over and over he repeated to himself : " Got 
 to have the park in good shape for the finish in 
 October, when we win the flag." 
 
 That was the first week in August with the 
 
PEBBLE POP 207 
 
 Wolves in second place on the heels of the speed- 
 ing Angels. Following his nsnal policy, Brick 
 McGovern had eased his club along during the 
 first half of the season and gradually tightened 
 the reins with the passing of July. Now he was 
 driving the team with all the ability and energy 
 for which he was famous. The pitchers were 
 working well, and five of the regulars were hit- 
 ting better than .280. The injury to Moran was 
 the first serious mishap. If he got back in the 
 line-up in time. Wolf fans were confident that 
 the pennant would fly again in center field. 
 
 The team departed for a final swing around 
 the circle. Connelly watched morning and eve- 
 ning papers for the news that would mean his re- 
 instatement. It came at last in the Salt Lake 
 box score, two lines of type bearing this legend : 
 
 * Moran 1 10 
 
 * Batted for Slagle in the ninth. 
 
 Connelly whooped for joy. " A hit, too," he 
 chuckled ; " first time up since he got hurt, and 
 he gets a hit off Berger. 'Atta boy, Jimmy ! " 
 
 Pebble Pop celebrated his first day back on the 
 job by toiling far into the evening. No lawn 
 was ever more carefully trimmed and manicured; 
 no runner's path was ever better rolled and in- 
 spected than that which linked the bases in the 
 St. Glair grounds. He told himself that never 
 
208 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 again would an aching back keep him from doing 
 his duty; never again would a ball bound badly 
 on Jimmy Moran. 
 
 The Wolves came back in the first week of 
 September with just three games separating them 
 from the leaders. Pebble Pop awoke to a new 
 thought — a thought which came to him in the 
 middle of the night and forced him bolt upright 
 in the dark. He was amazed to think that it 
 had never occurred to him before. The Wolves 
 would not finish the season on their home 
 grounds. The schedule called for them to play 
 the Angels in Los Angeles, all of which meant 
 that the crucial series would be fought out on 
 a diamond that he could not supervise. Some 
 other ground keeper who knew nothing about 
 Jimmy Moran being still shy of grounders that 
 hugged the turf, and caring less, would be crush- 
 ing pebbles into the ground instead of picking 
 them up. 
 
 In vain, Connelly tried to comfort himself by 
 recalling Blinker Burke's philosophy that a peb- 
 ble more or less was as fair for one side as the 
 other. There remained the vivid picture of what 
 had happened once. It might happen again, and 
 this time ruin Moran's career. The thought ap- 
 palled him. The palms of his hands became 
 moist. 
 
 He made up his mind the next morning just 
 
PEBBLE POP 209 
 
 where his duty lay and what he would do. With- 
 out confiding in any one, he would go down to 
 Los Angeles for the last week. 
 
 Twenty thousand people left the Los Angeles 
 ball park on the evening of Saturday, September 
 thirtieth, with the knowledge that the game on 
 the next day — the last contest of the season — 
 would tell the story. For three successive after- 
 noons the league leadership had changed hands. 
 Sunday would either see McGovern's hard-hit- 
 ting Wolves retain the lead and the flag, or be 
 beaten by the Angels in the closest race the 
 Coast League had ever staged. 
 
 Long after the last usher and program boy 
 had departed, and a light rain was falling on the 
 apparently deserted grounds, a stout figure 
 squirmed awkwardly from its place of conceal- 
 ment under the right-field bleachers and de- 
 scended to the diamond. 
 
 Pebble Pop had found his self-appointed task 
 more difficult than he had figured. The Los An- 
 geles club was well supplied with ground keep- 
 ers and he could think of no excuse for intruding 
 on their duties. Also, it had occurred to him 
 that since he was under contract to the Wolves, 
 it was not proper that he should appear to be 
 working for any other club. But the thought 
 that he was doing nothing toward helping the 
 
210 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 team was unbearable. If he could pick up just 
 one pebble from that infield, it might be the very 
 one that otherwise would cause the downfall of 
 his club. 
 
 The plan of secreting himself after the Thurs- 
 day game had been an inspiration. Helped by a 
 pocket flash light, that represented a part of his 
 fast dwindling reserve fund, Pebble Pop worked 
 over the infield, in the dusk, like a well-trained 
 setter on the trail of game. The rain saturated 
 his clothing, the night air enveloped him, the 
 darkness increased, but he stuck obstinately to 
 his patrol. At length, satisfied that when the 
 grounds were given their last treatment in the 
 morning there would be no pebbles to be over- 
 looked, he moved painfully to the top tier of seats 
 in the grand stand and curled up, shivering, until 
 the gates should be opened in the morning. 
 
 A special policeman, sauntering through the 
 inclosure at nine o'clock the next morning came 
 upon an old, bald-headed man, whose cheeks were 
 flushed and w^hose teeth chattered. He could 
 give no clear account of himself, and his coat 
 pockets were filled with pebbles and clods of dirt. 
 He was plainly suffering from exposure and a 
 high fever. 
 
 At the City Receiving Hospital, a steward 
 identified the patient by means of letters in his 
 pocket; and promptly telephoned to the hotel 
 
PEBBLE POP 211 
 
 where the Wolves were quartered. The message 
 brought Brick McGovern and Jimmy Moran hur- 
 rying to the hospital. They listened in amaze- 
 ment to the officer's story and stared at the pile 
 of pebbles on the steward's desk. 
 
 Brick McGovern was moved profoundly. 
 " Can you beat that? '' he muttered. " The poor 
 old nut! Trying to help us right down to the 
 last day. Wanted to be in on it, too. Well, I'm 
 damned. 
 
 Moran felt of the pebbles curiously. " He ain't 
 really bad off, is he? " 
 
 The young interne shook his head. " Pneu- 
 monia — the right lung is affected, but I guess we 
 got him in time. He seems to be resting easily. 
 Maybe you'd better talk to him." 
 
 They tiptoed into a ward where Connelly lay 
 in a white bed, buried under blankets and flanked 
 by hot-water bottles. 
 
 "How's it. Pop?" they asked. 
 
 He eyed them sheepishly. " All right, I guess. 
 Run down to see you boys win the flag, and I 
 guess I must have made a fool of myself. They 
 ain't " — he looked anxiously at the nurse — " they 
 ain't going to keep me from going to the game 
 this afternoon, are they? You won't let them do 
 that, will you, boys — after old Pop's come all this 
 way? " 
 
 They shuffled their feet and looked at one an- 
 
212 HEAKTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 other and then at the interne and nurse. The 
 former shook his head decisively. 
 
 " Going to a ball game to-day is out of the 
 question. Your temperature is a hundred and 
 three.'' 
 
 Jimmy Moran had an inspiration. " Listen, 
 Pop," he exclaimed, "you done your bit last 
 night, didn't you? There ain't nothing more you 
 can do for us. Tell you God's honest truth, that 
 infield's been bothering me all week, and now 
 that you've fixed it, don't you see that it ain't 
 necessary for you to be there? " 
 
 In the eyes of Brick McGovern there dawned 
 a new respect for his young shortstop. He took 
 the cue. 
 
 " You've said it, Jimmy," he affirmed ; " Pop's 
 already done everything he could. Now you stay 
 right here. Pop ; and play the bed — that's a good 
 one, eh? You play the bed and I'll play the 
 bench, and we'll have some one 'phone you the 
 score by innings. How's that? " 
 
 Connelly smiled tremulously. " God bless you, 
 boys. I'll play the bed and pull for luck. Only 
 ^ust you ask the doc' to get me my horseshoe. 
 I want to hold it. Seems like it was only yes- 
 terday when I come up there with the bases full 
 and busted that old apple." 
 
 The nurse departed and was back in a few 
 minutes with Connelly's watch and heavy gold 
 
PEBBLE POP 213 
 
 chain. " Is this it? '^ she asked. ^^ I don't see 
 any horseshoe." 
 
 A strangled cry came from the bed. " It's 
 gone! Somebody's swiped it. My horseshoe's 
 gone; it was hanging right to the chain, Brick — 
 right to the chain, I tell you." 
 
 Connelly made a move to climb from the bed, 
 but Brick McGovern held him down. 
 
 " Be easy ! Nobody's swiped your horseshoe," 
 he hurried, " Jimmy found it near the hotel this 
 morning where you must have dropped it. See, 
 the link is all wore out. Jimmy'll keep it safe 
 for you until we get home." 
 
 " You're fooling me ; Jimmy hasn't got it — ^it's 
 been swiped." 
 
 Moran helped out : " Sure ; I've got it. I put 
 it in the hotel safe so nothing would happen to 
 it. Brick seen me pick it up ; didn't you, Brick? " 
 
 McGovern nodded emphatically. 
 
 The sick man sank back upon his pillows. 
 " Forgive me, boys, I believe you — only I wouldn't 
 lose that horseshoe for the world. Maybe when 
 you get as old as me, you'll understand what 
 those kind of things mean. Guess you boys got 
 to be heading for the park pretty soon, eh? Well, 
 Jimmy, mind the hops to-day, and make your 
 throws sure; don't worry none if they hug the 
 ground, cause I sure got every pebble — every 
 last pebble, son ! " 
 
214 HEAKTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 " So long, Pop," they chorused ; " we'll bring 
 you the pennant to-morrow." 
 
 Outside, as they hailed a passing taxi, Mc- 
 Govern turned to the shortstop. " Know what 
 the old man's horseshoe looked like." 
 
 " I think so," Moran reflected, " though I'm not 
 sure about the lettering. Some of the boys ought 
 to remember. We'll hunt up a jeweler first thing 
 after the game. The cop never rolled him for 
 it, because his purse was still on him, and, any- 
 way, the watch and chain is worth more than the 
 horseshoe." 
 
 McGovern shrugged. His mind was already 
 at work on the afternoon's game — the game that 
 would mean possibly the achievement of his am- 
 bition : Four pennants in a row. They alighted 
 at the ball park and hurried through the play- 
 ers' gate. 
 
 Exactly three hours and seven minutes later, 
 the Los Angeles ball park was a swirling bedlam 
 of noise and confusion. The great score board 
 in left field showed the Wolves leading in the 
 last half of the ninth seven to six, but the Angels 
 had the bases full and Bert Jackson, pinch hit- 
 ter, was at the bat with two gone. The decision 
 rested on the next move. 
 
 Jimmy Moran, with every nerve at the snap- 
 ping point, called to the infield : " Play the 
 
PEBBLE POP 215 
 
 nearest bag — the nearest bag for a force.'' 
 Obeying McGovern's signals, the infielders 
 moved back into the grass so as to make the circle 
 of defense wider. They crouched there quiver- 
 ing as " Tiny " Goodman, his huge frame taking 
 the full wind-up, shot over a high curve, and 
 the runners got under way. 
 
 " Crash ! " A streak of white gleamed along 
 the infield as the ball shot past third. The crowd 
 erupted in a volcano of yells which as suddenly 
 was blanketed by a dead calm, for no one could 
 understand the puzzling thing that happened. 
 Moving at the instant the ball was hit, and rac- 
 ing to the right with apparently no chance to 
 make the play, Jimmy Moran saw the sphere en- 
 counter an obstacle. The course of the ball was 
 deflected suddenly upward and within reach of 
 the clutching fingers of his bare hand. Without 
 stopping to set himself he tossed the pill under- 
 hand to O'Donnell at third, and out of the corner 
 of one eye saw the umpire's hand go up over the 
 right shoulder. The game was over. The pen- 
 nant was theirs again. 
 
 Pebble Pop guessed the news when the nurse 
 entered the room with the final bulletin. 
 " We, won ! " he whooped. " We got it ! " 
 " I don't feel a bit like telling you, either," 
 said the nurse with a laugh, ^^ because I'm 
 
216 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 an Angel fan. The Wolves did win, seven to 
 six." 
 
 " Good gosh almighty," yelled Connelly, " and 
 I'll bet Jimmy pulled the trick. It couldn't have 
 been nobody else." 
 
 But no one came to acquaint him with the de- 
 tails, so he tossed restlessly all that night, wait- 
 ing for the morning newspapers. Early in the 
 morning the nurse brought him the first edi- 
 tion and he turned eagerly to the sporting page. 
 A black headline shrieked at him : " Lucky 
 bound costs Angels the pennant. Fluke play by 
 Wolf shortstop robs Jackson of hit." 
 
 The smile froze on his lips. His low moan 
 brought the nurse to his side. 
 
 " The first paragraph," he said thickly ; " read 
 it to me." 
 
 She got as far as the fourth line and then noted 
 that (Connelly's eyes were closed and his teeth 
 were chattering. 
 
 " There," she exclaimed, " I shouldn't have let 
 you see the papers at all." She swept them all up 
 in her arms, and darkened the room. 
 
 " Keep perfectly still and I'll get you some 
 medicine. You must go to sleep." 
 
 But Pebble Pop was far from being able to 
 sleep. Fate had played him a cruel trick. The 
 Wolves had won, but not with his aid — rather in 
 spite of his meddling interference. The one 
 
PEBBLE POP 217 
 
 pebble he had overlooked had brought them the 
 pennant. Unwittingly he had done his best to 
 cheat them of victory, and they must all know it. 
 He would have to resign, or, simpler still, he 
 would just lie where he was and let the end 
 come. 
 
 Early in the afternoon he awoke and concluded 
 that he must be dying, for about his bedside he 
 made out Jimmy Moran, Senator Frank Lathrop, 
 " Tiny " Goodman and several others. He could 
 hear Brick McGovern over by the door arguing 
 indignantly. 
 
 " What do you fellers think this is, the dining 
 room? Didn't the doc' say we mustn't excite 
 him?" 
 
 And then Bert Slagle gruffly : " Who in hell 
 is going to excite him? I got as much right in 
 there as them pitchers, ain't I? " 
 
 Apparently, McGovern gave up in disgust, for 
 the entire team edged into the room and stood 
 around the wall, gazing curiously at the invalid. 
 
 Pebble Pop told himself that he did not feel 
 as though he was badly off. In fact, he felt dis- 
 gustingly better. It was all beyond him. 
 
 Senator Lathrop advanced to the bed. " Well, 
 how's the champion? " he inquired. " I thought 
 at first that we had only nine men in the line-up, 
 but I found we had to depend after all on the 
 champion ground keeper of the world ! " 
 
218 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 Connelly shook his head. " Don't kid me, 
 boys," he begged. " I been reading the papers. 
 The old man tried his best to crab the game for 
 you." 
 
 The owner of the four-time pennant winners 
 winked jovially at Brick McGovern. Every one 
 grinned appreciatively. 
 
 Connelly flinched. " Go on out and leave me 
 alone. 'Taint fair to come here and laugh at 
 me." 
 
 But they only grinned the more. Out of a 
 capacious inside pocket Senator Lathrop pro- 
 duced an envelope. 
 
 " It's all right, Pop," he said good-naturedly ; 
 " let us have our little fun, and don't get excited. 
 We're all going home on the night train. I've 
 arranged for a drawing-room and a nurse. Mean- 
 time here's a little memento of the season." He 
 handed the invalid a check, and Pebble Pop noted 
 that it was for five hundred dollars. 
 
 " Part of the bonus offered by the Chamber 
 of Commerce if we won the flag," explained Lath- 
 rop. " The boys had a meeting this morning and 
 declared you in on it. And here is a three-year 
 contract which the club is anxious for you to sign 
 as soon as you get back home. It provides for 
 an assistant ground keeper who will be under 
 your direction. Go on. Brick, it's your turn." 
 
 McGovern colored. He was not used to that 
 
PEBBLE POP 219 
 
 sort of thing, but he saw that the ground keeper's 
 dazed eyes were fixed upon him. " Nothing much 
 to say, Pop," he grumbled ; " only I was bulling 
 you yesterday when I told you about Jimmy pick- 
 ing up your horseshoe near the hotel.'' 
 
 " He didn't find it? " Connelly was aghast. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; he found it all right — but not where 
 I said he did. Kick in, Jimmy; tell Pop where 
 you found it." 
 
 Moran fumbled in one pocket and produced a 
 jeweler's box. It was small and bore the marks 
 of the most exclusive shop in Los Angeles. 
 
 "After I made that play in the ninth," he 
 said, " I went back to see what made that ball 
 bound like that. I figured if it was a pebble, it 
 was the luckiest pebble in the world, and I was 
 going to keep it. Well, I found it, there in the 
 grass, but I ain't going to keep it." 
 
 He spread aside the tissue paper that all might 
 see the gold horseshoe, freshly cleaned and pol- 
 ished, shining in his hand. 
 
 " Oh, my God ! " gasped Pebble Pop, " you don't 
 mean I lost that on the diamond — that wasn't 
 what the ball hit? " His eyes swept them all in- 
 credulously and twenty heads nodded at him sol- 
 emnly. 
 
 " So you see, Pop," said Moran gently, " you 
 see who actually won the pennant for us? Did 
 you look on the back? " 
 
220 HEAKTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 Connelly turned the horseshoe over. " Win- 
 ner of the championship, 1882/' he read glibly, 
 and then his tongue failed him. 
 
 " Go on," prompted Brick McGovern — " what 
 else — right under that? '' 
 
 But Pebble Pop could only look at them with 
 flooded eyes, for the freshly engraved legend at 
 the bottom of the horseshoe read : " And the 
 Coast League pennant, 1921." 
 
CALLED ON ACCOUNT OF DARKNESS 
 
 AT the last moment, Baldwin leaped for- 
 ward, turned a somersault, and came up 
 with the ball in one hand. 
 
 The crowd yelled, and in the left field bleachers 
 a fight started. Thither toiled "Pop'' Donlin 
 because he had a special star, and a bamboo cane, 
 and was the paid preserver of the peace in Kid's 
 Heaven. 
 
