the Shortstop (1992)

by Grey, Zane

  Wise Chase! He pretended there was nothing remarkable about the matter. To be sure, Molly was simply delightful. Of course she had wonderfully lovely eyes. He took care to hint to Benny that there were any number of young men in town who thought so and tried to tell Molly so. And vastly Chase said, as if it were a thing Benny did not need to be told, as if it were a simple conclusion: "It wouldn't do to drink if any fellow wanted to go with Molly."

  Benny bought gorgeous neckties regularly after that, looked mysterious when his player friends chaffed him, and wore cool towards his former boon companions. The hotel bar-rooms seldom saw him, and it was noticeable that the heated flush faded out of his face. And when some misguided ball player hit a ball anywhere in the vicinity of second-base the bleachers sang: " Benny 's barred the door!"

  During the latter half of July, Findlay kept the lead over Columbus by a small margin. And when that team presented itself for a series of three games the excitement waxed keen.

  After the first game, which Findlay won, Chase met a very agreeable, smoothfaced, quiet-looking man. Chase had seen him about town somewhere, and was under the impression that Cas or Mac had said he was one of the many gamblers known in the oil-belt. He talked baseball and appeared friendly, so Chase treated him civilly. The next day he met him again. They sat in the lobby of the hotel and talked a while. It appeared the man had an engagement with Speer and was waiting for him. Some time later Chase saw the stranger with Speer and noticed that the latter had been drinking. This occasioned Chase some surprise, because Mac expected to pitch Speer in the next game, and Mac's rules in regard to drink were stringent.

  On Saturday, when Chase passed the small park near his boarding house, he encountered the agreeable gentleman sitting on one of the park benches. " Hello, Chase. Fine hot day for the game. Sit down. I've been enjoying the shade."

  Chase took a seat, more from his habit of pleasantry than from any desire to converse with the man. He was aware of a close scrutiny, but being used to that sort of thing took little heed of it.

  " How about the game today? " asked the fellow. " Weaell win. We've got to have two out of three."

  "Think there's any chance to win some money?" " I never advise bets."

  The gentleman adjusted his cuffs, picked a. thread off his coat sleeve, and flicked the dust from his patent leather boots. Then quite casually he glanced all around the park. "Have you seen Speer this morning?" he asked.

  "No."

  "Hum! I - he said he expected to see you. Mebbe he will yet."

  Then he took a roll of bills from his pocket, snapped off a rubber and unrolled them, showing tens and twenties, rolled them up again and snapped on the band He was most deliberate. His next move was to hand the roll to Chase. "Stick that in your pocket."

  Chase would have been more surprised if he had not already been the recipient of so many presents; still this seemed out of all proportion. He could not imagine why a big sum of money should be handed him by a total stranger, and he said so.

  "'You're wise. If not, Speer will put you wise," replied the man, again adjusting his cuffs.

  Is this money for me?"

  " Sure."

  " What for?"

  " Aren't you wise? "

  " I certainly am not."

  "Well, I got a chance to win a few thousand this afternoon - "

  " Here, I won't try to place any money for you.

  "That bundle's for you, and you'll get another like it -if I win."

  " Do you mean you are going to bet on Findlay and give me this money to make me play all the harder? Because, if you do, take it back. I couldn't play any harder for ten thousand dollars."

  " Not exactly. You see I'm betting on Columbus."

  " Oh-h! "

  Then the man shook off his slow, deliberate manner, rose to his feet, and glanced at Chase with keen, hard eyes. " You're wise now, aren't you? "

  " Not exactly," said Chase, slowly.

  "It's a cinch. You're going to pull off a couple of hundred. It's like finding money. I've got Speer fixed. Now all you need to do is to fall over a couple of grounders this afternoon or make a wild throw at a critical time. See!"

  " You're asking me to - "

  " Lay down, be off your form - "

  "You're trying to buy me to throw the game? " Chase rose unsteadily.

