CHAPTER VIII

RECKLESS DRIVING

In New York, the preparation for the World Series was rapidly taking form. Little else was thought or spoken of. Pictures of the teams and players usurped the front pages of the newspapers, crowding all other news into the background. For the time being the ballplayer was king.

It was generally agreed by the experts that the contest would be close. Neither side could look for a walkover. The fight would be for blood from the very start.

On paper the teams seemed pretty evenly matched. If the Red Sox were a little quicker in fielding, the Giants seemed to have “the edge” on their opponents in batting. It was felt that the final decision would be made in the pitcher’s box.

And here the “dope” favored the Red Sox. This was due chiefly to the accident that had befallen Hughson. Had that splendid veteran been in his usual shape, it was conceded that New York ought to win and win handsomely. For Boston could not show a pair to equal Hughson and Matson, although the general excellence of their staff was very high.

But with Hughson out of the Series, it looked as though Joe’s shoulders would have to bear the major part of the pitching burden; and though those shoulders were sturdy, no one man could carry so heavy a load as that would be.

Thus the problem of New York’s success seemed to resolve itself into this: Would Hughson have so far recovered as to take part in the games? And behind this was still another question: Even if he should take part, would he be up to his usual form after the severe ordeal through which he had passed?

So great was the anxiety on this score that almost every new edition of the afternoon papers made a point of publishing the very latest news of the great pitcher’s condition. Most of these were reassuring, for Hughson really was making remarkable progress, and it goes without saying that, regardless of cost, he was receiving the very best attention from the most skilful specialists that could be secured.

In the meantime the National Commission--the supreme court in baseball--had met in conclave at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in New York. They really had little to do, except to reaffirm the rules which had governed previous Series and had been found to work well in practice.

The Series was to consist of seven games, to be played alternately on succeeding days in the two cities. The place where the games were to start would be decided by the toss of a coin. If rain interfered with any of the games, the game was to be played in the same city on the first fair day.

The Series was to finish when either of the teams had won four games. Only in the first four games played were the players to share in the money paid to see them. This provision was made so that there should be no temptation for the players to “spin out” the Series in order to share additional receipts. It was up to each team to win four straight games if it could.

Of the money taken in at these first four games, ten per cent. was to go to the National Commission and ten per cent. into the clubs’ treasuries. The balance was to be divided between the two teams in the proportion of sixty per cent. to the winner and forty per cent. to the loser.

The players had no financial interest whatever in any money taken in at other games, which went to the clubs themselves, less the percentage of the National Commission.

“Hurrah!” cried Jim Barclay in delight, as he broke into the rooms occupied by Joe and himself.

“What’s the matter?” asked Joe, looking up. “Dropped into a fortune? Got money from home?”

“We’ve won the toss of the coin!” ejaculated Jim. “New York gets the first game.”

“Bully!” cried Joe. “That’s all to the good. That’s the first break in the game and it’s come our way. Let’s hope that luck will stay with us all through.”

“And just as we supposed, the first game will start on Friday,” continued Jim. “So that we’ll have about a week for practice before we have to buckle to the real work.”

“McRae told me this morning that he had almost all the practice team together now, and that we’d start to playing against them on Monday,” said Joe.

“It’s up to us to make the most of this little breathing spell, then,” returned Jim. “I think I’ll take a little run down to the beach to-morrow. Care to come along?”

“I’ve got an engagement myself to-morrow,” Joe replied. “I’m going for an automobile ride with Reggie Varley and Miss Varley. By the way, Jim, why don’t you come along with us? Reggie told me to bring along a friend if I cared to. There’s plenty of room, and he has a dandy auto. Flies like a bird. Come along.”

“Where are you going?”

“Out on Long Island somewhere. Probably stop at Long Beach for dinner.”

“Sure, I’ll come,” said Jim readily. “But don’t think I’m not on to your curves, you old rascal. You want me to engage Reggie in conversation so that you can have Miss Varley all to yourself.”

“Nonsense!” disclaimed Joe, flushing a trifle.

“Well, then,” said the astute Jim, “I’ll let you have the front seat with Reggie, while I sit back in the tonneau.”

“Not on your life you won’t!” said Joe, driven out into the open.

“All right,” grinned Jim resignedly. “I’ll be the goat. When do we start?”

“Reggie will have the car up in front of the Marlborough at about ten, he said. We’ll have a good early start and make a day of it.”

“All right,” said Jim. “Let’s root for good weather.”

They could not have hoped for a finer day than that which greeted them on the following morning. The sun shone brightly, but there was just enough fall crispness to make the air fresh and delicious.

Reggie was on time, nor did Mabel avail herself of the privilege of her sex and keep them waiting. The girl looked bewitching in her new fall costume and the latest thing in auto toggery, and her rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes drew Joe more deeply than ever into the toils. Jim’s mischievous glance at them as they settled back in the tonneau while he took his seat beside Reggie, left no doubt in his own mind how matters stood between them.

Whatever else Reggie lacked, he was a master hand at the wheel, and he wound his way in and out of the thronging traffic with the eye and hand of an expert. They soon reached and crossed the Queensboro Bridge, and then Reggie put on increased speed and the swift machine darted like a swallow along one of the magnificent roads in which the island abounds. Beautiful Long Island lay before them, dotted with charming homes and rich estates, fertile beyond description, swept by ocean breezes, redolent of the balsam of the pines, “fair as a garden of the Lord.”

Jim, like the good fellow and true friend that he was, absorbed Reggie’s attention--that is, as much of it as could be taken from the road that unrolled like a ribbon beneath the flying car--and Joe and Mabel were almost as much alone as though they had had the car to themselves. And it was very evident that neither was bored with the other’s society. Joe’s hand may have brushed against Mabel’s occasionally, but that was doubtless due to the swaying of the car. At any rate, Mabel did not seem to mind.

At the rate at which they were going, it was only a little while before they heard the sound of the breakers, and the great hotel at Long Beach loomed up before them.

Reggie put up his car and they spent a glorious hour on the beach, watching the white-capped waves as they rushed in like race horses with crested manes and thundered on the sands. Then they had a choice and carefully selected dinner served in full view of the sea.

“Some hotel, this,” remarked Reggie as he gazed about him. “Make a dent in a man’s pocketbook to live here right along.”

“Yes,” agreed Jim. “They give you the best there is, but you have to pay the price. Reminds me of a story that used to be told of a famous hotel in Washington. The proprietor was known among statesmen all over the country for the way he served beefsteak smothered in onions. One man who had tried the dish advised his friend to do the same the next time he went to Washington.”

“But onions!” exclaimed his friend with a shudder. “Think of one’s breath.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” replied the other. “When you get the bill it will take your breath away.”

Reggie laughed, and, as the afternoon was getting on, ordered the car to be brought around. They had thought to go out along the south shore as far as Patchogue, before turning about for home.

They were bowling along on the Merrick Road in the vicinity of Bay Shore, when an automobile behind them came rushing past at a reckless rate of speed. It almost grazed Reggie’s car, and the quick turn he was obliged to make came within an ace of sending the car into a ditch.

“My word!” cried the indignant Reggie. “Those bally beggars ought to be pinched. A little more and they’d have smashed us.”

“Half drunk, most likely,” commented Jim. “They’ll kill somebody yet if they keep that up. By Jove, I believe they’ve done it now!”

From up the road came a chorus of yells and shouts. They saw the flying automobile hesitate for a moment and then plunge on, leaving a limp and motionless form sprawled out in the road behind it.