 " Iviry lad to his own place ! " yelled Pop, and 
 flailed away with his stick until at the bottom of 
 a pile he uncovered' Billy Winks. 
 
 " So, 'tis you," grunted the Apostle of Law and 
 Order, " three times this week have you discom- 
 moded me — out ye go ! " 
 
 " They was panning Terry," panted the boy, 
 " they said he could have caught it easy only he 
 wanted to show off. They're crazy! Leggo my 
 ear. Pop — gee whiz, can't I stick up for a guy? " 
 
 Special Officer Donlin took this question under 
 judicial consideration, and then released his hold. 
 
 " The point is well taken, me son," he observed, 
 " on your promise of good behavior, the Court 
 will be merciful the once more. Twinty years 
 ago, do ye mind? — ^but av course ye don't — well, 
 
 221 
 
222 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 I was once a divil of a man in the outfield, and 
 there was them in the bleachers that stood up for 
 Pat Donlin; God love 'em, I had me friends! 
 Will ye be still now? '' 
 
 He waved his cane, threatening such dire con- 
 sequences that cherubim and seraphim scrambled 
 back into place, and a great hush descended on 
 the twelve-tiered throne of Kid's Heaven. 
 
 The inning ended and Outfielder Terry Bald- 
 win trotted to the dugout to quench his thirst at 
 the watercooler. Up strolled " Brick " McGov- 
 em, soft of voice and quick of eye, and under 
 cover of the upraised glass, the manager spoke 
 his mind on the subject of misjudging fly balls. 
 
 " One more like that, Mr. Baldwin," he warned, 
 " and you come out of there ! " 
 
 Now there are sun, and wind, and tone colors 
 of the sky from which an outfielder may select 
 his defense, but Baldwin said no word. He made 
 his way to the plate, and having struck out, re- 
 turned to sit among his comrades, offering no 
 alibi for his performance in the field or at bat, 
 which is a bad sign. 
 
 When the uniformed figure was once more on 
 the green carpet just below him, Billy Winks 
 wriggled to the railing and addressed the de- 
 fendant vociferously. 
 
 " 'At's all right, Terry, old boy ! These guys 
 don't know a real ball player when they see one." 
 
ON ACCOUNT OF DARKNESS 223 
 
 Kid's Heaven yelled derisively, but Baldwin 
 turned around and located his ten year old ad- 
 mirer. He grinned appreciatively, and when the 
 game was over, tossed up a practise ball to Billy 
 Winks. 
 
 Thus are friendships fashioned. Billy Winks 
 hung around the players' gate after the game un- 
 til his idol emerged, when he presented a sport- 
 ing extra and walked at Baldwin's side for sev- 
 eral blocks, looking up like a fox terrier and 
 quivering with delight as the outfielder kidded 
 him. 
 
 A week of this, and then Baldwin showed up 
 one morning at the park playground and under- 
 took to show Billy Winks how to get away fast 
 from the plate on a bunt, and how by touching 
 second base with the left foot rather than the 
 right Ty Cobb found out he could pivot his body 
 in a more direct line with the third cushion. 
 
 Billy Winks was very grateful. He introduced 
 the ball player to the playground contingent, re- 
 gardless of age, class or color, and the outfielder 
 responded so cheerfully, that thereafter Kid's 
 Heaven fought no more with Billy Winks but 
 stood nobly behind the left fielder of the Wolves, 
 recognizing him as pal, and pattern and patron 
 saint — a man who could do no wrong. 
 
 This master stroke of statesmanship called for 
 some recognition on Baldwin's part. He went 
 
224 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 one evening to a house in the Mission district 
 where Billy Winks was boarded out by the Chari- 
 ties. There was a picture at the Central Theater 
 called : " Larruping Larry of Red River " and 
 Baldwin had two tickets. 
 
 But Billy Winks was mindful of the courtesies. 
 He introduced his hero to " Mother " Kearney 
 and then to Mary Malone who worked at the 15- 
 cent store and went three nights a week to 
 Professor Miller's Academy of Dramatic Art. 
 Mary was only twenty and had a way 
 of looking straight at people out of seal- 
 brown eyes. 
 
 So the invitation was broadened and the three 
 visited the shrine of Celluloid Romance and were 
 variously affected by the adventures of a gentle- 
 manly bandit who eventually reformed. 
 
 Thereafter there was a Triple Alliance which 
 observed Friday night with sacred punctuality, 
 and discussed earnestly the respective merits of 
 baseball, agriculture and the stage. 
 
 " Why, I think baseball is a wonderful pro- 
 fession for a man,'' said Mary Malone. " Think 
 of all the people who know you, and read about 
 you, and go to see you — and then, it teaches you 
 to be so strong and fearless. Why, I can't think 
 what possesses you to talk about a ranch ! " 
 
 " A man can't stay in baseball only so long," ar- 
 gued Baldwin ; " he's got to look ahead. For my 
 
ON ACCOUNT OF DARKNESS 225 
 
 part, I can't see the stage for a nice girl like you 
 — knocking around with a lot of ham actors and 
 never having no home or nothing.'' 
 
 " What do you think I ought to do? " she 
 queried, and turned artless eyes on the screen. 
 
 " Oh, I dunno," he made answer, ^' only it seems 
 like you ought to have a nice little home — an' 
 kids ; you're that kind of a girl. The stage is the 
 bunk." 
 
 Billy Winks horned in on the discussion. " I 
 betcha I land in the majors some day! I betcha 
 I do." 
 
 The Triple Alliance agreed to that assertion 
 unanimously. 
 
 After these weekly conferences they went home, 
 the boy to dream of batting averages and a con- 
 tract from Connie Mack; the girl to fashion her 
 own scenario with Terry as co-star ; and the man 
 to lie awake between sheets that were damp with 
 the sweat of his body and to wrestle with an 
 exquisite fear that belongs not to a man who has 
 bludgeoned .300 in the majors and is but twenty- 
 four. 
 
 There were many things about Terry Baldwin 
 that puzzled fandom. Why should a man lead 
 the American Association in hitting and fielding ; 
 set the majors on fire for two months and then 
 blow up without apparent reason. And being re- 
 turned to minor league company, why should he 
 
226 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 be able to show only occasional flashes of the 
 form that had sent a dozen scouts scrambling on 
 his trail? 
 
 The supporters of the St. Clair club fully ex- 
 pected to see the Wolves measurably strength- 
 ened by the addition of Terry Baldwin. He 
 might need a little more seasoning to stick in 
 the big show, but there was no excuse for fail- 
 ure to star in the Coast League. 
 
 But what Wolf fans beheld was a man who 
 looked every inch a ball player, but who was ut- 
 terly undependable at the bat, and showed an 
 increasing tendency in the field to deliberately 
 play a fly ball so that he could pull hair-raising 
 catches at the last moment. 
 
 That might go for "Kid's Heaven,'^ but not 
 for the dyed-in-the-wool brethren, nor the astute 
 gentry in the press box; so they called him the 
 " Ten Thousand Dollar Quince," — quince being 
 the fruit of the Cydonia Vulgaris . . . too au- 
 stere to be eaten uncooked (see Webster), and 
 $10,000 representing the price paid by " Brick " 
 McGovern to find out that a baseball peach can 
 sour over night. 
 
 Truly, such things are beyond the comprehen- 
 sion of any one because the answer is so exceed- 
 ingly simple. Not even Billy Winks guessed that 
 Terry Baldwin made those extraordinary catches 
 because he couldn't correctly gauge a ball until it 
 
ON ACCOUNT OF DAKKNESS 227 
 
 was on top of him, and that he struck out for the 
 same reason. 
 
 But the " Ten Thousand Dollar Quince " had 
 been aware for some time that gradually but none 
 the less he was going blind! 
 
 It was an insidious thing that crept upon 
 Terry Baldwin and he was a long time in recog- 
 nizing it. 
 
 When the average man becomes suspicious that 
 there is something wrong with his eyes, he goes 
 to an office, and sits in a chair and looks at very 
 black figures through first one eye, and then the 
 other, responding to questions with a painful ef- 
 fort to be exact. Then he accepts his first glasses 
 philosophically and in a few days knows not the 
 difference. 
 
 But not so with the ball player. He hides the 
 secret from any one, because no man can play 
 ball in spectacles and there is no other profes- 
 sion to which he is trained. He talks about the 
 high atmosphere, and the air currents, and the 
 advertising signs on the fences that form no fit 
 background for a line drive. And in the morn- 
 ings and on days when the team is traveling, he 
 keeps his eyes closed as much as possible, hoping 
 that Nature will come to his rescue, and that his 
 Manager will not be too observing. 
 
 Baldwin did all these things before the White 
 Sox sent him to the Coast. He spent three days 
 
228 HEAKTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 and nights on the train, with his eyelids lowered 
 almost continually, but in the first game with the 
 Wolves, a fly ball came to him, high and on the 
 right, and he misjudged it badly, leaping back- 
 handed at the last moment to make the catch. 
 
 " Circus stuff," commented the bleachers. 
 
 Baldwin encouraged that belief ; it was as good 
 an alibi as any other. He kept his own counsel, 
 and strove to tune his ear to the crack of the bat 
 and to interpret it fairly correctly. 
 
 He got his first hint always from the shortstop 
 who by virtue of his job is fast on his feet and 
 moves instinctively after a fly ball, especially 
 when it is in left field. Thus he was able to see 
 the blurred line in the air and experience told 
 him the line would swerve sharply when the ball 
 was near. That was something he could not un- 
 derstand, but he learned to hold his muscles in 
 readiness for that desperate final leap, and be- 
 cause he seldom dropped a ball that he could lay 
 either hand on, he succeeded in postponing the 
 inevitable. 
 
 But one night, when the Triple Alliance was 
 in the Crystal Palace, at Seventeenth and Mis- 
 sion, the ball player placed one hand over his 
 right eye and stared at the screen. 
 
 Mary Malone heard a startled exclamation at 
 her side. 
 
 " What's the matter? " she asked quickly. 
 
ON ACCOUNT OP DARKNESS 229 
 
 " Nothing," he answered, and was silent for 
 the balance of the evening. When he reached 
 the seclusion of his hotel room, he tried further 
 experiments with the same result. He wondered 
 how long the sight of his right eye had been gone, 
 and how long the left eye would last. He was 
 afraid to press the little button on the wall, for 
 fear that when he pressed it again he would be 
 unable to tell the difference. 
 
 Fully clothed, he lay on top of his bed, pro- 
 testing that he was only 24, and that all he 
 wanted to do was to play ball — clean ball like 
 he had always done — and that no one had a right 
 to rule him out like that — no One! 
 
 " You're not on the level," he mumbled, 
 "you're not giving me a chance! I can't fight 
 back. Give me my eyes, damn it. Oh, give me 
 my eyes ! " 
 
 His brain grew hot and disordered. He told 
 himself that he would fool them all. He would 
 go on playing ball until they pulled him off the 
 field by force. Billy Winks would never know; 
 or Mary Malone; nor any one. If he couldn't 
 play ball, he was not going to let any one lead 
 him around by the hand and teach him how to 
 make baskets. 
 
 The next day it began to drizzle in the fifth 
 inning, not hard enough to warrant suspension 
 
230 HEAKTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 of play, but penetratingly, wet and cold, so that 
 the management opened up the grand stand to 
 the bleacherites who scrambled gratefully under 
 cover. 
 
 The Quince looked in back of his position and 
 saw Billy Winks shivering under a thin jacket, 
 but sticking resolutely to Kid's Heaven. 
 
 " Go on home," he counseled, " ain't you got 
 an overcoat? " 
 
 The boy shook his head. " I ain't so very 
 c-cold," he chattered. " I'll wait until you b-bat 
 again ! " 
 
 Baldwin stole another uneasy look at the sole 
 occupant of Kid's Heaven. As he did so, a bat 
 cracked sharply. 
 
 A warning scream came from Billy Winks. 
 " Look out, Terry ! " 
 
 The outfielder whirled and sprang into action, 
 bulging eyeballs turned to the dark sky. He 
 looked down. The shortstop was racing out to 
 take the throw, and the rest of Baldwin's team 
 mates were faced in his direction. 
 
 Cavanaugh, tearing over from center, shouted 
 at him : " Back — go back — play the fence ! " 
 
 On the instant, Baldwin pivoted sharply and 
 made for the bleacher wall with his head turned. 
 He caught the line of the on-coming sphere and 
 estimated it higher than it was. He was sprint- 
 ing back with all the strength he could muster, 
 
ON ACCOUNT OF DARKNESS 231 
 
 when his body crashed full-tilt against the 
 bleacher wall. 
 
 In a well of darkness, the Quince crumpled 
 up at the foot of Kid's Heaven, and the ball 
 dented the turf at a spot which any outfielder 
 should have reached easily. 
 
 They carried him to the clubhouse, and there 
 was no soft patter of applause by which fandom 
 is wont to express its sympathy with an injured 
 player. 
 
 " It was the Quince's own fault," argued the 
 bleacherites ; '' there was just one kid left on the 
 benches, and he had to turn around and talk to 
 him. Can you beat it? " 
 
 But Billy Winks, wide-eyed and fear-stricken, 
 hurried into the wet street and took up his post 
 at the players' exit. There he remained, a shiver- 
 ing little spaniel, until " Babe " Durango, who 
 had been thrown out of the game for crabbing, 
 emerged in street attire. 
 
 " How's T-terry? " chattered the boy. 
 
 " All right," said Babe carelessly, " you can't 
 hurt ivory. What's the matter, kid — sick? " 
 
 " N-no." 
 
 " Well, you better beat it home to your mother 
 — you look it." 
 
 Billy Winks nodded and turned away. He 
 would have liked very much to " Beat it home to 
 Mother." That being impossible, he thought of 
 
232 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 Mary Malone. He liked her because she did not 
 baby him and because, too, she liked Terry Bald- 
 win and would appreciate the terrible thing that 
 had happened. 
 
 Thus two members, constituting a quorum of 
 the Triple Alliance, went into executive session, 
 leaving the third party to face " Brick " McGov- 
 ern in the gloom of the ball park of&ce. 
 
 McGovern came to the point quickly. 
 
 " What was the matter out there to-day? " 
 
 " It was pretty dark, Brick." 
 
 The manager grunted expressively. " We got 
 two umpires out there to rule on that point," he 
 reminded, " so long as the game ain't called on 
 account of darkness, you're paid to get the ball. 
 Got anything else to say? " 
 
 " No, Brick — only it was pretty dark." 
 
 " And yet you turned your back on the plate to 
 talk to a kid. I was watching you. To-morrow 
 you play the bench and I'll ask for waivers. It 
 may not be quite so dark in the bushes." 
 
 " All right," said the Quince, and stumbled as 
 his foot encountered the door sill. 
 
 McGovern called him back sharply. 
 
 " Say, what's the matter with you? " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 Baldwin's eyes were crystal-clear, his muscu- 
 lar frame steady and upright. 
 
 McGovern's brows knitted, " Well, you ought 
 
ON ACCOUNT OF DARKNESS 233 
 
 to know," he concluded. " I guess that's all." 
 The papers chronicled the passing of Terry 
 Baldwin. They did not call him the " Ten Thou- 
 sand Dollar Quince" but elected to say nice 
 things about him in the obituary notices so that 
 he could land another job. Sporting editors ap- 
 preciate that a man must eat. 
 
 But the Quince did not eat, nor sleep, nor read 
 the papers, nor seek advice. What was the use? 
 It would be darker in the bushes than it had 
 been in the Coast League. It was twilight over 
 the whole world for the Quince and night was 
 fast descending. 
 
 Two days passed and then Mary Malone ran 
 out of her house in the middle of the night with 
 a shawl over her dark curls. She called Terry- 
 Baldwin on the telephone. 
 
 " It's Billy," she panted, " he's very ill and 
 calling for you. Oh, please come quickly ! " 
 
 The Quince had other plans but they were 
 founded on the assumption that he was of no 
 further use to any one, so they collapsed 
 leaving in his mind only a sudden fear for Billy 
 Winks. 
 
 Mary Malone met him at the door of the board- 
 ing house. She impressed him as having attained 
 sudden maturity and heightened beauty. 
 
 "The doctor is here," she said, "it's pneu- 
 
234 HEAKTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 monia and meningitis — inflammation of the 
 brain. You may be of great help. Please come 
 this way." 
 
 The Quince followed her into the little bed- 
 room upstairs. A man of about forty with tired 
 eyes arose from the edge of the bed. He had a 
 stethoscope in his hands. 
 
 " Four times eight is sixty-eight," cried a small 
 voice — " Terry, look out ! " 
 
 The Quince turned a white face to the physi- 
 cian. 
 
 " Lobar pneumonia," said the doctor, " the 
 right lung is consolidated. Open all the win- 
 dows as far as possible." 
 
 " Yes, doctor." It was Mary Malone who spoke 
 up and obeyed promptly. 
 
 "And some hot mustard applications." 
 
 " At once, doctor." 
 
 The physician looked at her approvingly and 
 then turned to the Quince whose eyes were fixed 
 on the little figure tossing restlessly on the cot. 
 He penciled a prescription and gave it to Bald- 
 win. 
 
 "You'll have to go down town for that, but 
 you'd better get it right away. It's pneumococcic 
 vaccine and it will help." 
 
 The Quince went away and returned in a re- 
 markably short time having spent a five dollar 
 bill which he had carefully tucked away in his 
 
ON ACCOUNT OF DARKNESS 235 
 
 watch pocket for an entirely different purpose. 
 It was well that he returned when he did, for 
 Billy Winks believed himself once more in the 
 left field bleachers. 
 
