The Zane Grey Megapack. Zane Grey

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СКАЧАТЬ surprised Chase so that he hesitated. Mittie-Maru reached the dressing room first and turning to Chase he said; “Somethin’ doin’, all right, all right!” This was soon manifest, for as Chase crossed the threshold a chorus of yells met him.

      “Here he is—now say it to his face!”

      “Salver!”

      “Jollier!”

      “You mushy soft-soaper!”

      Then terms of opprobrium fell about his ears so thickly that he could scarcely distinguish them. And he certainly could not understand why they were made. He went to his locker, opened it, took out his uniform, and began to undress. Mittie-Maru came and sat beside him. Chase looked about him to see Winters lacing up his shoes and taking no part in the vilification. Benny was drunk. Meade’s flushed face and thick speech showed that he, too, had been drinking. Even Havil made a sneering remark in Chase’s direction. Chase made note of the fact that Thatcher, Cas, and Speer—Speer was one of the pitchers—were not present.

      “You’re a Molly!” yelled Meade. “Been makin’ up to the reporters, haven’t you? Fixin’ it all right for yourself, eh? Playin’ for the newspapers? Well you’ll last about a week with Findlay.”

      “What do you mean?” demanded Chase.

      “Go wan!” shouted the first base man.

      “As if you hadn’t seen the Chronicle!”

      “I haven’t,” said Chase.

      “Flash it on him,” cried Meade.

      Someone threw a newspaper at Chase, and upon opening it to the baseball page, he discovered his name in large letters. And he read an account of yesterday’s game, which, excepting to mention Cas’s fine pitching, made it seem that Chase had played the whole game himself. It was extravagant praise. Chase felt himself grew warm under it, and then guilty at the absence of mention of other players who were worthy of credit. “I don’t deserve all that,” said he to Meade, “and I don’t know how it came to be there.”

      “You’ve been salvin’ the reporter, jollyin’ him.”

      “No, I haven’t.”

      “You’re a liar!”

      A hot flame leaped to life inside Chase. He had never been called that name. Quickly he sprang up, feeling the blood in his face. Then as he looked at Meade, he remembered the fellow’s condition, and what he owed to Mac, and others far away, with the quieting affect that he sat down without a word.

      A moment later, Benny swaggered up to him and shook a fist in his face.

      “I’m a-goin’ t’ take a bing at yer one skylight an’ shut ’t for ye.”

      Chase easily evaded the blow and arose to his feet. “Benny, you’re drunk.”

      Matters might have become serious then, for Chase, undecided for the moment what to do, would not have overlooked a blow, but the gong ringing for practice put an end to the trouble. The players filed out.

      Mittie-Maru plucked at Chase’s trousers and whispered, “You ought to’ve handed ’em one!”

      * * * *

      Chase’s work that afternoon was characterized by the same snap and dash which had won him the applause of the audience in the Kenton games. And he capped it with two timely hits that had much to do with Findlay’s victory. But three times during the game, to his consternation, Mac took him to task about certain plays. Chase ran hard back of second and knocked down a base-hit, but which he could not recover in time to throw the runner out. It was a splendid play, for which the stands gave him thundering applause. Nevertheless, as he came in to the bench Mac severely reprimanded him for not getting his man. “You’ve got to move faster ’n thet,” said the little manager testily. “You’re slow as an ice-wagon.”

      And after the game Mac came into the dressing-room, where Chase received a good share of his displeasure.

      “Didn’t you say you knew the game? Well, you’re very much on the pazaz today. Now the next time you hit up a fly-ball, don’t look to see where it’s goin’, but run! Keep on runnin’. Fielders muff flies occasionally, an’ someday runnin’ one out will win a game. An’ when you make a base-hit, don’t keep on runnin’ out to the foul-flag just because it’s a single. Always turn for second base, an’ take advantage of any little chance to get there. If you make any more dumb plays like thet, they’ll cost you five each. Got thet?”

      Chase was mystified, and in no happy frame of mind when he left the grounds. Evidently what the crowd thought good playing was quite removed from the manager’s consideration of such.

      “Hol’ on, Chase,” called Mittie-Maru from behind.

      Chase turned to see the little mascot trying to catch up with him. It suddenly dawned on Chase that the popular idol of the players had taken a fancy to him.

      “Say, Cas tol’ me to tell you to come to his room at the hotel after supper.”

      “I wonder what he wants. Did he say?”

      “No. But it’s to put you wise, all right, all right. Cas is a good feller. Me an’ him has been friends. I heard him say to Mac not to roast you the way he did. An’ I wants to put you wise to somethin’ myself. Mac’s stuck on you. He can’t keep a smile off his face when you walk up to the plate, an’ when you cut loose to peg one acrost, he just stutters. Oh! He’s stuck on you, all right, all right! ‘Boys, will you look at thet wing?’ he keeps sayin’. An’ when you come in he says you’re rotten to yer face. Don’t mind Mac’s roasts.”

      All of which bewildered Chase only the more. Mittie-Maru chattered about baseball and the players, but he was extremely reticent in regard to himself. This latter fact, in conjunction with his shabby appearance, made Chase think that all was not so well with the lad as it might have been. He found himself returning Mittie-Maru’s regard.

      “Good-bye,” said Mittie-Maru at a cross street. “I go down here. See you tomorrer.”

      * * * *

      After supper, Chase went to the hotel, and seeing that Cas was not among the players in the lobby, he found his room number and with no little curiosity mounted the stairs.

      “Come in,” said Cas, in answer to his knock.

      The big pitcher sat in his shirt sleeves blowing rings of smoke out of the open window.

      “Hello, Chase; was waiting for you. Have a cigar. Don’t smoke? Throw yourself ’round comfortable—but say, lock the door first. I don’t want anyone butting in.”

      Chase found considerable relief and pleasure in the friendly manner of Findlay’s star pitcher.

      “I want to have a talk with you, Chase. First, you won’t mind a couple of questions.”

      “Not at all. Fire away.”

      “You’re in dead earnest about this baseball business?”

      “I should say I am.”

      “You СКАЧАТЬ