Jimmy Kirkland and the Plot for a Pennant Part 34

"I never have liked him," she interrupted quickly.

Three minutes before the town clock chimed the hour of two in Hilton, the machine, again running smoothly, shot out from the garage. Its occupants, refreshed and more cheerful, faced the final stretch of the long race.

"Fourteen miles in twenty-one minutes," cried McCarthy, as the mile posts flashed by. "We'll be there."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "FOURTEEN MILES IN TWENTY-ONE MINUTES"]

Ten minutes later the smoke haze that hangs eternally over the great city of the Blues was visible. The country homes along the road over which they sped were closer and closer together.

"Only ten more miles," McCarthy shouted triumphantly.

"We can cut across to the west here," she said as she swung the car into an avenue. "This goes near the ball park and we'll save three miles."

"Hurray," he shouted. "Then it's only seven miles."

The girl did not reply. She was weary and her fair face showed haggard lines. Their progress became slower, although two or three times policemen turned to watch them, as if to interfere.

The grandstand was close now. The steady roar of the huge crowd inside pulsed and beat upon them. A bell rang.

"That's either game time or last fielding practice," screamed McCarthy.

"Hurry, please, hurry."

The car suddenly swung out of the line, sent a swarm of pedestrians scurrying, and jarred to a stop at the entrance marked "Players."

"Betty," said McCarthy, as he started to lift her from the car----

"Hurry," she said, faint from weariness and the reaction. "You must dress."

He ran stiffly toward the dressing room under the stand. Bill Tascott, the umpire, was just starting toward the field.

"McCarthy!" he exclaimed at sight of the specter covered with mud and with cut and bruised features.

"Bill, don't start the game yet," panted McCarthy beseechingly. "Wait till I dress. Please tell Clancy I'm here."

"I'll tell him. I'll delay the game. Can you play?" said the umpire rapidly.

"Yes--give me time to dress."

Jack, the trainer, quiet after his first outburst of surprise, was preparing the hot shower and working like mad over the weary player and when Clancy, summoned by a quiet word from the umpire, rushed into the player's room, McCarthy was sighing luxuriously as the trainer soaked his weary, cramped limbs with witch hazel.

"Hurry, Jack," ordered Clancy as he squeezed McCarthy's hands. "I knew you'd come, Kohinoor."

"Am I in time?" asked the player. "Get my uniform out, please."

"Just in time. Good old Bill Tascott is delaying the game. You ought to see him raising cain over his mask being lost. He hid it in our bench and is accusing the Blues of stealing it. He won't start the game until you are ready."

In five minutes they rushed him toward the little gate by which the players enter the field from under the stands, just in time to hear Bill Tascott announce:

"Batteries for to-day's game--Wiley and Kirkpatrick for the Blues; Williams and Kennedy for the Bears." He glanced toward the group emerging from under the stands and his voice rang with gladness as he yelled, in louder tones:

"McCarthy will play third base."

CHAPTER x.x.xI

_The Plotters Foiled_

The gasp of astonishment with which the crowd greeted the announcement that Williams would pitch gave way quickly to a cry of surprise that rose to a roar of applause when Bill Tascott announced that McCarthy would play third base.

He walked slowly out toward third base, the huge arm of Swanson, who with a bellow of gladness had raced to meet and embrace him, around his shoulders, while the great crowd stood and howled with excitement and hummed with curiosity as to the explanation of his reappearance. Had Clancy tricked the Blues and produced his third baseman at the dramatic instant, hoping to unnerve them? Had McCarthy been hurt? A thousand conjectures and questions flashed around the field.

The announcement by Bill Tascott was a double shock to two persons sitting in one of the front boxes near the Bears' bench. Barney Baldwin brought his fat hand down with a thump upon the shoulders of the rat-faced, cold-eyed man who sat next to him, and shouted, "I told you so!"

Easy Ed Edwards, paler than usual, turned angrily toward the politician, restrained himself, and resumed his steady scrutiny of the field. When the umpire announced McCarthy playing third, Baldwin, in his astonishment, half arose and Edwards started quickly.

"Sit down, you fool," he said sharply. "We're in enough trouble without you giving us away. Clancy was watching us from the bench.

They're wise to you."

"To me!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Baldwin. "I like your nerve"----

"You're the only one they can connect with McCarthy's--accident," he said coldly. "There'll be h---- to pay at home."

McCarthy's head was bandaged afresh, strips of court-plaster decorated his face, and even from the stands the black bruises around his eyes were visible.

Nearly forty thousand persons were watching, unaware of the full meaning of the complex drama they were witnessing. McCarthy was so astonished at hearing that Williams was pitching that he turned to Swanson.

"What does it mean, Silent?" he asked anxiously.

"Clancy made him pitch," whispered Swanson rapidly as they went toward the bench. "He has had him locked in his room all day and Williams is scared stiff. Look at him."

The pitcher was white to the mouth, and he licked his lips nervously as if in a fever, as he sat during the first inning while his own team endeavored to make a run. Clancy, his face hard, sat next to him, terrible in his rigidity.

Three of the Bears retired in rapid order and the team raced for the field. A roar of applause greeted them, and as McCarthy ran along in front of the stands, the applause followed him like a wave. It was clear some hint of the truth was spreading through the crowd. Williams hung back when the team started for the field.

"I can't, Bill. Oh, G.o.d, I can't," he wailed. "Please"----

"Get out there and pitch! Pitch whatever Kennedy signals for, and if you don't"----

"I'll try, Bill. But if"----

"There are no ifs," snarled the manager, half rising.

Williams walked to his position, a glare of terror in his eyes, as if he contemplated flight. He was wild and erratic at the start. Two b.a.l.l.s sailed wide from the plate, and Swanson ran to him.

"Get that next one over or I'll signal Clancy," he said.

Williams put every ounce of power into his throwing arm, and the ball cut the heart of the plate, jumping.