 " Look out, Terry,'^ he moaned, " there it comes. 
 Get it, old boy! Oh, Terry — I didn't mean to — 
 yes, mam — five sixes is thirty — no thirty -five. 
 Get it, Terry ! '' 
 
 The Quince approached the bed and took Billy 
 Winks by the hand. 
 
 " I got it, kid," he soothed, " it's in the old well 
 for sure. Terry's got the old glove on it. Lie 
 down, little feller." 
 
 " Five times six is thirty — you got it, Terry? " 
 
 "You bet I did, kid. Made a swell catch. 
 Everything's all right. Don't get up, kid. Go to 
 sleep." 
 
 " You going to sit up here with me, Terry. You 
 going to catch the ball with me? You're not mad 
 at me? Mary isn't mad at me. Five times six — " 
 
 Mary Malone appeared at the bedside. " Let 
 me have him a moment," she said quietly. In 
 her hands she held a basin of tepid water and a 
 sponge. " I'm going to bathe him. Don't go, 
 Terry. You alone can quiet him." 
 
 The Quince drew a little to one side and, with 
 the physician, watched the feminine member of 
 the Triple Alliance unfolding the age-old instinct 
 of her sex. 
 
236 HEAKTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 " My name is Hilmer/' whispered the physi- 
 cian. " If you don^t mind, I think I had better 
 stay here to-night. Nothing much to be done 
 though. It's a self-limited disease — nursing is 
 everything. Splendid girl — that ! '^ 
 
 Again the Quince was impressed with the lines 
 of fatigue in the physician's face, and the large, 
 lustrous eyes. Hilmer's whole frame seemed to 
 sag under clothes that were spotted and thread- 
 bare. Baldwin was vaguely uneasy. 
 
 Billy Winks dropped into a troubled sleep, and 
 the Quince drew Mary Malone into the hallway. 
 
 " You're sure he's a good doctor? " 
 
 " I don't know," she answered. " He was in 
 the drugstore when I rushed out to telephone, 
 and he came right along with me. He seemed 
 to know just what was wrong at a glance. He 
 volunteered to stay all night." 
 
 ''That's it," puzzled Baldwin, "they don't 
 usually do that, do they? He looks kind of down 
 and out to me — like he didn't have many patients. 
 Maybe that's better than the other kind — he can 
 give his whole attention to Billy. Mary, you 
 don't think the little feller's going to — " 
 
 " Terry ! — don't you dare say it ! don't even 
 think it ! I don't go to church, Terry — ^but I just 
 know there's Some One back of everything and 
 He isn't cruel — say * He isn't cruel ! ' " 
 
 " He isn't cruel/^ repeated the Quince. 
 
ON ACCOUNT OF DARKNESS 237 
 
 From behind the closed door rose the voice of 
 Billy Winks : 
 
 " I'm not so very cold. I want to see you bat 
 again. Look out, Terry — oh, I didn't mean it. 
 Oh, Terry!'' 
 
 " You'd better go in and quiet him," advised 
 the girl, " I'll make up the two lounges in the 
 parlor. If anything is needed, call me at once." 
 
 Baldwin reentered the room and approached 
 the bed. At his reassuring voice, the boy reached 
 out a hot hand and the Quince took it. 
 
 " Five times six — you guys don't know a real 
 ball player when you see one. He's no quince — 
 take it back ! " 
 
 " Easy," soothed Baldwin, ^' easy, little feller. 
 Terry's got the ball — everybody's cheering, every- 
 thing's all right— go to sleep, kid, go to sleep." 
 
 Ten minutes later, the grip on Baldwin's hand 
 relaxed and he looked up to note Hilmer stand- 
 ing at the foot of the bed, his arms folded, and 
 his eyes intently set on the invalid's face. 
 
 The Quince concluded that his early impres- 
 sion of the physician was faulty. The lines of 
 fatigue were gone from Kilmer's face; his body 
 no longer drooped. He stood erect and alert, 
 with a carriage that suggested military training. 
 Baldwin was puzzled. 
 
 The night dragged on with the physician and 
 the ball player alternating at the bedside. In the 
 
238 HEAKTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 morning, Mary Malone came to them, her eyes 
 clear and confident. 
 
 " Breakfast is ready downstairs," she an- 
 nounced. " After that you are both to go to bed 
 and I will call you if necessary. That's right, 
 isn't it. Doctor? " 
 
 " Exactly," he agreed gravely. 
 
 They went into Mother Kearney's small 
 kitchen. Baldwin noticed that the physician took 
 five spoonfuls of sugar in his coffee, and that he 
 was again a man bowed down with an infinite 
 fatigue. 
 
 In the days that followed, Hilmer became more 
 than ever a man of mystery. He absented him- 
 self less and less from the little house wherein 
 the Triple Alliance struggled against any sun- 
 dering of the bonds. Sometimes, he was master- 
 fully serene and buoyant; more often he was 
 bent with a weariness that seemed to tap his very 
 soul. But after the first day, there was no doubt 
 that he knew his business, and that for some 
 reason of his own, the man was giving all 
 that was in him to the task of saving Billy 
 .Winks. 
 
 "But what about you, Mary — ^your job?" 
 questioned the Quince. 
 
 " This is my job now, Terry — the store can 
 get along without me. But what about you?" 
 
 " Leave of absence," he explained slowly, 
 
ON ACCOUNT OF DARKNESS 239 
 
 " when the kid pulls through — when he doesn't 
 need me any more, I — '' 
 
 " Hush," she whispered, " he's calling." 
 
 " 'At's the old boy, Terry — I'm pulling for you. 
 I ain't so very cold . . . Oh, look out!'^ 
 
 The Quince bounded up the stairs, and once 
 again resumed his place in the mythical game. 
 
 The seventh day came and brought no relief. 
 The ninth and tenth day arrived and still no 
 crisis. Billy Winks did not talk any more. His 
 temperature mounted to 104-105 and then 106. 
 His pulse raced and the respirations came — sixty 
 to the minute. 
 
 On the morning of the eleventh day, Hilmer 
 shook his head. Billy Winks was very close to 
 Kid's Heaven. 
 
 " One way or the other very soon," whispered 
 the physician. They had never seen him look 
 so utterly devitalized. His gray face, the chin 
 cupped in one hand, was turned thoughtfully to- 
 ward the child's cot, and in the abnormally large 
 pupils of the eyes there was a hungry flame. 
 
 Mary Malone's hand sought Baldwin's. 
 Through all the long days and nights, neither 
 courage nor trust had faltered, but she was 
 young and she loved Billy Winks. 
 
 " I just know He isn't cruel," she breathed, 
 " don't give up — any one; come back to us, Billy 
 ! — oh, please! '^ 
 
240 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 And in the gray of the morning, Hilmer laid 
 a hand on the boy's forehead and found it wet 
 and noted that both the pulse and respirations 
 were steadier. 
 
 " Go to bed — you two," he beamed, " the Triple 
 Alliance maintains its integrity ! " 
 
 Daylight found Billy Winks very weak but 
 with the fever receding and his small brain try- 
 ing to bridge the gap of darkness. He looked up 
 to find his two Allies bending over him. 
 
 "How many hits you get to-day, Terry?" he 
 whispered. 
 
 The Quince quivered slightly. " I got a home 
 run," he gulped, " clean into the left field bleach- 
 ers — getting to be a regular fence-buster, I am! 
 Ain't I, Mary? " 
 
 Billy Winks transferred his attention to the 
 girFs nodding head, and then put the next ques- 
 tion with appalling directness. 
 
 " Are you two going to get married? " 
 
 " Why — Billy ! " gasped Mary Malone, " what 
 ever put that idea — " 
 
 " I think it would be nice," he whispered. 
 
 The Quince reddened and then went very 
 white. " I — I, you see, Billy," he stammered, 
 "maybe sometime — " 
 
 Mary Malone shot a quick glance at Terry 
 Baldwin and then busied herself with Billy 
 Winks' pillow. 
 
 ti 
 
 ♦ 
 
ON ACCOUNT OF DARKNESS 241 
 
 " Lie still, little man," she crooned, " you 
 mustn't talk or think of anything right now. 
 ,When you're well enough to go to the ball park 
 and see Terry play again — everything will be 
 all right. Now go to sleep.'' 
 
 She darkened the room and signaled to the 
 Quince. 
 
 Outside, he rallied his faculties in an effort 
 to explain matters. " Mary — I don't want you 
 to think that I— that I—" 
 
 " Of course not," she interrupted quickly — 
 " Billy isn't quite right yet. Please forget it. 
 Anyway, I'm really crazy about the stage and — 
 oh, there's the milkman and we should have an- 
 other pint of certified." 
 
 The Quince watched her flutter down the stairs 
 and he understood that the Triple Alliance had 
 withstood one attack only to face a harder one. 
 He closed his right eye and nodded wisely as he 
 noted that the blur was extending to the remain- 
 ing member. 
 
 " Can't play ball," he muttered, " can't marry 
 — can't do anything very much longer. Mary 
 was willing, too. . . . What a dirty trick ! " 
 
 He tiptoed lightly down the stairs, intent on 
 retrieving his belongings from the little sitting 
 room. The door was unlatched and he pushed it 
 gently ajar. Hilmer had come in and was stand- 
 ing at the window with his back partly turned. 
 
242 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 Something in the physician's attitude induced 
 the Quince to watch noiselessly until he under- 
 stood what there was about Hilmer that had 
 mystified them. 
 
 Hilmer was slowly revolving a lighted match 
 under a spoonful of liquid. When the match had 
 burned its course, he laid it down and picking up 
 a hypodermic needle, drew the liquid up, guard- 
 ing carefully against the malignant air bubble. 
 A moment later he had bared his wrist, straight- 
 ened under the influence of the drug, and turn- 
 ing, observed Baldwin in the doorway. 
 
 "Ah, Baldwin,'' he said lightly, "you see the 
 medical profession has its quinces, too. First 
 the majors, then the bushes — then morphine." 
 
 " I didn't mean to sneak in on you. Doc'," 
 apologized the Quince, " I was coming after my 
 things. I'll say you're a real doctor though — it 
 seems kind of funny — that stuff ; you ought to be 
 hitting the ball." 
 
 Hilmer smiled a little ironically. " Perhaps 
 I'm a trifle stale. I was making |25,000 a year 
 when the war broke out. I specialized in brain 
 surgery under Dubouque in Paris. I spent two 
 very messy years at the front, and for a rest they 
 transferred me to relief work in Poland where 
 the children form in a line outside your tent, and 
 though you do not stop to eat or sleep — the line 
 is always there — always growing longer — and 
 
ON ACCOUNT OF DAKKNESS 243 
 
 things happen that one tries to forget and can't. 
 When it was over, I came back and found that 
 my wife had — " He stopped and shrugged. 
 
 " Passed out? " asked the Quince. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Oh." 
 
 " Some women are queer," continued Hilmer 
 evenly, " I suppose she just got tired of waiting. 
 But there was a boy — just about the age of our 
 little friend upstairs. He loved me and he died. 
 I've always thought I might have saved him had 
 I been there. That's why I stuck with this one. 
 I'm glad it's through with. When morphine in- 
 terferes with your practise, drop the practise." 
 
 " What does the stuff do to you? " 
 
 " Kid's you along at first. If you're sub-nor- 
 mal it brings you up to par — for awhile." 
 
 With the toe of one shoe, the Quince drew a 
 diamond on the carpet and frowned thoughtfully. 
 
 " I'm in trouble, Doc' — I'm sure up against the 
 real thing. Do you suppose a shot of that stuff 
 would help me think a little clearer? " 
 
 " Forget it," admonished Hilmer — >" you're 
 \ crazy, man! With a girl like that waiting for 
 you, and little Billy to watch you play ball? All 
 you need is a bit of sleep and a marriage license." 
 
 Something within the Quince gave way. He 
 buried his head under shaking hands and sank 
 into a chair. 
 
244 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 " That's it-— Doc'," he moaned. " I can't sleep, 
 I can't play ball ; I can't marry. I'm going stone 
 blind. No wonder they call me a Quince. It's 
 been coming on for six months and now it's got 
 me!" 
 
 Hilmer walked over and locked the door. He 
 came back and put his hands on Baldwin's head, 
 forcing the latter's face up toward the light. " I 
 suppose you never told any one, either," he 
 opined, " you're almost as big a damn fool as I 
 am. Tell me all about it." 
 
 The Quince tried to reconstruct his symptoms 
 but they formed a rather disordered nightmare. 
 Hilmer towed him to the window and instructed 
 him to look at first one object and then the other,, 
 
 " H'm," commented the physician, " ever suffer 
 a blow on the head? " 
 
 " I was beaned by Jake Jordan of the Reds 
 and was out on my feet for two days," confessed 
 the Quince — " they don't make 'em any speedier 
 than that bird." He felt meditatively above his 
 right ear. " I bat right handed but I ducked into 
 this one," he explained. 
 
 " So," commented the physician, " you were 
 beaned over the right temple and then the sight 
 of the right eye failed ; you wouldn't notice it at 
 first, but you wouldn't be able to gauge distance. 
 Then the left eye began to be affected. Try grip- 
 ping my hand." 
 
ON ACCOUNT OF DAKKNESS 245 
 
 The Quince extended his fingers. 
 
 " Harder,'' instructed Hilmer, " grip my hand 
 as hard as you can." 
 
 " I guess I'm all in/' acknowledged the Quince. 
 " Brick McGovern was right in giving me the 
 air." 
 
 " Humph," said the other, " then you're fired? " 
 
 " Of course — don't you read the papers? I've 
 been stringing the Kid along the best I could, 
 and I don't want to be here when he finds it out. 
 He isn't exactly like other kids, Doc' ? " 
 
 " No," Hilmer agreed, " he's not like most 
 others, but he is very like one that I mentioned ; 
 that one had a hero, too." He walked over to 
 the window and drummed thoughtfully on the 
 glass. 
 
 He was still standing there when some one 
 knocked lightly and then opened the door. It 
 was Mary. 
 
 " Excuse me," she pleaded, '* but. Doctor — do 
 you think it would be all right to give Billy a 
 soft-boiled egg? " 
 
 He nodded gravely and then motioned her to a 
 chair. 
 
 " Sit down a moment. Miss Malone," he re- 
 quested, " I have something to say to both of you. 
 Terry and I have been exchanging confidences. 
 I am addicted to morphine and he is almost if not 
 entirely blind." 
 
246 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 " Oh," said Mary Malone. " Oh ! Oh ! '' 
 
 " It is possible," Hilmer continued, " that there 
 is hope for both of us. A very delicate operation 
 might relieve the pressure which I suspect exists 
 on Terry's brain; as for myself — it will be very 
 hard but there is a little boy upstairs — " 
 
 Mary Malone rose to her feet. She laid a light 
 hand on the Quince's bowed head, and then went 
 very straight to Hilmer. 
 
 " The darkest hour," she said softly, " it's true, 
 isn't it. Doctor? The light is going to come again 
 . . . you'll win — both of you ! " She was very 
 near to tears but she fought them back and man- 
 aged to smile. 
 
 " Good-by to the Triple Alliance," she cried, 
 " we'll have to call it the Fighting Four ! " 
 
 " One more point," said Hilmer. " I am go^ 
 ing away for a little while. In the meantime I 
 shall ask that both of you go to the Affiliated Col- 
 leges and learn more about me ; also it would be 
 well to get their diagnosis of the case. When I 
 return — if I do not feel equal to the task I shall 
 say so frankly and recommend some one else. As 
 for my practise," he smiled slightly, " I will 
 ask a very dear friend to keep an eye on 
 Billy Winks." 
 
 Hilmer won, for he came from a long line of 
 ancestry which on land and sea met the challenge 
 
 iife;M'jyii». 
 
ON ACCOUNT OF DARKNESS 247 
 
 of the enemy with the stubborn motto : " J'y, suis 
 et j'y reste ! '' — Here I am and here I stay! 
 
 So it came to pass that one day in the little 
 brick hospital on the hill, overlooking the St. 
 Clair ball grounds and the city as well, they 
 wheeled the " Ten Thousand Dollar Quince " 
 away to the operating room. Mary Malone was 
 very brave ; she waited until the whir of the rub- 
 ber wheels was far down the corridor, before she 
 fainted. 
 
 And Dr. Basil Horace Hilmer, who had elected 
 to forget many things, including the three for- 
 eign decorations in his trunk at home, donned 
 once more his surgeon's mask and apron, and 
 trephined the Quince's skull, cutting through the 
 brain covering itself to remove the cyst which 
 pressed downward and choked the discs of the 
 eyes. It was a very delicate operation — so deli- 
 cate that there was a moment when the only one 
 who breathed was the man lying on the table. 
 
 But when it was all over and Terry Baldwin 
 was back once more in his own room with his 
 senses clearing, and the black night turning into 
 green and then gray and then yellow, Mary Ma- 
 lone sat on one side of his bed with a nurse on 
 the other and the suspense was very great in- 
 deed. 
 
 Gradually the stupor faded and Baldwin 
 looked first at the nurse and then at the girl on 
 
248 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 his right. Very deliberately he closed his right 
 eye and regarded them with the left, reversing 
 this procedure solemnly several times. Next he 
 directed both eyes at the ceiling; then straight 
 ahead; then to either side. 
 
 Mary Malone saw a finger crooked in her di- 
 rection. She leaned over the bed. 
 
 " Closer/' implored the Quince, " just — a little 
 closer.'' 
 
 From woman to woman there flashed in the 
 sixteenth of a second the mystic signal of the 
 sisterhood. The nurse arose and moved to the 
 window. 
 
 Mary Malone bent close until her lips brushed 
 those upturned toward hers. 
 
 " Mary, will you marry me? " 
 
 ^^Yes, Terry." 
 
