CHAPTER XXVIII

A BLOW IN THE DARK

McRae rushed over to the umpire.

“There’s a fellow over there in the grandstand giving away our signs,” he stormed.

Cries of derision came from the stands.

“Hire a hall!”

“Write him a letter!”

“Play ball!”

The umpire called time and walked over with McRae to where Banks was standing.

“Get away from there,” he ordered.

“Why?” asked Banks, impudently.

“Never mind why. Get away I tell you.”

There was nothing left but to obey and Banks sauntered off.

“And as for you,” said the umpire, addressing Hartley, “if I see you talking to any of the players I’ll have you put out of the park.”

“You’re a disgrace to the National League,” cried McRae, glaring at Hartley, “and I’ll see that you get all that’s coming to you for this bit of work.”

“Aw, what’s eating you?” retorted “Bugs” sullenly. “I wasn’t doing anything.” But he seemed to shrivel up before the rage in his former manager’s eyes, and for the rest of the game obeyed the umpire’s injunction.

Markwith and Mylert, who was catching him, instantly changed their signs and the Bostons scored no more. But the damage was already done, for Landers was doing some demon pitching, and the game ended with the score two to one in favor of the Red Sox.

It was a hard game to lose, and Markwith received nothing but condolence and sympathy from his mates. He had pitched superbly and though beaten was not disgraced.

“I wonder how much that traitor got for giving away his own league,” said Joe, bitterly.

“Probably just enough to fill up his wretched skin with booze,” returned Jim. “Fellows like him come cheap.”

“He won’t get another chance,” put in McRae, angrily. “I’ll have the stands searched to-morrow, and if he’s there he’ll be bundled out neck and heels.”

Once more the hard-won lead of the Giants had vanished into thin air. But they took heart of hope and braced up for the struggle on the morrow. They were to play on their own grounds and Joe would be in the box.

All the members of Joe’s party were boiling over with indignation. If anything they took the defeat harder than the players themselves, who had learned in a hard school to take what was coming to them and brace up for revenge.

“Well, to-morrow’s a new day and what we’ll do to those fellows then will be a caution,” Jim declared philosophically.

Perhaps his cheerful view of things was increased by the fact that Clara had promised to let him take her for a cozy little spin to see Bunker Hill Monument by moonlight. The moon just then was in high favor with these two young people.

It was arranged that the pair need not come back to the hotel, but that Jim could bring Clara directly to the train. Mr. Matson and Reggie would escort the others.

Joe grudged every minute spent away from Mabel and stayed with her as long as he could that evening. But he had promised to drop in on Louis Anderson to see that the arrangement with Fleming had been carried out, and at last he left her reluctantly, promising to see her again on the train if only long enough to say good-night.

But though he was deprived of her physical presence, his thoughts were full of her as he was whisked away in the car he had summoned, and the time passed so quickly that he was surprised when the driver drew up in front of Anderson’s house.

“Wait for me here,” he directed as he stepped out. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“Very well, sir,” was the response.

Hardly had Joe gone inside when a man stepped up to the curb.

“I want you to take me to the North Station,” he said, preparing to step inside.

“Sorry, sir,” was the answer, “but I’m waiting for the fare I brought here.”

“But I must get that train, I tell you,” persisted the other. “I’ll pay you anything you want. Ten dollars, fifteen even.”

The driver was tempted.

“Make it twenty and I’ll go,” he said. “I suppose the gentleman can pick up another car.”

“Sure he can,” replied the other. “Twenty it is. Get a move on, now.”

He got inside and the car whizzed away.

Joe found Anderson and his wife radiant.

“He did it, Mr. Matson!” the old man cried. “He grumbled a lot about having had to telegraph on to New York to have his bank wire the cash to him, but he did it. And I signed a paper giving him a release of all claims against him. Oh, Mr. Matson, we can never thank you enough for what you have done for us.”

His wife joined in his expressions of gratitude.

“Don’t mention it,” smiled Joe. “I only did what any decent man would do to right a great wrong. And you squared the account when you gave me that warning the other day. I was just on the point of stepping into a trap when I thought of the warning and it saved me.”

“Is that so?” cried Anderson, delightedly. “I’m mighty glad if it helped you.”

They chatted happily for a few minutes and then, as his time was getting short, Joe took his leave with their repeated thanks ringing in his ears.

He was dumbfounded when he saw that the taxicab was not there.

“Where in thunder is that fellow?” he asked himself. “I suppose he’s getting a nip in the nearest saloon.”

But when, after a minute or two spent in waiting, no car appeared, Joe started for the nearest thoroughfare, three short blocks away.

He was just passing the second corner when a man stepped out of the shadows with something in his hand.

“Hi, there, stop!”

“What do you want?” demanded Joe, trying to make out the face in the darkness.

“I want you!” hissed the man.

He took a step closer and raised the object he carried in his hand.

Joe tried to dodge, but it was too late.

There was a quick blow. Joe felt no sense of pain. Rather it was a gradual sinking, sinking, ten thousand fathoms deep!

Then the famous young baseball player became unconscious.