  " Hum! Call it so if you like, but - "

  In blind rage Chase threw the money in the gambler's face and pushed him violently with his left hand. The gambler staggered against the bench. Then Chase swung his right arm with all the power he could summon. Gambler and bench went down together.

  " You hound! " cried Chase, quivering. " I 'll have you run out of town for this." On the instant Chase wheeled and hurried down the avenue to the hotel. He went directly to Speer's room, to find the pitcher lying on his bed looking rather sick.

  " Speer ! What's this I hear? " demanded Chase, and he breathlessly de! scribed the proposition that had just been made him.

  " Ain't it rotten of me? He bought me, Chase. But I was drunk," said Speer, in tears. " I'm sober enough now to know what a deal it was."

  "Sure you were drunk!" exclaimed Chase. "But I won't peach, old man.

  You just forget it and cut out drinking with strangers after this." Chase bolted downstairs to collide with Mac, Cas, Enoch, and Thatcher, all going in to lunch. "Fellows, I just punched a man who tried to buy me to throw the game. Flashed a hundred on me. Tried to put it in my pocket."

  " Wha-at? " roared Cas. " Where is he?"

  Mac swore. " Smooth-faced guy, well dressed, big blinker in his necktie?

  I saw him hangin' round. What we won't do to him - "

  "Come on!" roared Cas.

  " Wait; get the gang ! " shouted Enoch. But the smooth-tongued, smooth-faced gentleman could not be found.

  Several passengers at the station testified to seeing a gentleman answering that description - except that he had a badly swelled and discolored eye - going north along the tracks.

  That night the story was town talk and Chase was a hero.

  Chapter XIII.

  SUNDAY BALL.

  SAY, shure I got somethin' to tell you Indians thet I ain't stuck on," said Mac. " The directors hev decided to play Sunday ball! "

  The boys could not have made a more passionate and angry outbreak if they had heard they were to be hanged. " Beef ! Beef ! " shouted Mac, red as a lobster. " Haven't I been agin it? You puff-in-front-of-the-hotel stiffs talk as if I was to blame."

  " Wha-at?" roared Castorious.

  " Gimme my release!" cried Benny, who had recently taken to attending a certain church. Benny never did anything by halves.

  The Dude flung his bat through a window, carrying away glass and sash.

  All except Chase were violent in word and action, and he was too greatly surprised to move or speak. Mac's position often assumed exasper! ating phases. This was one of them. He tried reason on the most choleric of his players with about as much success as if they had been brass mules. They persisted in venting their spleen on him. Then he lost his temper.

  " Flannel-mouths! Hev you all swallowed red-hot bricks? Cheese it now, cheese it! The guy thet doesn't report here Sunday gets let down, an' fined besides. Got thet ? "

  Chase left the gounds in some distress of mind. The past four weeks had been so perfect that he had forgotten things could go wrong. Sunday ball! It had never even occurred to him. To give up his place on the team and all the bright promise of the future he could not consider for a moment. He would have to reconcile himself to the inevitable. But what would his mother say? He might keep it from her, he did not need to tell her; she would never find it out. No! The temptation lasted only a mo!ment. He would not deceive her.

  And then a further consideration weighed upon him. If he played base!ball on the Sabbath in order to attain a future success, would that success be an honest one? He was afraid it would not. He had been trained to respect the Sabbath. If he kept faith with his training he mus
t confess Sunday games were wrong. Nevertheless he could not harbor the idea of resigning his place. This made him feel he was wilfully doing wrong. And he plunged into bitterness of spirit.

  It was with no little curiosity that Chase went out upon the field on Sunday. The grandstand looked as usual; many familiar faces were there. The bleachers were packed, and a line of men and boys, twenty deep, extended along to the right and left of the diamond. Chase had never seen such a crowd in the grounds. Nor had he ever seen such enthusiasm.

  All at once it occurred to him that here were hundreds and thousands of boys and men who worked every hour of daylight six days in the week. They were new to him, and he saw that he was as new to them. They had never seen him play. They had never before had a chance to see a ball game in Findlay.