 The Quince exhaled profoundly. Then — 
 
 "Mary, I can pretty near see through that 
 wall. Just you watch me hit that old apple ; just 
 you watch me run them bags ; just you watch us 
 go back to the majors with a brass band. Oh, 
 bend down just once more, please! '' 
 
 The door opened to admit Hilmer, still with 
 his sleeves rolled up. 
 
 " Well, well," he laughed, " that's certainly a 
 powerful restorative. Go right ahead, children, 
 I've sent the car for Billy Winks." 
 
 When the junior member of the Fighting Four 
 
 0" 
 
ON ACCOUNT OF DARKNESS 249 
 
 showed up, he had on a new suit and his hair 
 was neatly licked into place. He came in holding 
 Dr. Hilmer by the hand and there was something 
 in the tacit understanding apparent between the 
 two that appealed vastly to the others. 
 
 " Billy and I have been talking it over, you 
 see," the physician explained, " and we've about 
 agreed to cast our lot together. I'm wishing an- 
 other name on him, and he's going to teach me 
 how to play ball again; isn't that it, son? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Billy Winks Hilmer, "wouldn't 
 it be funny if you made the majors, too? " 
 
HIS HONOE, THE UMPS 
 
 *'IIe may Jiave been safe as you state/ ^ says BUI, 
 *'But I called him out, and he^s out until 
 
 It's snowin' in hell, and there's sand on the sea! 
 
 That's the hind of an umps I am," says he. 
 
 — Ballads of Brick McGovern. 
 
 HIS HONOR missed it ! 
 Now there is this about an umpire : he 
 may have integrity like unto Caesar's wife, 
 and possess the wisdom of Solomon; he may — 
 and he frequently does — hand down two hun- 
 dred correct rulings in less than two hours; but 
 the time will come when, right under his nose, 
 they will pull a play that he doesn't see. Then, 
 and forever afterward, men like Peewee Patter- 
 son will whisper in his ear : 
 
 " Bill, I ain't saying nothing, you understand, 
 but if I was you, I'd get me a tin cup, and a sign, 
 and a nice sunny place on the sidewalk. Honest, 
 Bill, that was the worst 1 ever see ! " 
 
 Of course, His Honor can reply, aptly enough : 
 
 " Ye-ah, I missed it all right, but any time you 
 boot only one out of a thousand chances, come 
 around and tell me about it ! " 
 
 But that retort never reaches the fans and 
 
 260 
 
HIS HONOR, THE UMPS 251 
 
 hence loses most of its effectiveness. Simon sits 
 in the grand stand and bleachers and perpetually 
 signals " thumbs down " for the umps. But let 
 a player, who has fumbled the ball all through 
 the game, come up in the ninth inning and whang 
 the pill over the fence, then Simon shrieks: 
 " tliumbs up ! " and takes the hero to his bosom. 
 
 These things are beyond even an umpire's 
 philosophy, but he learns to accept them. His 
 viewpoint is the opposite of the fan because the 
 good of the game requires that it shall be. The 
 fan is rabidly partizan and a hero worshiper — ■ 
 if he wasn't, there would be no such thing as 
 baseball. But the umpire is forbidden a per- 
 sonal interest in any one, be it busher or star, 
 enemy or brother. He may not stop at the same 
 hotel that harbors ball players, nor travel on the 
 same train, nor eat in the same restaurant, nor 
 be seen chatting chummily on the street with 
 the hard-working sons of swat. 
 
 He depends for companionship on one blue- 
 bloused associate; counts upon luck to save him 
 from too many tough decisions in a single after- 
 noon, learns to call every play just as he sees it, 
 and, above all else — if he be a good umpire and 
 desires to live — he stands by his decision, right 
 or wrong, until the last box score is approved by 
 the Angel Gabriel. 
 
 That is all you need to know about the profes- 
 
252 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 sion in general; you wouldn't comprehend any 
 more than that, unless you fingered an indicator 
 yourself, barked through an umpire's muzzle, 
 and discovered how easy it is for a disgruntled 
 catcher to step back and accidentally plant his 
 cleats on your toes. 
 
 Now, concerning Bill Quimby and the play 
 that he missed. 
 
 Five months of the year Bill was an ordinary, 
 likeable chap, clean-shaven, muscular, sandy- 
 haired, habits moral, and age when last reported 
 — 31. During the section of the year referred 
 to, his interests ran towards agriculture and 
 ducks on the wing — the latter preferably mal- 
 lards, flying low from the grain fields across 
 an irrigation ditch just after dawn. The bal- 
 ance of the year, Bill was an umpire; and by 
 just that proportion of months — 7 to 5 — Bill was 
 more umpire than anything else. 
 
 At the close of one season, Bill went south 
 from Los Angeles, and bought himself a ranch in 
 the Imperial Valley which, twenty years ago, 
 was a vast, soul-sickening thing of yellow sand, 
 and to-day — boasts ten towns, eighty thousand 
 people, and annual crops worth over sixty mil- 
 lions of dollars. Soil and sun, plus water from 
 the Colorado, wrought the miracle. 
 
 BilFs ranch was on New River, just south of 
 Superstition Mountain. It wasn't much of a 
 
HIS HONOR, THE UMPS 253 
 
 place, just a quarter section of twisted mesquite, 
 but it had possibilities, and it adjoined the Blue 
 Circle range, owned by old Jud Mclntyre who 
 specialized in alfalfa and Herefords, buried two 
 wives, and bought himself a third — f. o. b. St. 
 Louis. 
 
 There is no accounting for the luck of the dia- 
 mond, nor the puzzling paths shaped by Provi- 
 dence. If old man Mclntyre hadn't patronized 
 that matrimonial agency, his daughter never 
 would have galloped distractedly over the range 
 that early winter morning; her pony would not 
 have stumbled on a squirrel hole, and Trissy Mc- 
 lntyre might have always believed that the only 
 difference between an umpire and the sover- 
 eignty of Great Britain lay in the pronuncia- 
 tion. 
 
 But Providence and Bill Quimby were both on 
 the job that morning, Providence back of the 
 scenes, and Bill down by the barbed wire fence, 
 where the strands are pried apart and a foot trail 
 leads toward his favorite duck blind. 
 
 Bill heard the rhythmical drum of hoofs break 
 sharply. He looked up in time to see a piebald 
 pony turn a pinwheel, and a slim figure in cor- 
 duroys spin off to the right and flatten out 
 against a clump of sage. The pony scrambled 
 up, trotted off a short distance, and then re- 
 turned. 
 
254 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 In a minute, Quimby was at the girl's side try- 
 ing clumsily to lift her. 
 
 " I'm all right/' she demurred shakily, " just 
 let me lie still a moment — my breath — " 
 
 He nodded sympathetically, and watched her 
 while she felt with small hands experimentally 
 over her shoulders and arms, and then down to 
 knees and ankles. Apparently satisfied, she re- 
 verted to the instinct of Eve, fluffed her hair, 
 smoothed her skirts and smiled up at Adam. 
 
 " Whew ! " she laughed, " that was a whopper, 
 wasn't it? I'm Trissy Mclntyre and I live back 
 on the hill. You ranching down here? " 
 
 Quimby shook his head and grinned admir- 
 ingly. He liked gameness, on and off the ball 
 field, and his judgment was that of a good um- 
 pire. He decided on the spot that he liked this 
 girl. No one could have found fault with that 
 decision, for Trissy was pleasant to look upon. 
 Her skin was burned by the desert wind, but she 
 had clear gray eyes, small red lips and a spunky 
 chin. 
 
 "Nope," said Bill, "that's my shack over 
 there, but I ain't ranching yet. Me and some ball 
 players are doing a little hunting. My name's 
 Quimby — Bill Quimby. I'm a Coast League um- 
 pire. Sure you're not hurt, eh? " 
 
 " Just shaken up," she answered lightly.. " I've 
 got a headache, but I'll ride it off." 
 
HIS HONOR, THE UMPS 255 
 
 He led up the pony, and she swung lightly into 
 the saddle. There was a moment of silence. The 
 man's experience with women had never included 
 the vision of a girl on a piebald pony, smiling 
 down at him with brown hair blowing across 
 gray eyes. The girl's knowledge of men was 
 confined to a different type than that she now 
 beheld. She had not the slightest idea what was 
 meant by a " Coast League umpire," but it 
 sounded interesting, and Bill Quimby's hand 
 still grasped the reins. 
 
 " Well," said Trissy Mclntyre, " I — I'm glad 
 we're neighbors." 
 
 " I'll say so," he echoed, " it's pretty lonely. I 
 was thinking only yesterday that I ought to try 
 and get acquainted." 
 
 The girl nodded. " I'd ask you to come over, 
 only I don't get along — that is," she amended 
 hastily, " I'm not the boss of the place. I get 
 most of my fun just riding around on Chiquita." 
 
 Quimby looked up hopefully. " I got a Lizzie, 
 but perhaps I could dig up some kind of a horse. 
 If you were riding this way again some morning, 
 maybe you wouldn't mind showing me a little of 
 the country. One of these days, I'm figuring on 
 settling here for good." 
 
 "Why, I'd be glad to!"- 
 
 "To-morrow?" 
 
 " Perhaps." 
 
256 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 " I'll' be here at this time to-morrow morning.'' 
 
 The girl's lips parted, revealing white teeth. 
 Her eyes lighted mischievously. 
 
 " All right, but I'll have to be scurrying for 
 home now." She shook up the pony, and called 
 back : " Glad to have met you ! " 
 
 " See you to-morrow," shouted Quimby. He 
 watched her gallop up the slope of the mesa. She 
 gained the ridge, waved her hand, turned, and 
 cantered slowly along the table land. A clump 
 of eucalyptus blotted out girl and pony. 
 
 That ended Bill Quimby's interest in mallards 
 flying low over an irrigation ditch just after 
 dawn; nor did he show any longer the proper 
 regard for the entertainment and general welfare 
 of his guests. 
 
 A week later, Peewee Patterson, Rube Fergu- 
 son, Mike Collender, and Digger Grimes, all 
 celebrities of the diamond, and honorable men, 
 packed up their belongings and signified their in- 
 tention to depart. Bill loaded the outfit into 
 his runabout and made unnecessarily fast time 
 to the station. 
 
 Just before they flagged the north-bound local, 
 the midget second baseman of the champion 
 Wolves, drew His Honor aside. 
 
 " First time I ever knew an umps to show any 
 judgment," he confided, "she's a pip, Bill, and 
 I hope you sign her up." 
 
HIS HONOR, THE UMPS 257 
 
 The others ranged alongside. Collender, the 
 Vernon southpaw, extended a huge hand. 
 
 " Well, so long, Bill — had a good time. If the 
 little cattle queen wants any recommendations — ^' 
 
 " Oh, it ain't nothing like that,'' assured Quim- 
 by hastily. " You birds better save your kidding 
 until the season opens; and then call 'em when 
 they're over." But nevertheless lie colored hotly, 
 and Peewee screamed at the spectacle. 
 
 " Pipe what's blushing ! " he implored, " why, 
 Bill — ^you look almost human ! " 
 
 The train jerked to a squeaky stop just long 
 enough for them to scramble aboard. Patterson 
 stuck his head through an open window of the 
 smoker, and bellowed a parting shot: 
 
 " Hey, Bill ! Keep the old head up now. Don't 
 miss no plays on the little lady." 
 
 Quimby thrust ten fingers in the dir. tion of 
 the vanishing Peewee, a maneuver, wiiich, at 
 other times, Patterson would have interpreted 
 correctly as a neat nick in his monthly recom- 
 pense. The little infielder applied a thumb to 
 his sun-baked nose. Thus was the seasonal 
 authority of His Honor lightly invoked and as 
 delicately repudiated. 
 
 Bill returned to his ranch, and to the court- 
 ship of Trissy Mclntyre. For an umpire, oper- 
 ating under rules which were strange to him, he 
 batted surprisingly well. It may be that Cupid 
 
258 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 was just lobbing the ball over to him, or Trissy 
 was tipping off the signals. Anyway, it wasn't 
 long before they benched the horses in favor of 
 Bill's roadster, and made the astonishing dis- 
 covery that the moonlight, the stars, the ranch 
 lights twinkling in the distance, and the weird 
 night music of the desert — were all provided by 
 the Great Groundkeeper for their special benefit. 
 
 Quimby weakened only once. That was when 
 he got his contract for the approaching season. 
 He showed the document to Miss Mclntyre and 
 then determined to try a straight ball over the 
 plate, trusting like Wild Bill Cassidy, to God and 
 the outfielders. But his control was atrocious, 
 and after he had wobbled for half an hour, get- 
 ting wilder every minute, Cupid derricked him 
 in favor of a relief pitcher. 
 
 Trissy put the first ball squarely over the pan : 
 
 " You mean you want me. Bill? " 
 
 His Honor gulped and came up for air. 
 
 " Of course I do ! what do you think I've been 
 talking about all this time? " 
 
 " I wasn't sure," said Trissy demurely. 
 '' Father will be wild, of course, but if you really 
 want me. Bill— I— I—" 
 
 Bill advanced to the next base very prettily. 
 • 
 
 Jud Mclntyre returned from a roundup on 
 the Big Sur, and Quimby rode over to acquaint 
 
HIS HONOR, THE UMPS 259 
 
 him with the news. The owner of the Blue Cir- 
 cle had been compelled to unload a lot of beeves 
 at Kansas City on a falling market, and he was 
 feeling unharmonious. He held his temper fairly 
 well until Quimby admitted that he earned only 
 three hundred dollars per month, seven months 
 in the year, and nothing during the winter. Then 
 old man Mclntyre took the field, and began to 
 warm up. 
 
 "Why, you mangy, sheep-stealing coyote — " 
 
 Bill Quimby stiffened. 
 
 " You busted, flea-bitten maverick ! Tryin' to 
 horn your way into the clover, eh? Tryin' to 
 rope yourself a meal ticket at my expense, huh? " 
 
 His Honor drew himself very erect. Two 
 bright spots bloomed over the cheek-bones. One 
 foot tapped briskly on the floor. His fingers 
 twirled mechanically in the way that he was 
 wont to finger the celluloid indicator by which 
 he recorded«?balls and strikes. Any player in the 
 Coast League would have recognized those symp- 
 toms and have appreciated that it was time to 
 lay off of Bill Quimby. Old man Mclntyre 
 rushed blindly on. 
 
 " Get back to your two-bit homestead, you lazy 
 bum — you don't eat off me! An umpire, eh? 
 Well, damn your hide, I'll show you — " 
 
 Bill Quimby stepped forward and grasped the 
 owner of the Blue Circle ranch by the elbows, 
 
260 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 elevated him with great firmness, and consigned 
 him emphatically to the depths of a rocker ten 
 feet distant. Then His Honor strode over and 
 wagged a long index finger under the nose of old 
 man Mclntyre. 
 
 "You've said your little piece," he hissed, 
 "you're through for the day, understand? Go 
 soak your head under the showers! Get off the 
 field ! You're out, you're out, you're out ! " 
 
 He stalked over to the door, turned, and glared 
 at the sputtering old man in the chair. 
 
 " None of your back talk," he snapped, " you 
 stay right there ! Me and Trissy are going to be 
 married this afternoon, and I ain't got no time 
 to bother with a funeral." 
 
 The door closed behind Bill Quimby. Miss Mc- 
 lntyre was waiting for him on the porch. 
 
 " How did it come out? " she inquired. 
 
 " We had a chin-wagging match," he told her 
 " but everything's jake now. There ain't nobody 
 going to tell me where to head in when I'm call- 
 ing 'em ! " 
 
 Trissy giggled. "Why, Bill, how funny you 
 talk!" 
 
 He blinked at her a moment, and then unbent. 
 
 " I guess I got to thinking I was on the ball 
 field," he explained. " You go get your things, 
 honey, and then we'll wind up the old bus, and 
 light out." 
 
HIS HONOR, THE UMPS 261 
 
 Old man Mclntyre didn't interfere. His third 
 wife was down at El Centre arranging for the 
 delivery of a special sedan with pink upholstery. 
 He accepted his daughter's farewell embrace si- 
 lently, followed her out on the porch in his shirt- 
 sleeves, and watched the runabout grind dustily 
 toward the state highway. When the machine 
 was out of sight, he spat meditatively at a lizard, 
 and reentered the house, looking rather dazed. 
 
 William Quimby, serving his fourth term as 
 circuit judge in the court of the diamond, and 
 Miss Beatrice Mclntyre, daughter of Imperial's 
 pioneer cowman, were married two hours later 
 by a justice of the peace at El Cent.ro. The night 
 train bore them to Los Angeles for the honey- 
 moon. 
 
 All this transpired, if you will remember, dur- 
 ing that portion of the year when His Honor had 
 no more authority than a Volstead deputy be- 
 yond the three mile limit. He was as free of re- 
 sponsibility as a doughboy on leave; as immune 
 from worry as a frog in a puddle. There was 
 nothing to mar the connubial bliss of pretty Mrs. 
 Quimby, nor cloud the happiness of the lord of 
 the little housekeeping apartment on Sunset 
 Boulevard, a thoroughfare which bisects the 
 cinema colony at Hollywood. 
 
 They patronized Los Angeles rubberneck 
 chariots, the nickel dances at the beaches, " raced 
 
262 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 through the clouds" at Venice, and ascended Mt. 
 Lowe, the magnet for all honeymooners in South- 
 ern California. 
 
