CHAPTER XXVIII
WHIRLWIND PITCHING
"A fellow who would do a thing like that is taking long chances," saidMcRae doubtfully.
"And how could he do it?" put in Robbie. "The name would have to be cutfrom one piece of paper and pasted on another, wouldn't it?"
"Even admitting that they might get your name from a check or letter, Idon't see how a thing like that could stand inspection for a minute,"chimed in Willis. "Even if it were so well done that an eye couldn'tdetect it, a microscope would give it away."
"And you can bet that the reporters who hunted up this thing haven'toverlooked any bets," said Brennan. "They knew that the signature was thenub of the whole thing and if there was anything phony about the paperthey'd have got next at once."
"It's a horrible mixup!" cried Joe, who felt that he was being enmeshed ina net of circumstantial evidence which he might find it impossible tobreak. "Let me read the story first from end to end. Then, perhaps, I'llfind some clue that will solve the mystery."
He plunged at once into the reading, but the more he read the worse thematter looked.
He found that a nation-wide interest had been excited by his denial andhis challenge. The officers of the All-Star League had been besieged byreporters, who had made it clear to them that they must prove theirstatement that Matson had signed with them or else stand convicted beforethe American public, on whose favor they depended for support in thecoming season, of being slanderers and liars.
Mr. Beckworth Fleming, the president of the All-Star League, had shown alittle hesitation in responding to these demands. This, perhaps, wasnatural enough, since no business organization cares to have the terms ofits contracts blazoned forth to the world, perhaps to the benefit of itsrivals. Still, under all the circumstances, Mr. Fleming had finallydecided to permit a photographic copy to be made of the contract in orderto establish the good faith of the new league. This had been done andfacsimiles had been sent to all the leading newspapers of the UnitedStates.
There was no question that the contract was genuine. It had beensubmitted to bank cashiers who were familiar with Mr. Matson's writing,and they had pronounced it his signature beyond the shadow of a doubt. Thepaper had been examined under powerful glasses and found to be a singlepiece. Everything was in proper form, and it was clearly up to Mr. Matsonto explain what seemed to be explainable only in one way, namely, that hehad signed the contract.
There were many worthy charities that could find a good use for thethousand dollars that the great pitcher had so rashly offered.
This was the gist of the story in all the papers. There were varioussuggested explanations. One paper hinted that men had been known to signpapers when they had dined and wined too well.
Another thought that the denial was purely a "diplomatic" one. Othersventured the hypothesis that the whole thing was an advertising dodge,designed to set the country agog with excitement and stimulate bigaudiences for the coming season.
But underneath all the suppositions one thing seemed to be unquestioned bythe papers, and that was that Joe had signed a contract to play with theAll-Star League and had left the Giants in the lurch.
Joe felt as though the ground were slipping from beneath his feet. He wasperfectly innocent, and yet he already stood convicted in the public mindof having done a thing that he loathed and abhorred. And the worst of itwas that he had not the slightest clue to the scoundrel or scoundrels whohad brought this thing about.
"It's beyond me, Mac," he said at last in despair, as he looked up and sawthe Giants' manager's eyes fixed upon him as though they would read intohis soul. "They seem to have a strangle hold on me. And yet as black asthings look I tell you straight, Mac, that you know every bit as muchabout this as I do."
"That's all right, Joe," returned McRae. "I'll admit I'm flabbergasted.Who wouldn't be? There's a plot here somewhere, and the fox that plannedit has been mighty cunning in covering up his tracks. But there never yetwas a lie that didn't have a weak point somewhere, and soon or late we'llfind it."
Mabel and Clara, as well as Jim, were beside themselves with anger at thedastardly trick. They racked their brains to find the explanation, butevery time they came up against a blank wall.
"I certainly can't understand it, Joe," said Mabel, for at least the tenthtime.
"Well, I can't understand it myself, Mabel," he replied.
"Are you sure you didn't sign that contract, thinking it was somethingelse--an order for something, or something like that?" questioned Clara.
"I'm not in the habit of signing anything without knowing what it is,"said the crack pitcher. "If any of those fellows had brought such a thingto me to sign, I would have handed it back and given the fellow a piece ofmy mind. No, there is something else in all this, though what it is Ihaven't the faintest idea."
"It's too bad we're so far away from those fellows just at present," putin Jim. "If we were close by we might interview them, and find out some ofthe details that are as yet missing. And then maybe somebody would get abroken head," he added vigorously.
"Oh, Jim! would you break anybody's head?" burst out Clara in horror.
"I sure would if he was trying to put Joe in such a hole as this!"returned the young man promptly. "Maybe you don't understand what a blackeye this is calculated to give your brother."
"Oh, yes, I can understand that well enough," sighed Joe's sister.
"I think it's the meanest thing that ever could possibly happen!" burstout Mabel. "And I don't wonder that Jim is angry enough to breaksomebody's head for it," and she looked lovingly at Joe.
"Oh, I suppose it will come out all right in the end," answered Joe. Buthe said this merely to ease Mabel's mind. Secretly he was afraid that hewas in for some real trouble.
It was early spring when they landed in Naples, but the winter had beenprolonged more than usual and it was too cold to play. At Monte Carlo andNice, however, they were able to get in two games, both of which were wonby the All-Americans. This put the teams again on an equality as to gameswon and lost, and revived the hopes of the All-Americans that they mightstill come out ahead in the series.
They made but a short stay in Paris, and the weather was so inclement thatgames were out of the question. But it would have taken more than badweather to prevent the shopping and sightseeing that all had been lookingforward eagerly to in the great French capital, and they enjoyed theirvisit to the full.
In London they met with the greatest welcome of their trip. They played atLord's Oval, the most famous grounds in the United Kingdom, and before anaudience that included the most distinguished people in the realm,including the king himself.
The American colony, too, was there almost to a man, and the United Statesambassador lent his presence to the occasion.
It was the most distinguished audience, probably, that had ever witnesseda baseball game.
And here it was that Joe did the most brilliant pitching of the trip. Histireless arm mowed down his opponents inning after inning. They came tothe bat only to go back to the bench. His mastery of the ball seemedalmost uncanny, and as inning after inning passed without a hit beingmade, it began to look as though he were in for that dream of allpitchers--a no-hit game.
Brennan, the Chicago manager, fidgeted restlessly on the bench andglowered as his pets were slaughtered. He tried all the tactics known toclever managers, but in vain. It was simply a day when Baseball Joe wasnot to be denied.
His comrades, too, gave him brilliant support and nothing got away fromthem, so that when finally the last man up in the ninth inning in theAll-American team lifted a towering skyscraper that Joe caught withoutstirring from his tracks, a pandemonium of cheers forced him to remove hiscap and bow to the applauding crowds again and again.
Not a man had scored, not a man had been passed, not a man had reachedfirst, not a man had hit safe. Joe had won the most notable game in hiswhole career!
Baseball Joe Around the World; or, Pitching on a Grand Tour Page 28
