CHAPTER XIX

THE WARNING BUZZ

“Matson has a swelled head,” declared McCarney. “He thinks he’s the whole show. He’s done us dirt, and now he’s thrown you down. Are you going to stand for it?”

“No, I’m not!” snarled Iredell, now in the ugliest of moods. “I’ll get even with him if it’s the last thing I do.”

“That’s the way I like to hear a man talk,” said Lemblow. “I owe him a lot for the way he’s treated me, and so does every man here. We all hate him like poison. Then why don’t we do something? It ought to be easy enough for the four of us to figure out some way to put the kibosh on him.”

“It would be easy enough if he weren’t so much in the limelight,” said Hupft, uneasily. “If we put anything across on him, the whole country would be ringing with it. The League itself would spend any amount of money to run us down.”

“Bigger men than he is have got theirs,” rejoined McCarney. “It all depends on the way it’s done. Now, a scheme has popped into my head while we’ve been talking. I don’t know how good it is, but I think it may work. If it goes through, we’ll have our revenge. If it doesn’t we’ll be no worse off and we can try something else. Now listen to me.”

They put their heads together over the table, while McCarney in a low voice unfolded his scheme. That it was a black one was evident from the involuntary start the others gave when it was first broached. But as McCarney went on to explain the impunity with which he figured it could be carried out and the completeness of their revenge if it succeeded, they gave their adhesion to it. Iredell was the most reluctant of the four, but his drink-inflamed brain was not proof against the arguments of the others, and he finally acquiesced and put up his share of the estimated expense.

The next day witnessed another battle royal between the Giants and the Pirates. Jim pitched, and although his work was marked by some of the raggedness that Joe knew only too well the reason for, he held the Pittsburghs fairly well, and the Giants batted out a victory by a score of 7 to 3.

“Sure of an even break, anyway, on the series,” remarked Curry complacently, after the game.

“Yes,” replied Joe. “But that doesn’t get us anywhere. That only shows that we’re as good as the other fellows. We want to prove that we’re better. To play for a draw is a confession of weakness. I want the next two games just as hard as I wanted the first two. That’s the spirit that we’ve got to have, if we cop the flag.”

But though Markwith twirled a good game the next day and was well supported, the best he could do was to carry the game into extra innings, and the Pirates won in the eleventh.

“Beaten, but not disgraced,” was Joe’s laconic comment, as he and Jim made their way to the hotel. “Let’s hope we’ll have better luck to-morrow.”

“I’ve had a box sent up to your room, Mr. Matson,” said the hotel clerk, as he handed the young captain his key. “It came in a little while ago.”

“Thanks,” said Joe, and went upstairs with Jim to the room they occupied together.

In the corner was a wooden box, about two feet long, a foot wide, and of about the same depth. On the top was Joe’s name and the address neatly printed, but nothing else, except the tag of the express company.

“Wonder what it is,” remarked Joe, with some curiosity.

“It isn’t very heavy,” said Jim, as he lifted it and set it down again. “Some flowers for you perhaps from an unknown admirer,” he added, with a grin.

“It’s nailed down pretty tightly,” said Joe. “Got anything we can open it with?”

“Nothing here,” answered Jim, as he searched about the room. “Guess we’ll have to phone down to the office and have them send us up a chisel to pry the cover off.”

“Oh, well, it will keep,” said Joe. “I’m as hungry as a wolf, and I want to get my supper. We’ll stop at the desk on our way back and get something from the clerk.”

They had a hearty meal, over which they lingered long, discussing the game of the afternoon. Then they stopped at the desk, secured a chisel, and returned with it to their room.

Jim switched on the electric light, while Joe lifted the box and placed it on a table, preparatory to opening it.

“What’s that?” Jim exclaimed suddenly, turning from the switch.

“What’s what?” queried Joe in his turn.

“That buzzing sound.”

“You must be dreaming,” scoffed Joe. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“It seemed to come from the box when you lifted it up,” said Jim. “Lift it up again.”

Joe did so, and this time both of them heard a faint buzzing, whirring sound that, without their exactly knowing why, sent a little thrill through them.

Again he lifted it with the same result.

The two young men looked at each other with speculation in their eyes.

“Lay off it, Joe,” warned Jim, as a thought struck him. “Perhaps it’s an infernal machine.”

“Nonsense,” laughed Joe, though the laugh was a little forced. “Who’d send me anything like that?”

“There are plenty who might,” affirmed Jim, earnestly. “Remember those crooks we saw at the game the other day! They hate you for exposing them. I wouldn’t put anything past them. They’d go to all lengths to injure you.”

Joe took out his flashlight and sent the intense beam all over the sides of the box. Suddenly he uttered an ejaculation, and pointed to a number of small holes, not visible on a casual inspection.

“Look!” he cried. “Air holes! Jim, there’s some living thing in that box!”