 Then came the opening week assignments, and 
 Quimby found that he was once again paired off 
 with " Bull " Feeney, and scheduled to start the 
 season at San Francisco. Bill's bride went north 
 with him, and there discovered on Opening Day 
 what a really great man she had married. It 
 was the largest herd of human beings she had 
 ever seen in her life, and there was not the slight- 
 est doubt from the start, that Bill Quimby was 
 foreman of the roundup. At his signal the pro- 
 ceedings started; his voice filled the park; his 
 padded figure crouching behind the catcher, el- 
 bows turned out like a huge potato bug, expressed 
 the majesty of the law. When Bill waved his 
 arm one way every one seemed anxious; when he 
 issued another command, the crowd appeared 
 greatly relieved. Once, when some player slid 
 along the ground at BilFs feet, and His Honor 
 spread out both hands, palms downward, the 
 multitude arose and shouted for three whole min- 
 utes. No one took the trouble to inform Mrs. 
 Quimby that the cheering was intended for the 
 player and not at all for her husband. That was 
 just as well, as she wouldn't have paid any at- 
 tention to such a base insinuation. Why, any- 
 body who didn't even know a thing about base- 
 
HIS HONOR, THE UMPS 263 
 
 ball, could see that the umpire managed the whole 
 affair! 
 
 As a matter of fact, Quimby was getting by 
 very nicely. Umpires always find the first month 
 or two comparatively easy. Every one is rested 
 up and feeling good natured. The crowd is not 
 over critical. Managers are experimenting, and 
 there is a general appreciation of the fact that 
 it isn't how a ball club starts that matters, but 
 where it finishes. 
 
 Even men like Brick McGovern, manager of 
 the champion Wolves, and Peewee Patterson, his 
 second baseman, admitted that " Bill was going 
 pretty good." That was quite a concession for 
 them to make, for they operated on the well-es- 
 tablished policy of hounding the umps into be- 
 lieving they were always getting the worst of his 
 decisions. That helped to dissuade the man in 
 blue from calling the next close play against 
 them, and on the ball field every little helps. 
 
 " Home cooking seems to agree with the old 
 boy,'' said Peewee. 
 
 McGovern grunted an afl&rmative. " Bill's a 
 good umps all right, but he'll begin missing 'ein 
 one of these days ; they all do that just when you 
 need a game most." 
 
 " Nice little wife he's got." 
 
 "Ye-ah — she's nice little lady all right. I 
 guess Bill's a good square guy too, though I can't 
 
264 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 see why a woman would want to marry him. Tie- 
 ing up with a ball player is bad enough, but an 
 umpire — good night! '^ 
 
 Nevertheless, Mrs. Quimby toured the circuit 
 with her husband, and seemed to be eminently 
 satisfied. It wasn't until the middle of June, 
 when they resumed housekeeping in Los Angeles, 
 that the first rift appeared in Hymen's lute. By 
 that time, the judicial mantle had become a con- 
 spicuous part of His Honor's daily attire. His 
 responsibilities tightened, his worries increased, 
 and it became necessary for him to enforce dis- 
 cipline more and more among the players. He 
 accomplished his duty conscientiously and with 
 dispatch, taking his work with increasing seri- 
 ousness as a good umpire should do. The eve- 
 nings always brought full recompense in a visit 
 to the movies, with Trissy's arm linked in his 
 own, or a neighborly game of cards with the 
 Siegels, who lived on the floor just below. 
 
 Then one night, a critical play developed right 
 under his nose, and he blundered appallingly. 
 In Bill's defense, it should be borne in mind that 
 his profession calls for snap judgment, swift, 
 arbitrary and unhesitating. He can't stop to 
 think it over, can't permit sentiment to sway 
 him; can't appeal for advice. He must call the 
 play the way he sees it instantly, and — right or 
 wrong — stand by his ruling. In that important 
 
HIS HONOR, THE UMPS 265 
 
 respect, the umpire differs from every other in- 
 terpreter of justice. 
 
 Bill was sitting in an easy chair after supper, 
 reading the night sporting extras. He had 
 worked through a double-header between the 
 Wolves and the Tigers, two teams that are spe- 
 cialists in the gentle art of umpire-baiting. His 
 Honor was tired. In the kitchen, Mrs. Quimby 
 was putting away the dishes. 
 
 Crash! 
 
 His Honor frowned. Trissy was usually very 
 careful about the dishes, but lately it did seem 
 that she was always dropping things — breaking 
 almost everything she touched. He pondered 
 over this phenomenon until into his disturbed 
 mind floated the recollection of other incidents, 
 equally peculiar. For almost two weeks now, 
 Trissy had acted strangely. Their suppers were 
 no longer the daintily prepared repasts in which 
 he delighted. The food savored strongly of the 
 delicatessen counter. The apartment was dusty 
 and disorderly, revealing every evidence of neg- 
 lect. For some reason, a model housekeeper 
 like Trissy was no longer interested in her 
 work. 
 
 His Honor was troubled. Like a good man- 
 ager, who sees a promising recruit sluff off in his 
 work, Quimby strove to analyze the difficulty. 
 He loved and worshiped his wife in the plain, 
 
266 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 single-track way of a man who had never had 
 much dealings with the opposite sex. But he 
 was stubborn and proud, and not altogether blind 
 to the fact that some of the boys seemed sur- 
 prised that he had won a girl like Trissy. Could 
 she be — 
 
 Crash! 
 
 This time, His Honor jumped to his feet. 
 Above the clatter of broken china on the lino- 
 leum floor, came a burst of wild laughter that 
 offended his sensibilities. Quimby was quite un- 
 versed in hysteria. That shrill merriment 
 sound.pd to him silly and entirely out of place. 
 It seemed, in fact, a flat challenge that called for 
 some sort of action. He strode into the kitchen, 
 glared at the litter on the floor, and then at the 
 slim figure in gingham, leaning against the 
 sink, and still convulsed with unreasoning 
 hilarity. 
 
 This was where His Honor missed the play 
 entirely. Any married woman after one good 
 look at Mrs. Quimby, would have put her arms 
 around Trissy's shoulders, and exclaimed: 
 " There, there, child, let the old dishes alone, 
 and we'll go into the room and have a nice long 
 talk." 
 
 Even the third Mrs. Mclntyre would have done 
 that much, but there was no woman around — 
 only Umpire William Quimby, standing there 
 
HIS HONOR, THE UMPS 267 
 
 with his lips compressed, his arms folded, and 
 cold condemnation in his eye. 
 
 It needed nothing more than that look from 
 her husband, to complete the little woman's sur- 
 render to her nerves. 
 
 " Don't you look at me like that ! " screamed 
 Mrs. Quimby, " don't — ^you — do — ^it ! Honest to 
 God, Bill, I'll break every dish — I'll throw 'em 
 right on the floor! Go away from me, do you 
 hear? Don't even look at me! I can't stand it 
 —I— I—" 
 
 Crash! 
 
 Quimby should have known better than that, 
 but the best umpires in the world have their off 
 days when there is nothing under the old cap but 
 solid ivory. The play seemed clear enough to 
 to him, and on the spot he voiced his conclusion, 
 striding over and grasping his wife's wrists. Two 
 bright spots appeared over either cheek bone, his 
 jaw muscles bulged. 
 
 " Cut that sort of bunk right now," he ordered. 
 ^' I ain't no fool. You're playing for your release, 
 and I get you ! You don't have to poison me, or 
 bust no furniture. I'm through — you're free as 
 the air ! " 
 
 His wife ceased fluttering in his grasp, and 
 looked up. 
 
 "W-what?" 
 
268 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 He misinterpreted her sudden calm for ac- 
 quiescence to his viewpoint. Her wrists were 
 released, and he stepped back. 
 
 " Guess I called the play, huh? Somebody's 
 tipped you off that you're too good for an umpire, 
 and you want to get out of the contract? Well, 
 you don't have to lay down on the job, under- 
 stand? I ain't got no strings on you a-tall. Just 
 trot right back to old Moneybags, and try your 
 luck again ! " 
 
 Trissy's face went sheet white, and then the 
 rush of color returned. She opened her mouth 
 three times, and then closed it grimly. Not for 
 nothing was she the daughter of old Jud Mc- 
 Intyre. 
 
 " Get down on your knees and tell me you 
 made a mistake ! " she said quietly, " kneel down. 
 Bill— quick ! " 
 
 In all his life. Bill Quimby had never heard 
 such an amazing demand as that! He folded 
 his arms and glared at her. 
 
 " Anytime I get down on my knees to reverse 
 a fair decision," he informed her, " a team of 
 Chinks will win the National League pennant on 
 Christmas ! " 
 
 " Suit yourself," said Mrs. Quimbly coldly, 
 " and whenever you change your mind, you can 
 write me.'^ 
 
 She went into the bedroom and locked the door. 
 
HIS HONOR, THE UMPS 269 
 
 Until far into the night, he could hear her mov- 
 ing around, and he realized that she was pack- 
 ing her things. His Honor went out and regis- 
 tered at a near-by hotel. Just before he finally 
 fell asleep along toward morning, he addressed 
 himself to the chandelier. 
 
 " It's either this or that/' he argued drowsily. 
 " There's no middle ground. A man muffs it or 
 he doesn't; it's a fair ball or it's foul; if a man 
 ain't safe, he's out, and there's no use stallin'. 
 Ye-ah, you said it, Brother — that was one hell 
 of a tough play to call, but I had the right angle 
 — I must have had it. I was right there, I — 
 was — right — I — was — " 
 
 His Honor was summoned to the plate by Mor- 
 pheus. 
 
 The days merged into weeks, and the weeks 
 into months ; the god of baseball sifted his min- 
 ions until the weaker clubs assumed their proper 
 place and there remained in the first division 
 only the logical contenders. Bill Quimby clung 
 stubbornly to his post of duty and to his deci- 
 sions; but there remained ever in his conscious- 
 ness the vision of a slim figure in a ging- 
 ham dress laughing wildly over a broken 
 dish. 
 
 " I don't know what's eating that guy," said 
 Jiggs Baker, first baseman for the Blues. Jiggs 
 
270 HEAKTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 was sitting in the dugout, staring at Umpire 
 Quimby. 
 
 " Did you see that last strike he called on me? 
 I couldn't have reached it with a telegraph pole. 
 All I says to him was: * Wait a minute, Bill, 
 until I climb up on the roof,' and he says: 
 ^ Never mind climbing — just keep on talking, and 
 ['11 knock you up there ! ' " 
 
 Ainsmith, a right bander from Texas, chimed 
 in corroboratively. " Last week down at Ver- 
 non he come over in the fifth inning and give 
 everybody on the bench the bum's rush — chased 
 us all to the clubhouse. And we wasn't saying 
 a word, mind you ! The guy that was doing all 
 the razzing was a fan in a box just back of the 
 dugout. I guess that ain't missing 'em. Bill's a 
 hot dog!" 
 
 It was just as well that Quimby didn't hear 
 too much of that sort of comment. His Honor 
 had already enough to worry about. For the 
 first time in his career on the diamond. Bill's 
 confidence in his own judgment was badly shaken. 
 He no longer considered himself infallible, but 
 strove with painful anxiety to avoid the numer- 
 ous pitfalls that lie in the path of an umpire. 
 Wherefore he became afflicted with fear, which 
 is a toxic that attacks the soul. He was not 
 afraid of the players, nor of the crowd, but of 
 himself. He operated in constant dread that he 
 
HIS HONOR, THE UMPS 271 
 
 would pass judgment on plays before they were 
 actually completed, the most common of all judi- 
 cial errors; or, that he would hesitate too long, 
 and thus betray indecision. He feared that he 
 would fall into the class of arbiters who decide 
 close plays in favor of the home club, and like 
 every honest son of the diamond, Bill had su- 
 preme contempt for a " homer.'' He realized 
 that he was acquiring a dread of close games, 
 and extra-inning battles; and that he felt the 
 strain of working behind pitchers like " Lefty " 
 Wade, whose curve ball had a tendency every 
 now and then to " break '' a great deal wider 
 than usual, thereby " crossing " the man behind 
 the plate. 
 
 But worse than all, Bill Quimby was tor- 
 mented by a loneliness that is not to be under- 
 stood save by those who have traveled an um- 
 pire's path, and seen the one lamp that illumi- 
 nated life's thoroughfare, extinguished — leaving 
 the darkness a great deal more oppressive than 
 a man should be required to bear. 
 
 Sooner or later, these things are bound to be 
 reflected in a man's work. Quimby became su- 
 per-sensitive to criticism; over eager to retain 
 the authority he sensed was slipping. Hence, 
 the players rode him, and the fans followed suit, 
 for that, mark you, is part of the game. Rattle 
 
272 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 the umps, and the men who get to his side first 
 in a crisis, have an undeniable advantage. 
 
 " Peewee " Patterson didn't mean any harm. 
 He saw that Bill was a bit wobbly and he didn't 
 stop to figure out any reason. Being a lead-off 
 man for his club, and therefore keen to reach 
 first base by any means possible, Peewee always 
 tried to work His Honor for a base on balls, 
 whenever Bill was calling 'em. 
 
 The midget was a mighty difficult man to pitch 
 to ; he crowded the plate, and had a trick of low- 
 ering his body on a pitched ball. Sometimes 
 Quimby realized that he had made a mistake the 
 moment after he had committed himself by a 
 wave of the hand and a bellow, but of course it 
 was too late then to rectify the error. 
 
 Peewee had a way of emphasizing these 
 blunders by looking at His Honor with a faint, 
 pitying grin. Once, he significantly handed 
 Quimby a lead pencil — another time a shoelace, 
 both planted in his hip pocket for that special 
 purpose. On a third occasion, he continued look- 
 ing at the pitcher, but twisted his lips so that 
 His Honor could get the message: 
 
 " Poor old Bill, he can't see nothing any more. 
 Pretty soon he'll be out on the sidewalk, tapping 
 along with his cane, and I knew him well, too ! " 
 
 That little speech cost the midget five dollars 
 but the club paid all fines, recording them under 
 
I 
 
 HIS HONOR, THE UMPS 273 
 
 the head of miscellaneous expenses, so Peewee 
 held persistently to his course. Time passed; 
 summer waned; the race tightened; and Bill 
 Quimby, always haunted by that doubtful deci- 
 sion, struggled stubbornly against many handi- 
 caps. 
 
 The climax came, logically enough, in the 
 twelfth inning of a game which marked the final 
 series between the Wolves and the Angels. It 
 was played before twenty thousand Los Angeles 
 fans who crowded the Vernon grounds on the 
 last Sunday morning of the season. His Honor 
 was working behind the plate, and all through 
 the contest, the luck of the game had been run- 
 ning strongly against him. There had been too 
 many close decisions against the home club. The 
 Angels needed that game to retain their slender 
 hold on first place, and they were fighting for 
 every point with the crowd behind them to a 
 man. Three times in as many innings, a man in 
 an Angel uniform raced for the plate with what 
 promised to be the winning run, only to be ruled 
 out by Bill Quimby on a hair line decision. That 
 sort of thing drives a ball club to desperation, 
 and makes the home crowd see red. Yet His 
 Honor was calling every play exactly as he saw 
 it, and his verdicts were never more conscien- 
 tiously rendered, for instinct warned him a 
 crisis was at hand. 
 
274 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 A play, which he recognized intuitively as the 
 one, developed in the first half of the twelfth 
 inning, with two men out, and the score still 
 standing 5 to 5. Rube Ferguson, heavy-hitting 
 outfielder for the Wolves, straightened out the 
 first curve and drove the ball hard and high be- 
 tween left and center. 
 
 The crowd arose, quivering and noisy, eyes in- 
 tent on the Angel outfielders stringing out in a 
 relay for the return throw. Ferguson flashed 
 past first and second, in a broadening circle, 
 Umpire Bull Feeney trailing him to see that the 
 runner touched every bag. But Quimby, watch- 
 ing developments with trained eyes, realized that 
 Bull would not have to give the decision. The 
 play would be completed at the plate, and that 
 meant a home run or not, just as Bill happened 
 to see it. 
 
 Ferguson's flying spikes thrust desperately at 
 third, and he wheeled into line with the plate. 
 The Angel shortstop, crouching in short center, 
 took the throw, spun around, and let fly. 
 
 Quimby recognized at once that the throw 
 was destined to be perfect, and that again Fate 
 had sent him a tough decision, this time with 
 the positions of the two clubs reversed. His hand 
 tossed to one side the mask he had been holding. 
 He sprang forward with his back to the in-com- 
 ing ball, and his eyes riveted on Catcher Wil- 
 
HIS HONOR, THE UMPS 275 
 
 liams, legs spread across the plate, body braced 
 and hands stretched out imploringly. 
 
 " Got to get this one," whispered His Honor, 
 " got to get it — got to — " 
 
 And then the ball was swept up by the catcher, 
 Rube Ferguson slid in, and the two men went 
 down together in a cloud of dust. The ball had 
 beaten the runner. 
 
 Quimby's right arm started an upward sweep 
 with the thumb pointed over the shoulder, but 
 the gesture was never completed. His quick eye 
 detected something that no one else in the ball 
 park was in a position to see. 
 
 The hall had been dropped! 
 
 Williams' writhing body concealed from all 
 but Bill Quimby that leather sphere lying mo- 
 mentarily in the dirt. The catcher's groping 
 hand closed upon the ball in the fraction of a 
 second, but His Honor, the Umps, had seen what 
 he had seen. Down went both hands, palms out- 
 ward. 
 
 " Safe! " yelled Bill Quimby. 
 
 And then he stepped back and faced them, one 
 man against twenty thousand. 
 
 " Now bring on your rough stuff," he chal- 
 lenged, " who starts it? " 
 
 Oh, they got him, all right — got him good! It 
 was a woman who applied the coup de grace; 
 
276 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 not a girl with brown hair blowing across gray 
 eyes, but a slatternly half-witted thing of the 
 bleachers. She was in the crowd that waited 
 outside for Bill Quimby when he emerged from 
 the park, bleeding and disheveled, and protected 
 by a circle of men armed with bats. Ball players 
 may ride an umpire in their own way, but in a 
 show down with a rioting crowd, he is their 
 brother, and they will guard him with their lives. 
 