  A question came naturally to Chase's quick mind. Had they played the game when mere tots on the commons and learned to love it, as had he? A blind man would have answered in the affirmative. They were wild and bubbling over from sheer joy. If they loved the game and had only one day to go, albeit that day was Sunday, were they doing harm? Chase could not answer that. But he knew whatever it was for them applied also to him.

  Findlay won the first Sunday game. A greater and noisier crowd had never before been in attendance. Noise! the field was a howling bedlam. The boys ran like unleashed colts; the men cheered their own players, roared at their opponents, and at each other.

  In his heart Chase was trying desperately hard to justify his own part in it, and because of that he saw much and found food for reflection. Well he knew the pallor of these boys; it came from the dark, sunless foundries. The hun! dreds of men present had a yellowish, oily look;. they were the diggers and refiners, the laborers from the oil-fields. At first Chase thought their unbridled mirth, their coarse jests at the umpire, at the players, and themselves, their unremitting wild, hoarse yells, as unnatural as strident.

  Then suddenly a smile here, a laugh of delight there, told him all this was only natural. These men and boys had found expression for their pent-up feelings, for a short delight in contrast to the long day. This was their hour of freedom.

  "Yell! That's right, yell!" muttered Chase through his teeth as he went up to bat. He felt for them, but could not quite understand. He drove one of his famous liners against the fence. " Yell for that ! " he said to himself. A long screeching, swelling howl of rapture rose from the field and stands. It rang in Chase's ears as he sped round the bases, and when, after sliding into third, he stood up, he saw a sight he never forgot. The crowd was one leaping, tossing, waving, Crazy mass.

  With Chase, to get the track of anything, was to trail it to the end. The faces and actions of that crowd made him think; their frenzied glee made him sad, because it reminded him of his old longing for freedom, and its very violence bespoke the bottled-up love of play. These men and boys wanted to play, and circumstances had made it so they could not. They loved to play, As they had mothers, sisters, brothers, children, to support, they had no time to play. As the next best thing they loved to see some one else play. And they had only one day - Sunday.

  " It's this way," said Chase to himself. " If these men and boys spend their Sundays at home and in church, then Sunday ball is wrong. If they spend it otherwise, then Sunday ball is not wrong."

  Chase was tenacious and stubborn. He found he had loved the game as a boy because of the play in it; now he loved it because of what it was doing for him, because he believed in it. And he set himself to find out what it might be doing for others. He could not write to his mother till he had decided the question. So he spent much of his leisure time going the rounds of the foundries, factories, refineries, brick-yards, and he took care to drop into all the saloons, the beer-gardens, and dance-halls. Everywhere he was known and welcomed. He asked questions, he listened, and he watched.

  When another Sunday had passed he was in possession of all he needed to know. With immeasurable relief he decided that, while he would rather not have played Sunday ball, it was not wrong for him to do so. He even decided he was doing good. Thus he settled the perplexing question forever in his own conscience. He would tell his mother how he had arrived at his conclusion, and as for others it did not matter what they thought.

  All this time Chase had not been blind to certain indications of coolness on the part of people who had hitherto been pleased to be courteous and affable And as these indications had come solely from chance meetings in the streets, he began to wonder how much deeper this coldness would go, provided he sought the society of these persons. That thought alone kept him away from Marjory for over a week. He believed she would understand, and still be his friend. But instinctively he feared her mother; and he had a momentary twinge when he called to mind the young minister so welcome in the Dean household.

  One evening when a party of ladies coolly snubbed him, Chase could stand the suspense no longer. So he presented himself at Marjory's home, and much to his relief found her on the porch alone. "Chase, mama has forbidden me to see you," she said, with her blue eyes on him.

  Chase gulped when he saw the eyes were unchanged, still warm and bright. "No? Oh, Marjory, it's not so bad as that?"

  " Yes. But, Chase, you just give up the Sunday games, and then everything will be all right again."

  " I can't do that."

  "Why not? Let them play without "

  "It's no use, Marjory. Either I play on Sundays or give up the game. And it means a good deal to me. Does your mother say it's wrong?"

