Baseball Joe in the World Series; or, Pitching for the Championship

by Lester Chadwick

  CHAPTER XX

  A STIRRING BATTLE

  "Fleming's got busy in a hurry!" exclaimed Joe. "But just what was itthey were planning to do?"

  "That's just the trouble," answered Anderson. "I don't rightly knowjust what mischief they were cooking up. They kept their voices prettylow most of the time, and then, too, my hearing isn't any too good,especially since I had that accident. Once I heard one of them say:'It'll put him on the toboggan all right.'

  "I didn't dare to stir for fear they'd see me, or I'd have tried to edgearound the tree so as to get closer to them. But from the number oftimes they spoke your name and the ugly way they did it, I was sure theyhad it in for you.

  "I stayed there until they went away and the last thing one of them saidwas: 'I'll set the thing going the first thing in the morning.' And theother one said: 'It can't start too quick for me.'"

  "Did you see what kind of looking men they were?" asked Joe.

  "I peeked out at them as they were leaving, but all I could see was thatone of them was a big, heavy man and the other was slimmer and seemed tohave something the matter with his face. It was puffed up as though hehad the toothache."

  "Fleming, sure enough!" ejaculated Jim, grimly.

  "I guess I know how he got that toothache," Joe remarked grimly.

  "Why, is he any one you know?" inquired Anderson.

  "I'm pretty sure I do," replied Joe. "There aren't likely to be two mennamed Fleming who want to do me up."

  "Do be careful now, Mr. Matson," the old man urged. "I can't bear tothink of anything happening to you after all that you have done for me."

  "I'll keep my eyes open," answered Joe. "And I can't thank you enough,Mr. Anderson, for the trouble you've taken to come and tell me aboutthis."

  "It's little enough," answered Anderson. "I only wish I could do more.But I know you must be pretty busy just now, with the big game comingon, so I'll just jog along. Hope you have luck to-day, Mr. Matson."

  He said good-bye and went away. After he had gone the two friendslooked at each other very long and thoughtfully.

  "What do you make of it, Joe?" asked Jim at length.

  "Why, I hardly know," replied Baseball Joe, slowly. "I wish the old manhad been able to get something a little more definite. The only thingthat seems clear is that that snake is trying to make trouble for me.But, pshaw! 'Threatened men live long,' you know, and I'm not going toworry about it."

  But Jim was not inclined to dismiss the matter so lightly.

  "Do you think they might try anything like the drugged coffee game?" heinquired. "Hartley got away with that once on you, and it might be doneagain."

  "Not likely," answered Joe. "But what's the use of worrying? I'm goingto put it right out of my mind for the present. I've got to pitch thisafternoon and I'm not going to think of anything else."

  True to his nefarious promise, Connelly, at just about the same timethat morning, was having a private conversation with the captain of atramp ship that was lying at a wharf far down on the Boston harbor front.

  The tramp was a battered, rusty-looking old hooker that seemed tobe about as tough and disreputable looking as the skipper, who wasshouting orders to his crew when Connelly came on board.

  There was a mutual recognition.

  "How are you, Mr. Connelly?" the captain said, as he came forward togreet the newcomer. "And what is it that's bringing you so far fromChicago?"

  "How are you, Captain Hennessy?" returned Connelly, cordially graspingthe gnarled hand that was extended to him. "I happened to be in town onbusiness and I heard you were loading up here. How's the carrying tradejust now?"

  "None too good," replied the skipper. "What with freights 'way down andthe competition of the big liners, it's all we can do to make a livingthese days. But come down to the cabin and wet your whistle. Talking'sdry business."

  Connelly needed no urging, and they were soon seated at a table in thecramped cabin, with a bottle and glasses between them.

  They talked of indifferent matters for a time, and then Connellybroached the object of his visit.

  "Where are you going this trip?" he asked.

  "Down the South American coast as far as Rio Janeiro," was the answer."Porto Rico will be my first stop."

  "And when do you expect to start?"

  "I may finish up loading to-day if I have luck," replied the skipper."If so, I'll get my clearance papers and slip out early to-morrowmorning."

  "I suppose you've done a bit of shanghaiing in your day, eh, Hennessy?"remarked Connelly, jocularly.

  "Many's the time, especially in the old sailing days," grinned Hennessy,a light of evil reminiscence in his little eyes. "But there's littlecall for it nowadays."

  "I was just wondering," went on Connelly, "if you'd do me a favor andtake a fellow along with you on this trip that doesn't want to go."

  "It might be managed," returned the skipper a little doubtfully.

  "There'd be a nice little slice of money in it for you," Connellyexplained. "You see it's a young fellow that's got in with a wild gangashore, and his folks think a sea voyage wouldn't do him any harm."

  Hennessy's hesitation vanished at the mention of money and his eyes hadan avaricious gleam.

  "Sure I'll do it!" he exclaimed. And then, with voices slightly lowered,the pair perfected their scheme.

  A little later Connelly left the ship and walked rapidly away with atriumphant glint in his vulture-like eyes.

  He found his confederate waiting for him in the same cafe where they hadmet the night before. Fleming jumped up from the table at which he hadbeen sitting and came rapidly forward to meet him.

  "Well?" he said eagerly.

  "It's all right," responded Connelly. "It didn't take much urging toturn the trick. I told you he'd be only too glad to oblige me."

  He went over the events of the morning rapidly, and Fleming exulted.

  "So far, so good," he gloated.

  "But the hardest part is yet to come," Connelly reminded him. "We'vegot the stage set for the play, and the next thing is to have the chiefactor on hand when the curtain rings up." And then the two talked thematter over in detail.

  The enthusiasm at Braves Field that afternoon was at fever heat. TheBoston rooters turned out in the biggest crowd of the Series so far. Thelast game their favorites had won filled them with confidence, and theywere out to cheer their pets on to another victory.

  Even the knowledge that Matson was to pitch for the Giants, which hadbeen featured in the morning papers, was not sufficient to daunt them.They felt that luck was with the Red Sox, as had already been shown inthe accident to Hughson and the rain that had snatched the second gamefrom the New Yorks. And that luck, they felt sure, would persist. Thewish may have been father to the thought, but there was no doubt as tothe optimism that existed in the home town of the Red Sox.

  The Giants faced the test with quiet confidence. The odd game wasagainst them, but they looked forward serenely to evening up the scorethat afternoon with Baseball Joe in the box.

  McRae had a little talk with his team in the clubhouse before they wentout for practice.

  "Go right in, boys, and eat them up," he exhorted them. "Those fellowsnever saw the day they could beat you if you were doing your best.

  "They'll probably put in Roth against you. He's a good southpaw, butsouthpaws are just your meat. Look out for that 'bean' ball of his. He'ssure to use it in trying to drive you away from the plate. But don't letit rattle you for a minute. Be quick to dodge, though, for I don't wantto have any of you hurt at this stage of the Series.

  "And don't let Matson do it all. He can't carry the whole team on hisshoulders. No matter how well he pitches, he can't win unless you bat insome runs. Hand him a few right from the start.

  "Little old New York is rooting for you to win, boys. Don't fall downon the job. You'll own the city if you come back with a row of Bostonscalps at your belt. And I know you can do it if you try. Go in andwallop the life out of 'em."

  There
was a cheer which told McRae that his words had gotten "under theskin," and the Giants dashed briskly out on the field.