 The woman of the bleachers worked her way 
 crazily to the umpire's shoulder, and spat at 
 him. 
 
 " Yah," she shrilled, " you rotten thief ! '' 
 
 The crowd hooted, surged forward, and egged 
 her on. Quimby looked at his feminine assail- 
 ant, and his lips curled contemptuously. That 
 was a mistake. The woman clawed her way out 
 of the crowd, and in a minute eased back again, 
 with something she had grabbed from the coun- 
 ter of a curbstone lunch wagon. Her fingers 
 wrenched off the cover of a small can, and 
 emptied the contents into her cupped hand. She 
 elbowed her way to Quimby's side, and shrieked 
 into his ear. 
 
 " Hey, Bill — look what I got for you — ^look 
 here." 
 
 Mechanically, he turned in her direction, and 
 the next instant he collapsed into the arms of 
 Peewee Patterson, both eyes filled with a fine 
 
HIS HONOR, THE UMPS 277 
 
 pungent substance that brought quick agony and 
 blindness. The woman fled. 
 
 "Pepper," gasped Bill Quimby, "my eyes — 
 I'm gone. Peewee, are you there? " 
 
 The little infielder was there; so were Rube 
 Ferguson, Truck Darrow, Cy Foster and a host 
 of others. They scattered the crowd with one 
 impetuous onslaught, and then swarmed around 
 the moaning Quimby. 
 
 " Easy, old man," cried Peewee, " you're among 
 friends. Hang on to my arm and we'll find a 
 doc'! Keep the old head up. Bill — ^hold on to 
 the old nerve ! " 
 
 They rushed him back to the clubhouse and 
 into the hands of Blinker Burke, but the trainer 
 had no means of unlocking the tortured eyes so 
 that they could be washed out. Precious minutes 
 were being wasted while conjunctivitis set in. 
 
 "Get him to the hospital," advised Blinker, 
 "you got to use cocaine solution on them eyes, 
 and then boracic acid — even then I don't 
 know — " 
 
 They commandeered a machine, and on the 
 way to the Washington street hospital, Bill 
 Quimby temporarily went out of his head. 
 
 "Lead pencils and a tin cup," he babbled, 
 " I'm blind, Peewee knows I'm blind — " 
 
 " No you ain't, Bill — just keep the old head up 
 — don't throw that back at me, Bill — ^you know 
 
278 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 I was only kidding — only kidding, that's all I 
 was doing. We're all for you, Bill — all for you, 
 old man." 
 
 "My wife, Peewee — ^she broke a few lousy 
 plates, and I razzed her. Now I won't never 
 see her again — can't even write to her — she'll be 
 off me worse than ever — a poor, old blind stiff on 
 the sidewalk — sunny spot, Peewee, you said — " 
 
 " Don't talk like that," entreated the midget, 
 " you're the best damn umpire in the league, Bill ; 
 and you'll be calling 'em long after us guys are 
 through. Here we are, fellows — ^grab hold now 
 and rush him along." 
 
 The baseball fan is a peculiar animal. No 
 sooner did the news spread that Bill Quimby was 
 in the hospital and might go blind, than thou- 
 sands recalled him as the very best umpire they 
 had ever seen. Big Carl Williams did the right 
 thing. Before the start of the afternoon game, 
 he accompanied the official announcer into the 
 center of the diamond, and at the catcher's 
 prompting, Foghorn Reilly megaphoned the ex- 
 planation of that morning play. The morning 
 papers made it still more plain, with statements 
 signed by every man on both clubs, asserting that 
 Bill Quimby was the squarest umpire that ever 
 brushed off a plate, and that he belonged in the 
 majors. 
 
HIS HONOR, THE UMPS 279 
 
 But Peewee Patterson did the most sensible 
 thing. He put two and two together, and shot a 
 telegram to Mrs. William Quimby, care of the 
 Blue Circle ranch. Peewee smacked the ball 
 right on the nose in that wire, because he knew 
 more about women than Bill Quimby. The mes- 
 sage was not delivered right away, because Trissy 
 wasn't at the Blue Circle ranch. As a matter of 
 fact, she never had been. She was at His Honor's 
 scrubby homestead on New River, where every 
 day the Los Angeles papers came by mail, with 
 Bill Quimby 's name at the bottom of the box 
 score. 
 
 " Gimpy " Roberts, foreman, rode over with 
 the yellow envelope, and ten minutes later — he 
 had the buckboard out, and was driving Mrs. 
 Quimby toward the station, striving to get there 
 quickly, and yet aware that the little woman at 
 his side must be carefully •handled. 
 
 The next morning at 8 : 10 by the nurse's wrist 
 watch, they replenished the compress on Bill 
 Quimby 's eyes and told him his wife was just 
 outside the door. 
 
 " My wife — my — to see me? " His Ht)nor^s 
 voice trembled. " Wait a moment — am I ever 
 going to see again? " 
 
 The nurse smiled. "Why, of course:— you'll 
 be all right to-morrow — just as soon as the in- 
 flammation goes away." 
 
280 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 " Then I'm going to get right down on the old 
 knees — let me get out of bed — where is she? 
 Right down on the old knees I go — " 
 
 But Trissy came in, and helped the nurse to 
 hold His Honor flat on his judicial back. He 
 sensed whose arms were about his neck, and he 
 held them tight. 
 
 " I was a dog," he whispered, " I didn't have 
 no right to talk to my own little honey girl like 
 that ; I'm a hound — " 
 
 « Hush, Bill—" 
 
 " A measly hound — " 
 
 " No, no — dear — ^it was all my fault. Bill — all 
 my fault. I was crazy — but it's all right now. 
 Dad's all alone again — and he wants us both. 
 ... I been working our place, Bill — ^it looks 
 fine." 
 
 " But I got to apologize. Babe — I got to get 
 down on my knees like you said — what should I 
 care for dishes — " 
 
 " But I should have explained, Bill — only I 
 wasn't sure then. Pretty soon. Bill, you'll un- 
 derstand what made me act so funny. . . . 
 There's somebody coming to bind us both to- 
 gether so there won't ever be any more misunder- 
 standings — somebody all our own ! " 
 
 " Oh! " said His Honor, as he caught the cor- 
 rect angle at last. " Oh ! " and reached for her 
 lips. " Going to give old Bill a taste of his own 
 
HIS HONOR, THE UMPS 281 
 
 medicine, eh? Going to make him take orders 
 from a real umps — one that will wave ten little 
 toesies at us if we get fresh, eh? Bend down, you 
 old honey girl? " 
 
 "And, Bill—" 
 
 " Yes, honey." 
 
 " You remember there were three plates — they 
 say — they say — that almost always means a 
 boy!" 
 
ELEPHANT'S WAY 
 
 Trampled a tiger, then fled from a mouse; 
 Cuddled a baby, then knocked down a house ; 
 Mountain of awkwardness, swift as the rain, 
 Wise in the matters that none can explain — 
 Does not the Rajah of Mahara say 
 Elephants love in an elephant's way? 
 
 — From "My Love, the Elephant!'' 
 
 THERE was a poker game going on in the 
 clubhouse beyond center field. The boom 
 of ten thousand voices floated across the 
 green expanse, and presently a ball came bound- 
 ing through the open door. Everybody rushed 
 to the windows and popped their heads out like 
 a lot of prairie-dogs. 
 
 " I'll be a son of a gun," yelled Blinker Burke, 
 " it's the elephant ! Go it, you dumb-bell ! " 
 
 A gigantic man in a Bruin uniform floundered 
 past first base, and headed for second, gathering 
 speed as he ran. Back of him whooped four 
 coachers, urging him on. 
 
 " What's he running for? " cried Cy Frawley, 
 "The ball's out of sight of the umpire; he can 
 walk in ! '^ 
 
 "Jumbo don't know where the ball is," ex- 
 
 282 
 
ELEPHANT^S WAY 283 
 
 plained the trainer, " He was never further than 
 first base in his life. Patsy's trying to flag him, 
 and everybody else is yelling him on. Ain't that 
 rich? He'll ^run himself to death. Go on, 
 Jumbo!" 
 
 Inspired by a fresh burst of terrific yells, the 
 exhausted giant stampeded over third base and, 
 ignoring the frantic signals of his manager, 
 headed desperately for the home plate. Half 
 way down the base line, Umpire Bull Feeney 
 galloped alongside, lending joyous escort, and 
 Catcher Mike McLaughlin, joined the procession, 
 bellowing in Jumbo's ear : 
 
 "Run! Run! Run!" 
 
 When catcher, umpire and runner all slid over 
 the plate at ^ the same time in a cloud of dust, 
 even the official scorer, who is /by all odds the 
 gloomiest individual in baseball, got down on the 
 floor and waved his heels in the air. It was ten 
 minutes before play was resumed, and then it 
 was necessary to warm up another pitcher be- 
 cause Jumbo was ruined for the balance of the 
 day. 
 
 " I'll protest the game," raved Degman, " Bull, 
 you had no business shooing him home ! " 
 
 " I wasn't shooing him," said Feeney, wiping 
 the tears from his eyes, and the dust from his 
 pants, " I was making sure that he touched all 
 the bags. 'Tis a grand racehorse that you've 
 
\ 
 
 284 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 sprung on us, Mr. Degnan. Now, go on with 
 the game ! " 
 
 Such little exhibitions made Joe Carey the joy 
 of the populace and the despair of his owners. 
 He, was a left-handed pachyderm from Texas, 
 and Miss Specs discovered him on page 162 of 
 the Baseball Guide where it says, " Pitchers' 
 Records," and proceeds mathematically to sup- 
 ply the truth about a man. 
 
 Miss Specs couldn't tell from the averages that 
 Joe was a pachyderm, nor that he slowed up a 
 game by fifteen minutes because with every 
 wind-up his shirt flap pulled out and he had to 
 tuck it back into place. There were other things 
 that the guide book did not mention. Baseball 
 records, after all, are shamefully incomplete. 
 Miss Specs saw that Carey's season percentage 
 was ^ .765 with a third place club ; that he was 
 responsible for less than two runs per game ; and 
 that there was a cipher under the wild pitch 
 column. A good southpaw with control belongs 
 in the Smithsonian Institute rather than in the 
 Texas League. Miss Specs bought Joe Carey by 
 wire. 
 
 You should know Miss Specs. She was color- 
 less, and angular, and she wore starched shirt- 
 w^aists, and rode a bicycle. Her name was Miss 
 Angela Specton, and once she used to fluff her 
 hair, munch chocolates, and answer to the name 
 
ELEPHANT'S WAY 285 
 
 of " Angle." That was before Brother Bud, 
 manager and first baseman of the Bruins, and 
 one of the most popular men who ever won a 
 pennant, contracted blood poisoning and sub- 
 mitted to five amputations. He died, smiling, on 
 the evening of the last. 
 
 Thereupon, Bud's sister appeared, first as a 
 sort of typist and book-keeper, and later as as- 
 sistant club secretary. She was quiet, like Bud, 
 and an indefatigable worker. After a while, 
 President Barney Doyle and Secretary Winnin- 
 ger, who were politicians first, and baseball mag- 
 nates second, made the interesting discovery that 
 Miss Specs knew more about the business than 
 they did, and was perfectly willing to handle 
 everything. So they let her shoulder all the re- 
 sponsibility while they shouldered all the credit. 
 
 " Fifty-fifty guys,'' Red Foster called them. 
 
 Ten years of that sort of thing, and Miss Specs 
 became a very efficient and most impersonal cog 
 in the great machinery of organized baseball. 
 She suggested no closer relation to a box of choc- 
 olates and the name of " Angle " than the water 
 bucket did to the home-plate, but she was quite 
 as indispensable to the Bruins as either of those 
 well known articles. Of course, they groused 
 about her a little bit. All ball clubs believe 
 they are mis-governed, just as every ball player 
 is convinced that the other clubs always pay 
 
286 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 better salaries than the one whose uniform he 
 wears. 
 
 " If you'll listen to me, she's an egg," opined 
 Peewee Patterson, midget third baseman." I 
 tried to work her for a couple of extra passes, 
 and she gave me the old dotted line look. Said 
 if I didn't learn how to slide without tearing my 
 pants, she'd hook me for the bill. Ain't that one 
 for the scorer?" 
 
 Peewee's hook slide was the marvel of fandom, 
 but a trifle hard on his uniform, especially on 
 the home grounds where an under layer of peb- 
 bles occasionally became apparent. 
 
 " Ye-ah, she's a card," agreed Collingswood, 
 outfielder. " Any Jane that still comes to work 
 on a bicycle, and wears turtle-shell cheaters has 
 got me handcuffed. I was trying to make up for 
 that fine up North, but nothing doing. ' Three 
 dollars a day on the road,' she says to me, ' with 
 only carfare and lunch money at home; those 
 are the rules, Mr. Collingswood.' Fat chance a 
 guy has to sweeten his expense account on this 
 club." 
 
 Manager Patsy Degnan came to Miss Specs' 
 defense. 
 
 " She's no doll for a fact, but I'll say she's a 
 good ivory hunter. Must sleep on the table of 
 averages and eat record books. Her motto is, 
 ' Buy 'em low and sell 'em high,' and believe me, 
 
ELEPHANT'S WAY 287 
 
 if it wasn't for the sales she makes to the majors, 
 this club would be managed by the coroner. Any 
 time she spends Barney's dough, it's for a ball 
 player." 
 
 This gives you some idea of Miss Specs, — a, 
 business-like cabbage in the baseball orchard of 
 masculine peaches ; an unadorned student of dia- 
 monds in the rough, particularly the sort of soli- 
 taire to be uncovered occasionally in the Cana- 
 dian Twilight League or the bush circuits of the 
 southwest. Usually, the ornaments that won her 
 attention were topped with ivory, and required 
 considerable cutting before their market value 
 became apparent. 
 
 Major League scouts rated Miss Specs very 
 highly as a diamond broker, and along about 
 September, they always managed to drop in to 
 select a jeweler two for the crown of King Base- 
 ball. 
 
 You can see for yourself that the assistant 
 secretary of the Bruins had no possible interest 
 in trained elephants, but as was suggested in 
 the beginning, baseball records are not as com- 
 prehensive as they might be. 
 
 Dick Maguire, scout for the Giants, tipped off 
 Miss Specs to the fact that the St. Eustace Club 
 was approaching rigor mortis^ and was disposed 
 to sell even the uniforms if the price was right. 
 So there followed a cash offer for Pitcher Joe 
 
288 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 Carey. Back came the answer from the Texas 
 magnate : 
 
 " Much obliged. Please wire purchase price/' 
 
 " H'm/' said Miss Specs, " that's what comes 
 of being hungry. I would have gone five hun- 
 dred higher, had they held out for it." 
 
 So, because the St. Eustace Club wanted to be 
 sure of breakfast, Pitcher Carey climbed into 
 Class Double A baseball, traveling 600 miles 
 with a harmonica valise containing a red flannel 
 undershirt, a toothbrush, and a right-handed 
 glove. 
 
 He came blundering into the office Saturday 
 morning, prepared for anything except to find 
 that a woman had bought him. Their astonish- 
 ment was mutual. In the little 8 x 10 office, the 
 gentleman from Texas loomed up like the Wash- 
 ington monument. 
 
 " For pity's sake ! " exclaimed Miss Specs. *^ I 
 didn't mean to buy the whole Texas League ! Do 
 you travel by freight, or how? " 
 
 The pachyderm grinned good naturedly, and 
 hitched at his belt, the sign of the ball player 
 the world over. His eyes were as blue as the 
 blotting paper on the secretary's desk, and his 
 smile as pleasing as sunlight on the prairie, but 
 these things form no part of a ball player's 
 value. 
 
 " Wa-al now, marm," he acknowledged, " I'm 
 
ELEPHANT'S WAY 289 
 
 no bat boy for a fact. Reckon I stretch six foot 
 five, and strip at about two eighty, but if any 
 nice little lady is a-lookin' for a pitcher, mebbe 
 I can sort of help out. Can't do no more than 
 try, marm. Where do I tie up? " 
 
 Miss Specs sighed. " I suppose we'll have to 
 order a special uniform for you. Better go out 
 now to the clubhouse and see if the trainer can 
 fit you out temporarily. Report here to Mr. Deg- 
 nan at one o'clock." 
 
 " Yes, marm," said Carey, and bowed his way 
 out. 
 
 Miss Specs returned to her desk, and resumed 
 her task of checking over yesterday's balance 
 sheet. Half way down the right hand column, 
 her pencil wavered and stopped. The assistant 
 secretary of the Bruins raised her eyes to the 
 top of her desk where reposed a gold baseball 
 inscribed by the 1918 champions. 
 
 " Nice little lady a-looking for a pitcher," she 
 mocked, — " elephant ! " . . . 
 
 Of course, they called him Jumbo. There is 
 seldom any originality to be found in the nomen- 
 clature of the diamond. He was easy going and 
 lovable, played a good hand at poker, and did 
 much better in the quartet than Ham Dolan, so 
 everybody swore by him off the field, and at him 
 when he was in the box, which is always the way 
 with an elephant and his handlers. 
 
290 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 " Mark you/' said Degnan, when they came 
 back from the trip North. He was speaking to 
 Miss Specs, " Mark you, this Jumbo is the great- 
 est pitcher and the worst ball player of all time. 
 Did I tell you about his home run? " 
 
 " You did," said Miss Specs. 
 
 " And about his shirt tail? '' 
 
 " Well, why don't you make him use a safety- 
 pin? I don't see — " 
 
 "No, no, no," protested the manager, " That 
 was the first thing we tried, and he threw twelve 
 straight balls before I unpinned him. Then, 
 with the bags full, he struck the next three men 
 out. Tucking his shirt tail in is part of his 
 windup. Miss Specs. That's the trouble with an 
 elephant. You got to let him do things in his 
 own way, or shoot him." 
 