  "She says it's awful. And Mr. Marsden held up his hand in holy horror when he heard it. He's going to work against it - stop it."

  " Do you think it's so terribly wrong?"

  " Oh, Chase, for you to ask me that l. Don't you know it?"

  " No, I don't," replied Chase, stubbornly.

  " Then you won't give it up? "

  " No."

  " Not - not even to please me? "

  " I would if I could -but I can't. Marjory, please -"

  "Then - good-bye."

  " Oh ! " cried Chase, sharply. He looked at her; the long lashes were down. " You said that as if I were - Look here, Marjory Dean! I'm working for my mother. I've seen her faint when she came home at night. I've seen her hands bleed. If every day were Sunday and baseball bad - which it's not !I'd play. What do I care for Mr. Marsden? He's so dry he rattles like a beanstalk. I don't care what your mother thinks. She's -- I don't care -what -what you think, either. Good-bye! " He strode off the porch.

  A low, tremulous " Chase!" did not halt him. He was bitterly hurt, angry, and sick. He went to his room, fought out his bad hour alone in the dark, and then came forth feeling himself older and resigned.

  But he was more determined than ever to stand by the game. Sunday another great throng yelled itself hoarse at the grounds, and went home in shirt-sleeves, sweaty, tired, and happy.

  Chase dressed, went to dinner, and then strolled round to the hotel. All the boys were there lounging in familiar groups. He thought they all seemed rather quiet and looked queerly at him. Before he could learn what was in the air a policeman whom he knew well stepped up reluctantly.

  " Chase, I've got a warrant for you." The blood round Chase's heart seemed to freeze. He stared, unable to speak. " My pardner has gone to arrest Mac," continued the officer.

  "Here's the warrant." The printed words blurred in Chase's sight, but his own name in writing, and the term "Sunday baseball," and the Rev. Mr.

  Marsden's name told him the meaning of the arrest.

  "I'm sorry, Chase. I hate to run you in. But I've my duty," said the officer, and whispered lower, "We'll try to get word to Mayor Duff, so you can get bail and not be locked up."

  " Bail? Locked up?" echoed Chase, stupidly.

  Mac appeared with another officer. The little manager was pale but com!posed. " Shure, we're pinched, Chase," he said and as the players crowded round he continued : " Fade away now, or you'll put people wise. Somebody hunt up King an' Beekman an' send them to the s
tation. Cas, you dig for Mayor Duff's house an' ask him to come to take bail for us. Lord! I hope he 's home. If not, the law puts us in a cell to-night.

  Shure somebody has done us dirt. Them warrants might have been made out for to-morrow."

  " Mac, you an' Chase walk round to the station alone," said one of the officers. "We'll go another way."

  "Thanks, shure you're all right," replied Mac.

  " Come on, Chase. Don't look so peaked."

  " Isn't the whole team arrested?" queried Chase.

  " Shure, an' the whole team 'll be on trial, but the warrants read for manager and, one player. It 'd been more regular to hev pinched Enoch, as he is captain. Don't know why they picked out you."

  " Is playing on Sunday against the law? "

  " Naw. Not any more 'n drivin' a team; but these moss-backed people twist things an' call us `nuisances' an' `immoral' an' Lord knows what.

  Here we are at the station. It 's pretty tough on you, kid, but don't quit.

  This won't hurt you any."

  The two officers met them, unlocked the station-house doors, and ushered them into the mayor's office. Presently Beekman strode in, big and important, and said it was not necessary to call in King, for he would go bail for both.

  "If Duff's in town he'll come," continued Beekman. Presently the sounds of a fast trotting horse and flying wheels drew an officer to the window. "The mayor 's here," he said. Mac settled back with a deep breath. "Good!" he exclaimed.

  A tall man with a gray beard came in hurriedly, followed by Castorious. He nodded to all, threw his gloves on the desk, and took the warrants held out to him. In a few moments he had made the necessary recording of the arrests and of accepted bail. Then he shook hands with Mac and Chase.