CHAPTER XXVIII

A FRESH SPURT

Joe had taken the first occasion to see Jackwell and Bowen alone after he had received the letter from Dallas.

“I’ve learned that there were papers out against you in Dallas in connection with that oil swindle,” he said, with an assumed expression of gloom.

“Then they were after us, just as we thought!” exclaimed Jackwell, in alarm, while Bowen turned pale.

“They were after you all right, but only as witnesses,” laughed Joe, tossing them the letter. “Read that.”

The expression of relief and happiness that came to both, as they scanned the welcome lines, was good to see.

“I’d rather have that than a million dollars!” cried Jackwell, his face fairly beaming with delight.

“We can’t thank you enough for such good news,” said Bowen, equally jubilant.

“That’s all right,” said Joe. “I had a hunch right along that you fellows were on the square. All the thanks I want now is to have you play the game. You’ve been doing well lately, and I want you to keep it up.”

“That isn’t a circumstance to what we’re going to do,” promised Jackwell, and Bowen nodded assent. “From this time on, just watch our smoke.”

And Joe had no reason to complain of their work for the rest of the season. With the incubus removed that had been lying on their spirits, they played like wild men, and their work soon enthroned them as favorites with the Giant fans.

Now the Giants were really climbing again, and the grounds began to be crowded as in the days of old. The games were played “for blood” from the ring of the gong.

And what put the capsheaf on Joe’s satisfaction was that Jim came bursting in upon him one morning like a whirlwind, his face radiant, and sheer delight in living shining in his eyes.

Joe sprang up to greet him, and Jim grabbed him and whirled him around the room until both of them were gasping for breath.

“For the love of Pete, Jim!” expostulated Joe, laughingly.

“I’m a curly wolf!” shouted Jim. “I eat catamounts for breakfast and pick my teeth with pine trees! Where are those Cubs and Pirates and all the rest of that riffraff? Lead me to them! I want ber-lud!”

“You’ll get your chance,” answered Joe, grinning. “Now sit down and try to be sensible for a minute.”

“Sensible!” scoffed Jim. “Who wants to be sensible? I’m happy!”

“And so am I,” laughed Joe, “because of the news you bring.”

“I haven’t told you any yet,” countered Jim.

“Yes, you have,” declared Joe. “You’ve told me everything. I know that everything’s all right between you and Clara.”

“Clara!” repeated Jim, dwelling on the name. “Clara! Say, Joe, that sister of yours is--is-- Oh, well, what’s the use? There isn’t any word in the English language to describe her. She’s--she’s----”

“Yes, I know,” laughed Joe. “I’m her brother. Now, old boy, take a minute to get your breath, and then tell me the whole story.”

So Jim perforce had to restrain his ecstasies and get down to earth, while Joe listened happily to all the details of the visit that had swept away the last shadow of misunderstanding between his sister and his dearest friend.

“You were right, Joe, when you said that five minutes’ talk, face to face, would wipe out all misunderstanding,” said Jim. “Why, in less than five minutes after I saw her I was the happiest fellow on earth. If you could have seen the way she flew to me!”

“What about that Pepperil?” asked Joe.

“Never was in it for a minute,” declared Jim, happily. “Of course, the poor man was in love with her; but you can’t blame him for that. Who wouldn’t be? As a matter of fact, I think he was trying to propose to her at the time I got there. But she forgot he was alive when she saw me. You see, she’d simply tolerated him for the sake of your father’s invention that Pepperil had arranged to finance. She couldn’t be rude to him for fear of injuring the deal, though he bored her to death. What with the nuisance of his hanging around there and your father’s anxiety about his invention and your mother’s sickness and the cares of the household bearing down upon her, the poor girl was nearly crazy. Told me that when she sat down to write to me her head was in such a whirl that she hardly knew what she was writing. That’s why her letters sometimes seemed so abstracted and unsatisfying. But now the deal has gone through, your mother’s getting steadily better, Pepperil’s sailing for Europe, and we’re going to be married as soon as the baseball season is over.”

“Fine!” cried Joe, his eyes beaming.

“And to think that I ever doubted her for a minute!” Jim berated himself. “Joe, I’m the meanest hound dog that ever lived. I’m not fit for such a girl. Why, Joe, she’s----”

“Yes, I know,” interrupted the grinning Joe. “Write me a letter and describe her perfections in that. But honestly, Jim, I’m as happy as you are.”

“You can’t be!” declared Jim. “It isn’t possible for any one to be as happy as I am.”

“Well, only a little less happy,” corrected Joe. “And there’s some one else that will be just as happy as I am. Mabel will be in the seventh heaven. She’s worried herself sick.”

“Too bad.”

“Feel fit to pitch now?” asked Joe, after a while.

“Fit?” cried Jim. “That’s no word for it. Bring on your teams. They’ll all look alike to me.”

And Jim proved in the games that followed that this was no idle boast. He was superb, the old invincible Jim, toying with his opponents and turning in victory after victory. McRae rubbed his eyes and Robbie chortled in glee.

“Sure, Mac, ’twas the best thing you ever did, letting Jim off to see that girl of his,” said Robbie. “’Tis a new man he is since he came back.”

The Giants were now like a team of runaway horses. They could not be stopped. With their pitching staff going at top speed, the team played behind them like men possessed. At home or on the road made no difference. The Giants were simply bent on having that pennant, and they strode over everything in their way.

They kept their stride without faltering, and in the last weeks of the season were rapidly closing in on the Chicagos, who were struggling desperately to maintain their lead.

On the last Western trip, their strongest opposition was encountered in Pittsburgh, and they had to exert themselves to the utmost.

The first game resulted in a Giant victory by a close margin, the visiting team just managing to nose through after a terrific struggle.

Just after the game had ended, Jackwell made a sudden rush for the grandstand. Bowen, to whom he had shouted, was close behind him.

Joe and Jim followed to see what it was all about, and found a stout, red-faced man in the grasp of the two athletes, while a policeman was edging his way through the crowd.

“Arrest this man!” cried Jackwell, to the officer. “He’s a swindler. His name is Bromley, and he’s wanted in Texas. Detectives have been searching all over the country for him.”

The man denied it, but Jackwell persisted. The officer turned uncertainly to Joe.

“I don’t know the man,” said Joe. “But I know that the federal agents are after a man named Bromley. If this isn’t the man, he can easily establish his identity at headquarters. These men seem to be pretty sure of him.”

The officer put his hand on the man’s arm.

“Better come with me and see the Chief,” he said, and the man, still protesting, was led away. Later, federal agents identified him as the man wanted, and Jackwell and Bowen split the five thousand dollar reward between them.

“Glad those boys have settled their account with that rascal,” remarked Joe, after the crowd had dispersed.

“Yes,” replied Jim. “I wish we could say as much.”

“You mean with the McCarney crowd?”

“Just that. My blood fairly boiled when I saw those scoundrels in the stand this afternoon.”

“Were they there?” asked Joe.

“Very much there! Heads close together and talking all the time. Probably hatching up some other plan to down you. I tell you, Joe, you’re in danger every minute that you’re in this town!”