 " H'm," said Miss Specs, " but if he wins ball 
 games — " 
 
 " Oh, sure," agreed Degnan — " so long as he 
 does, everything's jake. But wait until they get 
 to bunting on him ! And did I say that when he 
 comes up to the plate, he puts one foot clear back 
 to the dugout, and swings after the umpire tells 
 him it's a strike? " 
 
 Miss Specs frowned thoughtfully, but could 
 think of nothing helpful. 
 
 " The worst part of iit is," lamented Degnan, 
 " he doesn't think any faster than he runs, and 
 
ELEPHANT'S WAY 291 
 
 I'll tell the world, a turtle could spot him fifty 
 feet and beat him down to first." 
 
 "H'm," said Miss Specs. "Patsy, there's 
 some wires on the desk from Freidman at Van- 
 couver. He needs a pitcher. Perhaps we can 
 make a trade." 
 
 " Not just yet," Degnan told her, " Jumbo may 
 learn some new tricks. If not, there is a circus 
 coming to town next month and there's where he 
 belongs." 
 
 Miss Specs should have been with the club in 
 San Francisco the afternoon that Carey was 
 stuck in right field in the eighth inning. Two 
 men had been hurt, and three more thrown out 
 of the game for crabbing. The bench was shorn 
 of substitutes, and even Degnan was filling in at 
 first. 
 
 " Listen, Jumbo," said the manager, " You go 
 out there by the fence, understand, and don't 
 move. The rules call for nine men, so out you 
 go, but if the ball comes your way let Kelly or 
 Schafer handle it, and just keep out of their 
 road." 
 
 That same inning the double steal went wrong, 
 and two San Francisco runners were trapped 
 between bags. It was one of those kind of plays 
 that everybody takes a hand in, with the catcher 
 down at third, the pitcher covering the plate, 
 and the outfielders jigging around in an effort 
 
292 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 to help out. Nobody had time to see Joe Carey 
 edging his way into the confusion. But sud- 
 denly he loomed up, between second and third, 
 and intercepted a ball that was ticketed for Pee- 
 wee Patterson and urgently needed by that gen- 
 tleman. Forthwith, everybody whooped, and 
 both runners dashed ahead. In a panic, the big 
 pitcher spun around and let fly at the nearest 
 friendly uniform he could see. Twenty feet 
 away, Patsy Degnan, hurrying over from first 
 base, threw up his gloved hand hastily, and 
 thereby escaped being brained. The ball, glanc- 
 ing off, rolled into the outfield, and both runners 
 scored. Degnan staggered over to second base, 
 sat down, and put both hands to his head. 
 Finally he looked up, and beckoned to the dis- 
 comfited Texan. 
 
 " Jumbo,'' he entreated, " come here a minute, 
 just one minute, please. Now, Joe, am I the 
 only man on this club that you know? Ain't 
 you acquainted with Mr. Johnson at short, or 
 Mr. Patterson at third, or Mr. Coogan at second? 
 Ain't you never met 'em, Joe? Then why did 
 you throw the ball at me, Jumbo? And Joe, 
 another thing — how in hell did you manage to 
 get in from the fence so quick? " 
 
 Now, these things were greatly relished by the 
 wits in the bleachers, and the humorists in the 
 press box ; but not at all by Miss Specs, who had 
 
ELEPHANT'S WAY 293 
 
 sacrificed ever so many things in order to play 
 diamond solitaire at $125.00 per month. Bud 
 Specton had gone on playing ball, against thef 
 doctor's orders, just because he wanted to help 
 out. The result was fatal. His sister had gone 
 on working for the Bruins, just because it had 
 become a habit, and now she was twenty-nine 
 and visibly distressed because one thousand dol- 
 lars' worth of Barney Doyle's money was tied up 
 in a left-handed pachyderm from Texas who was 
 a monumental joke. Neither Barney, himself, 
 nor Secretary Winninger were worried. They 
 had just secured control of the city commission, 
 and w^ere busily engaged in figuring up the mu- 
 nicipal gate receipts, with the comforting knowl- 
 edge that this was one game in which no rain 
 checks were necessary. 
 
 The team came back from the road, and Deg- 
 nan sought conference with Miss Specs. 
 
 "We'd better not wait for that circus," he 
 sighed. " If Vancouver wants to go into the 
 elephant business, just ask the other clubs for 
 waivers on Joe. I'm through ! " 
 
 "I can get |400.00 cash," said Miss Specs, 
 '-or the pick of the club for Spring delivery. 
 They have a young left-hander from Calgary who 
 seems to be developing fast." 
 
 "Well, see how big he is," Degnan advised. 
 " Did I tell you that Jumbo fanned twelve men 
 
294 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 at Salt Lake last Tuesday? We had 'em 1 to 
 in the ninth, and then they got two men on, and 
 Williams laid down a bunt." 
 
 "What happened?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing," said Degnan, " Jumbo went 
 over and sat down on the ball, and then got up 
 and threw it twenty feet over first. Broke the 
 vest buttons off a fat guy in the bleachers. I'm 
 telling you, Miss Specs, — Joe has a hop on his 
 fast ball like a camel's back and his curve is 
 wider than the Golden Gate, but sell him quick, 
 before he goes after a foul ball and knocks down 
 the grandstand." 
 
 So Miss Specs remained at her desk later than 
 usual that evening, inscribing polite notes to all 
 the managers of the Coast League, serving notice 
 that Pitcher Joe Carey was to be sold outside the 
 circuit, unless some one desired to claim him at 
 the waiver price. There were not enough stamps 
 to go around, so Miss Specs placed the little 
 pile of envelopes neatly beside the gold baseball 
 on top of her desk, mounted her bicycle, and 
 shoved off in the direction of the staid old board- 
 ing house at the corner of Twenty-second and 
 Hawthorne. 
 
 Just where the Presbyterian church glares 
 reproachfully at Max Arnold's all-night garage, 
 a delightful and very deaf old lady started 
 briskly across the street, observed a truck bear- 
 
ELEPHANT'S WAY 295 
 
 ing down upon her, and changed her course three 
 times. 
 
 " For the love of Pete! " said the driver, and 
 jammed on the emergency. The rear of the truck 
 skidded to the right, knocking Miss Specs from 
 her bicycle and into the path of a touring car. 
 Very white of lip, she gave her address to the 
 man who picked her up, and in another ten 
 minutes, she was lying on the bed in her little 
 hall bedroom, and old Mrs. Heard was telephon- 
 ing for the doctor. 
 
 Truxton, the club physician, came at once. 
 
 " Compound fracture of the right ankle," he 
 pronounced. " That and a few bruises. You 
 really had a very fortunate escape, young 
 woman." 
 
 Miss Specs groaned, " Fortunate? How long 
 am I going to be laid up? " 
 
 " That depends," he answered. " But I'm 
 afraid we'll have to bench you for about six 
 weeks — " 
 
 " Six weeks ! " screamed Miss Specs. " Six — ! " 
 Her little world reeled under the shock. Never 
 in ten whole seasons had she been absent from 
 her desk; never had the machinery of organized 
 baseball for an entire decade reached for the cog 
 represented by the assistant secretary of the 
 Bruins, and failed to find it. She visioned Sec- 
 retary Winninger sitting at her desk, brusquely 
 
296 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 sorting her treasured correspondence, rummag- 
 ing through her accounts, mixing everything up 
 in a man's way. Miss Specs tightened her lips. 
 
 " You'll get me back at the office in ten days," 
 she told Truxton, " or I'll get another doctor." 
 
 Truxton had small sympathy with women in 
 the business world. 
 
 " That's always your privilege," he said coldly, 
 and proceeded to apply a plaster cast to the frac- 
 tured ankle. 
 
 That was the night the bunch went out to 
 Greenway Park where the Elks had rented all 
 the concessions and were staging a charity cir- 
 cus. Red Foster and Rube Johnson elected to 
 spend their time bumping the bumps; Bill Coo- 
 gan and Steve Bidwell were interested in the 
 lady divers; and Cy Morgan wandered 'around 
 disconsolately until he spied Professor Din- 
 widdle's Dusky Dodger. — " Three balls for a 
 quarter, and a prize for every time you hit him ! " 
 
 '' See the pride of Africa dodge the baseball ! " 
 roared the professor. 
 
 " Huh ! " grunted the second string catcher of 
 the Bruins. He was from Georgia. What was 
 equally pertinent he had been up five times that 
 afternoon without getting a hit. He horned into 
 the crowd eagerly. 
 
 " Give me a dollar's worth of them balls," he 
 ordered, " and then ring for the ambulance." 
 
ELEPHANT'S WAY 297 
 
 But the Georgian underestimated the dodging 
 ability of Professor Dinwiddie's Ethopian Mar- 
 vel, who appreciated the significant zip to the 
 first ball, and took special pains to avoid any 
 closer acquaintance. The catcher did his best, 
 but all he got for |4.75, was a derisive : 
 
 " Yah ! Yah ! Come on, Boss — try it again ! " 
 
 Cy Morgan clutched the Professor earnestly by 
 his coat lapels. 
 
 " Just you keep that bird up to the plate five 
 minutes more,'' he begged, " I'm going to hunt up 
 a friend." 
 
 " That's all right," assured the Professor, 
 " bring the whole family. Right this way, ladies 
 and gentlemen, — three throws for a quarter, and 
 a grand piano if you kill him ! " 
 
 The Georgia catcher was absent longer than he 
 anticipated, but finally he located Joe Carey in 
 the Mystic Maze trying to walk through a 
 mirror. 
 
 " Hot dog ! " said Cy. " You come with me, 
 Jumbo — I know the way out." 
 
 Five more minutes and the pair were again in 
 front of the futurist curtain with the Ethiopian 
 bull's-eye. 
 
 " Now, Jumbo," implored the catcher, " for the 
 honor of the South, go to work — I'm busted ! " 
 
 Three ineffectual shots, and the Georgian 
 groaned, 
 
298 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 "Take off your coat, Jumbo. Get the old 
 wind-up ! Put some stuff on the ball ! " 
 
 The Texan complied. His shirt-sleeved figure 
 towered above the crowd. He dug with one toe 
 at an imaginary slab, swung his arm in a slow 
 double circle and let fly with a basso grunt. The 
 ball whacked the canvas within six inches of the 
 Dodger's right ear, but the jungle marvel judged 
 it accurately and did not bat an eyelash. 
 
 Jumbo tucked his shirt-flap into place mechan- 
 ically. 
 
 " Wa-al now," he drawled, " reckon I've just 
 about got warmed- up. Look out for yourself, 
 black boy, I'm coming ! " 
 
 Once more, he took the full wind-up, and then 
 lunged, first to the left, and then forward in a 
 cross-fire delivery. 
 
 ** Yah ! '' shrieked the Dodger — and then the 
 ball broke sharply in its course, and cracked him 
 on the jaw. 
 
 Cy Morgan hugged his companion. " That's 
 working on him, Jumbo — now try a fast one. 
 Here, Professor, give us another dollar's worth ! " 
 
 But the Professor began to suspect that it was 
 time to discriminate between his customers. The 
 Marvel of the Jungle was game but glassy-eyed. 
 
 " Now, boys," the Professor demurred, " re- 
 member it's for charity — " 
 
 "Charity, your eye! barked the gentleman 
 
ELEPHANT'S WAY 299 
 
 from Georgia, " hand over some more balls 'till 
 we pick out the hard ones. I'll show you whether 
 Jumbo Carey can pitch." 
 
 " Carey? " said the professor, " Jumbo of 
 the Bruins? Why sure enough, — ^good night! 
 What'll you have, Joe — a bowl of gold fish or 
 a Kewpie Doll? No — no — boys," he pleaded, 
 " take your pick of the prizes like a couple of 
 gents, and call it quits. You'll find the hula 
 dancer over at the left." 
 
 Cy Morgan was for standing firmly on his 
 rights, but the good-humored pachyderm from 
 Texas showed signs of weakening. Wherefore, 
 into Joe Carey's hands. Professor Dinwiddle con- 
 signed a feminine Kewpie and a quart jar contain- 
 ing two goldfish. The doll was equipped with 
 vamp eyes, real hair, and a costume which, like 
 that of Gunga Din, was " nothing much before, 
 and rather less than 'arf o' that behind ! " 
 
 Jumbo grinned at his new possessions, and 
 then at his battery mate. 
 
 " Where do we go from here? " he inquired. 
 
 " I think the booby hatch would be the logical 
 place for you," said Morgan. " I'm going home." 
 
 Not having any home to go to, the Texan lum- 
 bered back to his hotel room, fed soda crackers 
 to the gold fish, and tied his lady friend to the 
 chandelier. 
 
 At 8 :35 the following morning, while standing 
 
300 HEAKTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 in front of the mirror, adjusting his necktie, an 
 inspiration dawned on him. 
 
 " Wa-al, now," he chuckled, " why didn't I 
 think of that before? I'll give 'em both to Miss 
 Specs." 
 
 Aquarium in one hand, and baby vamp in the 
 other, he achieved the ball park by ten o'clock, 
 and walked in on Barney Doyle and Secretary 
 Winninger, both of whom had been routed out of 
 their accustomed haunts by telephone messages 
 from old Mrs. Heard. 
 
 "Where's Miss Specs?" he demanded. 
 
 They told him, and his jaw dropped. 
 
 " Wa-al now," he commiserated, " ain't that 
 too bad! I wonder how I can get these things 
 out to her? " 
 
 " Why don't you take 'em out? " Winninger 
 suggested, " you're big enough." The secretary 
 of the Bruins was down for an important speech 
 that noon at the Commonwealth Luncheon, and 
 he was vexed at developments. 
 
 Jumbo pondered a moment. " Where does she 
 live? " 
 
 Winninger supplied the address with alacrity. 
 
 " Here," he instructed, " have her check up 
 the payroll while you're about it, and find out if 
 there is anything we can do. Truxton says it's 
 only her ankle." 
 
 Over by the safe was an old black satchel used 
 
ELEPHANT'S WAY 301 
 
 for carrying the practise balls. Jumbo trans- 
 ferred the contents to a card board box. In the 
 valise, he deposited first the bowl of gold fish, 
 next Miss Gunga Din, and then the envelope con- 
 taining the payroll. 
 
 " Don't take such a big lead off first," he 
 warned the occupants of the glass bowl, " or 
 you'll get thrown out. Hug your bags ! " 
 
 On the way to the boarding house, he was 
 aflaicted with doubt as to the value of his pres- 
 ents. So he stopped into a candy store, and 
 idded a box of chocolates to the collection. 
 
 " Reckon that ought to make it right," he re- 
 flected, " but darned if I know very much about 
 dames, — leastwise, the kind like Miss Specs. If 
 it was any of the boys, all they'd want would be 
 the sporting extras and some chewing tobacco." 
 
 He located the address, mounted the steps, and 
 rang the bell. 
 
 It was not Mrs. Heard, but her daughter who 
 came to the door. 
 
 " Miss Specs — ? " said Carey. 
 
 Miss Heard was an intelligent young thing. 
 She noted the professional aspect of the black 
 satchel. 
 
 "Oh, yes," she said brightly, "go right up- 
 stairs, and knock at the first door on the left." 
 
 None but a left-handed pachyderm from Texa^i 
 would have followed those instructions so im- 
 
302 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 plicitly. He mounted the stairs; he turned to 
 the left; he knocked on the door. 
 
 " Come in/' said a voice. 
 
 He turned the knob, shoved forward, and 
 bulged into the room. 
 
 Miss Specs squealed, drew the bedclothes 
 around her neck, and stared at Joe Carey in 
 dumb amazement. 
 
 " It's only me, Miss Specs," he blurted, " I was 
 plumb sorry to hear you got hurt, and I thought 
 maybe it would be all right to bring out a few 
 things." 
 
 Without further ado, he deposited the valise 
 on a table, laid one after another of his contribu- 
 tions on the mantelpiece, and then moved toward 
 a rocker. 
 
 Miss Specs found her voice. 
 
 " Not that chair ! " she implored, " it's weak. 
 Look out for the chandelier! Oh^ good Lord! ^^ 
 
 He paused awkwardly, with his head and 
 shoulders lowered. 
 
 " Reckon, I better sit down somewheres — Miss 
 Specs." 
 
 " Over on that lounge," she told him, " and 
 don't move ! " 
 
 He obeyed, and gazed at her helplessly. 
 
 Presently Miss Specs began to laugh, a little 
 hysterically at first, because she was out of prac- 
 tise. But his sheepish grin helped her out, and 
 
ELEPHANT'S WAY 303 
 
 finally feminine mirth broke through a decade 
 of self -discipline, and the tears rolled down her 
 cheeks. 
 
 " That kewpie," she gasped, pointing at the 
 mantel, " let me see it, Joe." 
 
 He brought it, — also the box of chocolates. 
 
 Miss Specs had never anticipated owning a 
 plaster vamp. But neither had she ever ex- 
 pected to see a trained elephant invade her bed- 
 room. She tugged at the absurd little skirt 
 where it flared up disgracefully in the rear, but 
 that only increased the brevity of Miss Gunga 
 Din's apparel in front. Miss Specs flushed, and 
 turned her attention to the gold fish. 
 
 He related the manner of their acquisition, and 
 once more Miss Specs was driven to giggles. 
 
 " But the chocolates, Joe? " 
 
 " Oh, I bought those on the way up," he ac- 
 knowledged, ^' I thought girls always fell for 
 chocolates." 
 
 Miss Specs' color came again. " Thank you, 
 Joe," she said, quietly, " and now let me look 
 over the pay roll, please." 
 
 He gave her the envelope, and then returned to 
 the bowl of gold fish, tapping with a heavy 
 forefinger on the glass to . attract their in- 
 terest. 
 
 The assistant secretary of the Bruins found 
 the figures quite correct, but she continued to lie 
 
304 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND' 
 
 there silently a moment, trying to recall whether 
 Joe Carey was thirty-one or thirty -two. 
 
 She experienced a vague desire that it should 
 be the latter. 
 
 He saw that the salary list was once again in 
 the envelope. 
 
 " Reckon I'd better be going now, Miss Specs," 
 he said, " is there anything at the office you want 
 me to bring you? '^ 
 
 His awkward bulk dwarfed the furniture; his 
 blue eyes regarded her solicitously; his good- 
 humored smile suggested a sort of land-locked 
 harbor where all sorts of queer, disabled, vessels 
 might find safety and welcome. Miss Specs hesi- 
 tated, and then looked dreamily at the gold fish, 
 and next at their donor. 
 
 " There is a small pile of unstamped envelopes 
 on the top of my desk,'' she confided. ^' If you'd 
 be kind enough to bring them — " 
 
 "Why, sure," he agreed. "Will to-morrow 
 do?" 
 
 " Yes," she assented. Then, with his hand on 
 the door, she stopped him again. 
 
 "Joe!" 
 
 "Yes, marm." 
 
 " It was very nice of you to bring me these 
 things, I wish — I wish — Joe — that you could 
 manage just a little bit better with your fielding. 
 I know you try hard, and Patsy says you've got 
 
ELEPHANT'S WAY 305 
 
 more stuff than most men in the majors. Don't 
 you think you could practise fielding your posi- 
 tion? " 
 
 He released his hold on the door knob, and 
 came back to the bed, plucking thoughtfully at 
 his cap. 
 
 " Wa-al now,'' he drawled, " a fellow can't do 
 no more than try, Miss Specs." 
 
 " I — I wish you would," she said, wistfully. 
 "Every one I ever bought has made good for 
 me, — and we all like you so much." 
 
 The horn-rimmed spectacles were on the bu- 
 reau. The bicycle was in the basement, and the 
 starched shirtwaist hidden away in the closet. 
 Miss Specs' dark hair was fluffed over her tem- 
 ples, and a rose colored negligee revealed a white 
 throat. Somewhere in the brain of the elephant, 
 the divine seed of a new intelligence showed the 
 first symptoms of fertility. 
 
 " I wonder," he mused, " if Patsy will let me 
 work against the Wolves to-day? Good-by, Miss 
 Specs — I'll bring you the envelopes in the morn- 
 ing. The guy said to feed soda crackers to them 
 fish." 
 
 That afternoon, Jumbo won his game three to 
 nothing. Later, in Peewee Patterson's room at 
 the St. Charles, the little infielder broached the 
 subject to the gang about the poker table. Carey 
 was not aijiong those present, 
 
30e HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 " The elephant's learned a new trick," confided 
 the midget, " and it's a bear. Bull Feeney was 
 going to chase him to the clubhouse in the sixth 
 inning for swearing at him, but Jumbo explains 
 he was talking to the ball." 
 
 "Talking to the ball! How come?" Cy 
 Morgan put the query. 
 
 "You heard me right," said Peewee, "Bull 
 says every time the big fellow got in a hole, or 
 they started to bunt on him, he talked to the ball 
 like he was rolling dice. I heard him myself once. 
 Sawyer was on second and McGovern laid down 
 a bunt. I go in for it, leaving Johnson to cover 
 third, but the elephant comes charging over, 
 grunting ' got to getcha — got to getcha ! got to 
 getcha quick ! ' " 
 
 " And I'll be a Dutchman," concluded Pee- 
 wee, "if he didn't pick that ball up with one 
 hand, and make the play at third ! Of course, he 
 fell on his neck afterwards, but you fellows saw 
 him get his man." 
 
 " Ye-ah," confirmed Coogan, " looked like it 
 was going to be a double play for a minute. I 
 knew a pitcher once that learned control by 
 chewing gum. Used to carry a wad on the but- 
 ton of his cap, and whenever things looked bad, 
 he'd reach up, and pop that old gum in his face. 
 Seemed to help him a lot. Jumbo may speed up 
 yet!" 
 
ELEPHANT'S WAY 307 
 
 Coogan called the turn on the left hander from 
 Texas. After all, it was no miracle that hap- 
 pened, merely psychology, — which has far more 
 to do with baseball than most people imagine. 
 Joe Carey speeded up. His awkward frame was 
 animated by a spirit that was new to him; his 
 nervousness was overcome by the simple expe- 
 dient of talking to the leather sphere. Back of 
 his steady improvement was an elephantine 
 purpose; a grim, ponderous progress that 
 looked neither to the left nor rights nor brooked 
 no obstacles. That is the way with all ele- 
 phants. 
 
 " Got to break you over that outside corner," 
 he muttered to the ball — and the sphere went 
 right where he told it. 
 
 " Man on first," he grunted again, " got to 
 watch you pretty close — waste ball. Bill says — 
 waste ball, remember — Ah — get over! Whoops! 
 Nice baby ! " 
 
 When a man tries very hard to improve him- 
 self, he usually succeeds, whether it be at build- 
 ing locomotives, or playing marbles. Joe Carey 
 always had plenty of stuff on the ball if you let 
 him tuck his shirt in. He began to overcome his 
 other weaknesses one after another, just by 
 making a confidant of the tool which stood for his 
 trade. 
 
 " Darned if it ain't wonderful," commented 
 
308 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 Peewee Patterson, " if Jumbo keeps on, he'll be 
 drafted by one of them Russian ballets." 
 
 Most of this transformation took place while 
 the Bruins were swinging around the circuit in 
 July, and while Miss Specs was entombed in the 
 little hall bedroom, with plenty of time to study 
 the habits of gold fish, and to build castles in the 
 air. She couldn't help constructing those atmos- 
 pheric edifices, because there came in the mail 
 regularly every week colored postcards from 
 various points on the circuit, the cards all ad- 
 dressed in a sprawling hand, and respectfully 
 calling her attention to the fact that nobody 
 was bunting Joe Carey to the shower baths 
 any more. 
 
 Miss Specs limped to her office and resumed 
 her accustomed duties on the morning that the 
 Bruins got in from Los Angeles for a two weeks^ 
 stay at home. 
 
 "Wa-al, now, marm," Jumbo greeted her, 
 "you're looking fine! I'm sure glad to see you. 
 Did you get the cards? I been going pretty good, 
 Miss Specs — won eight straight, now i " 
 
 " I felt all along you could do it," Miss Specs' 
 told him, " and I'm so glad ! " 
 
 "Are you now?" he exclaimed, and then he 
 saw Miss Gunga Din on top of the desk, along- 
 side the gold baseball. He grinned broadly, and 
 then endeavored tc look surprised. 
 
ELEPHANT^S WAY 309 
 
 " I thought you'd be giving that thing the air 
 a long time ago," he confided. 
 
 " I should say not ! " she answered indignantly, 
 and then they both colored, and he wanted to 
 know if she ever took in the movies. 
 
 That was the beginning of a brand new game 
 for both, and it revealed another deplorable 
 weakness in the pachyderm. Further, it was a 
 weakness that Miss Specs had not the slightest 
 idea of how to overcome. In the presence of the 
 assistant secretary of the Bruins, Joe Carey was 
 as noisy as an oyster, as fluent as a dumb-bell, 
 as replete with intelligent remarks as a goldfish. 
 He arrived at the office in the morning at the 
 same hour as Miss Specs; he departed in the 
 evening at the isame time; he took her to the 
 movies at night, and to an ice cream parlor after- 
 wards. He was her shadow, and just as hope- 
 lessly mute. 
 
 Fortunately, there is a language not voiced by 
 the tongue, and it can be easily learned even by 
 gentlemec whose shirt flaps come oat when they 
 exert themselves, and by ladies who ride a bicycle 
 and wear starched waists. 
 
 By the end of August, the situation was fairly 
 plain to every one, and bets were being made in 
 the clubhouse on a time basis that the pair would 
 eventually sign articles. Cy Morgan announced 
 the odds: "Five to one, Jumbo didn't propose 
 
310 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 that season; four to one against the following 
 year, three to one for the third year, and even 
 money on the fifth. Either end, boys, and no 
 markers accepted ! " 
 
 But just about this time, when Joe Carey was 
 trying his best to get out of low gear, Fate in the 
 form of a broken axle, four thousand miles away, 
 stepped into the proceedings, and all bets were 
 promptly cancelled. 
 
 Miss Specs looked up from her desk one morn- 
 ing, and discovered Dick Maguire, the Giants' 
 scout, at her side. Usually, Maguire came 
 around in September — and didn't talk business 
 until several days had elapsed. But he went 
 right to the point this time. 
 
 " Seen the morning paper? " he asked. '' Know 
 why I'm here? " 
 
 Miss Specs hadn't, and didn't 
 
 " All right," snapped the scout, and tossed over 
 a sheaf of telegrams, " that'll explain. Maxwell 
 . — Kingston and Bill Bradley — hurt yesterday in 
 a smashup. A hundred thousand dollars' worth 
 of pitchers in the hospital, and the club in fii»st 
 place by ten points! Name your terms on Joe 
 Carey — Miss Specs — I want him on the train to- 
 night!" 
 
 Miss Specs was dazed. " But — but — " 
 
 " No buts about it," Maguire blurted — " I saw 
 Barney this morning, and Patsy Degnan at the 
 
ELEPHANT'S WAY 311 
 
 hotel last night. Patsy's willing to help out. 
 The Bruins can't do better than third, so you're 
 not sacrificing the team's chances. Doyle said 
 that he left all sales in your hands. Name your 
 terms, and the deal's made." 
 
 Miss Specs fought for her self-control. " Can't 
 you make it spring delivery? " 
 
 " Spring fiddlesticks ! " roared Maguire. ^' See 
 here. Miss Specs — I tipped you off to Jumbo 
 in the first place, and he's carrying this club 
 right on his back. Now, he's thirty-one, ain'^t 
 he?" 
 
 " Thirty -two," she corrected desperately. 
 
 " All right — all right, so much the more reason 
 you should give him his chance. If he joins us 
 now, he get'si a crack perhaps at world series 
 dough, but I want him) to-night, or not at all. 
 Here, let's not beat around any more. You saw 
 those wires. I'll give fifteen thousand cash, and 
 turn over two young pitchers in the Spring. Say 
 the word, and I'll buy his transportation now ! " 
 
 Miss Specs studied the blotter before her. It 
 was as blue as the eyes of Joe Carey. Oti top of 
 the desk, leaning against the pile of baseball 
 guides. Miss Gunga Din was vamping the gold 
 baseball. The lips of the assistant secretary of 
 the Bruins trembled, and she suddenly looked 
 older than twenty-nine. Immediate delivery for 
 Joe Carey — New York city and the world's 
 
312 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 series ! Immediate delivery, — and no chance for 
 Jumbo to immediately find his tongue! 
 
 " Shades of Pop Anson ! ", protested Maguire, 
 "ain't fifteen thousand and two ball players 
 enough? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," said little Miss Specs, " it's quite 
 fair. You — ^you can have him, Mr. Maguire — < 
 it's a wonderful opportunity for him, isn't it? " 
 
 " I'll say so ! " he grunted. " Here's the check. 
 I'll go hunt him up, and then arrange the trans- 
 portation." 
 
 " You'll find him out on the diamond," she di- 
 rected, "he — he practises fielding bunts about 
 this time." 
 
 A half hour later. Jumbo came tramping in, 
 his eyes unusually large, and his face unusually 
 red. Miss Specs had been holding on to 
 her nerves all the while. Not for nothing 
 was she the sister of a man who had 
 died smiling. 
 
 "Congratulations, Joe," she waved, brightly. 
 " How does it feel to be a major leaguer? You'd 
 better go home and pack up, — I'm going to have 
 your transportation ready by four o'clock. Just 
 think, Joe — ^you'll probably get a chance at the 
 world's series ! " 
 
 " Huh," he mumbled, " I'd rather pitch around 
 here. Miss Specs. I ain't stuck on New York, 
 Miss Specs — I — ^I — •" 
 
ELEPHANT'S WAY 313 
 
 He came over to her desk, and stood first on 
 one foot, and then another. She wanted to 
 scream, but all she did was to say: 
 
 " Yes, Joe? " 
 
 He stared at her helplessly, unable to say a 
 word. The assistant secretary felt her nerves 
 giving way, and she rose abruptly. 
 
 " Good-by, Joe," she hurried, " we'll miss you 
 dreadfully, of course, but you know how it is in 
 baseball — a club has to take a fair price when it's 
 offered. I'm afraid I'll have to get to work on 
 the books now — Joe, — if you'll come in at four 
 o'clock, Mr. Maguire will have the transporta- 
 tion." 
 
 Joe Carey was unaccustomed to pitching to 
 feminine batters. He comprehended only that 
 Miss Specs had sold him, and now was anxious 
 to get to work on her books. He sighed pro- 
 foundly, and gripped her hand in clumsy earnest- 
 ness. 
 
 " Good-by, Miss Specs," he rumbled, " reckon 
 
 it's a good deal of a joke me pitching for New 
 
 "* York — but if it's you that's sending me up there, 
 
 — why, a fellow can't do no more than try, — 
 
 can't do no more than try, Miss Specs." 
 
 He turned away, and — hand on the door — 
 asked : 
 
 " You don't mind if I send some cards? — kinda 
 got used to doing it." 
 
314 HEAETS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 " I'll look for them," promised Miss Specs, 
 " Good luck, Joe." 
 
 " I'll see you at four," he said, and turned 
 away. 
 
 Outside in the corridor, he hitched at his belt, 
 pulled at his cap — and shook his head dolefully. 
 Finally he squared his shoulders, and headed for 
 the clubhouse to get his uniform. On the way, 
 his memory reverted to the day in Texas he had 
 received transportation to California. Lugubri- 
 ously, his voice rose in the Cowboy's Lament : 
 
 * ' Oh, dig my grave both wide and deep, 
 Put tombstones at my head and feet, 
 And on my breast carve a turtle dove 
 To signify I died of Love. 
 Fare thee well — " 
 
 He fell over a rake, left there by the ground- 
 keeper, and arose swearing. Then he remem- 
 bered that the grip containing his belongings 
 was not in the clubhouse but in the office of the 
 assistant secretary. He retraced his steps — 
 
 * ' I '11 hang my harp on a weeping willow tree, 
 And may the world go well with thee ! ' ' — 
 
 The feminine dealer in diamond solitaires had 
 neglected to lock the door. Joe Carey turned 
 the handle, and went blundering in. Then he 
 paused, very much disconcerted. Miss Specs was 
 still sitting at her desk, but her head was down 
 
ELEPHANT'S WAY 315 
 
 on her arms, and they were stretched flat on the 
 broad blue blotter, one hand clutching Miss 
 Gunga Din. Even a pachyderm from Texas 
 could perceive that the assistant secretary of the 
 Bruins was sobbing with utter abandon. 
 
 "Why, Miss Specs," he cried, "Why, Miss 
 Specs — " 
 
 For the first and only time in her life. Miss 
 Specs felt called upon to express herself in the 
 earnest vocabulary of the diamond. 
 
 "You g-get to hell out of here, Joe Carey,'' 
 cried Miss Specs, " Go way from me — shoo! ^' 
 
 Still he stood there dumbfounded. Desper- 
 ately, she searched for something to throw at 
 him, and found the gold baseball with the auto- 
 graph signatures. For a woman she threw it 
 with remarkable control. But Joe had been 
 practising fielding. Mechanically, he elevated 
 one huge paw and seized the sphere. 
 
 Put it down as an assist for Miss Specs. 
 Jumbo had the ball, — that was enough. He 
 pulled himself erect, hitched at his belt, and went 
 lumbering into place at the side of the mahogany 
 desk. The charm was on, — Jumbo was talking 
 to the ball. 
 
 "Got to getcha," he whispered, "got to get 
 this one over. Right down the old alley, you go. 
 Come on, now, — ^get over with it — right in the 
 old glove! Damned if I go to New York alone. 
 
316 HEARTS AND THE DIAMOND 
 
 she could pack her things by to-night and go 
 along with me, if — ^^ 
 
 " Joe Carey, are you — ? " 
 
 "Yes, marm," he hurried, eyes still on the 
 ball, " I'm trying to find out if you'll tie up with 
 a fool elephant. I love you. Miss Specs, — and if 
 you're willing to put up with me — I'll just about 
 do any old thing them Giants ask." 
 
 The door opened, and in swung Dick Maguire. 
 
 " Ah, there you are, big fellow — Now, about 
 that transportation. I forgot to ask — you're 
 single, ain't you?" 
 
 " Wa-al, now," said Jumbo, scratching his 
 head. " I'll be darned if I know. You came in 
 here too quick." 
 
 " What's that? " demanded Maguire, and then, 
 as he saw the scarlet cheeks of the assistant sec- 
 retary — " Holy Smoke ! I guess I'd better go 
 out and walk around a while." 
 
 But on his way out the door, the ivory hunter 
 couldn't resist a glance over his shoulder at the 
 particular scoreboard where Cupid hangs up the 
 figures. One peek was enough. 
 
 " Wow I " he commented, " looks like it's tied 
 up in the ninth inning all right. Old Barney 
 Doyle will throw a fit. Guess I'd better get a 
 nice little drawing room, and route ^em via Niag- 
 ara FaUs!" 
 
 THE END JL 
 
LOAN DEPT. 
 
 CO 
 
 ^1 
 
 CO 
 
 U.C. BERKELEY 
 
 LD 2lA-40m-2,'69 
 (J60578l0)476— A-32 
 
 Geaeral Library . 
 Uoiver^ftyofCaUforma 
 
 Berkeley 
 
36/ 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA UBRARY