Weegman came in boldly. His manner was ingratiating, yet somewhat insolent, and he chuckled as he saw the look of surprise on the face of Lefty Locke. "Well, well!" he said. "Here we are! This is first rate. Now we can get together and do things."

To the southpaw's increasing astonishment, Kennedy stepped forward quickly, seized Weegman's hand, and shook it cordially and heartily.

"I wired for Locke," said the old manager. "I felt sure I could talk sense into his head. Didn't like to see him make a fool of himself and let a great opportunity slip through his fingers just because of a false notion about loyalty to me. But I didn't expect you before to-morrow."

Lefty was a trifle bewildered. Kennedy had known Weegman was coming to Indianapolis; in fact, had arranged to meet him there. Collier's representative beamed on Locke.

"Sorry I couldn't wait to see the finish of that game in Fernandon,"

he said; "but I saw enough to satisfy me. You did well to beat the Wind Jammers with that bunch of half invalids behind you, and your own arm all to the bad. Still, Wiley sort of handed you the game."

"The score was three to two," reminded Lefty.

"The Wind Jammers couldn't hit. They were a lot of freaks, a burlesque baseball team." Weegman turned again to old Jack. "If you can talk some sense into Locke, you'll succeed where I failed. I wasted time, money, and breath on him; gave him up then. Let me tell you a joke." He began to laugh, and the southpaw writhed inwardly. "Who do you think wants to manage the Blue Stockings? You can't guess? Well, it's Skullen; yes, Mit Skullen. Actually came after the job. Got me cornered and gave me a great game of talk, trying to convince me that he could fill the bill. I was listening to his spiel when I caught a glimpse of you two pa.s.sing the door of my room. Called the desk and asked the number of your room. Then I shook old Mit and came around. The idea of Mit Skullen managing a Big League club! Isn't that funny?" His whole body shook with merriment as he spoke.

Kennedy seemed to be amused also, and joined in Weegman's laughter.

"Wonder what Tom Garrity would say to that? Skullen must have forgotten his old nemesis, John Barleycorn. It was John that put him down and out as a prize fighter and a ball player."

"He says he hasn't looked at the stuff for four months. You should have heard him trying to convince me that he had the makings of a great manager."

Lefty knew Weegman was lying regarding the nature of the private consultation that had been held in a nearby room. But Kennedy seemed to be unaware of this.

"You wouldn't take Skullen under any conditions, would you?" asked old Jack.

"I wouldn't have him if he was ready to pay to manage the team. Collier would lift my scalp if I fell for anything like that. But I've got a line on a good man if--if--" He faltered, and looked at Locke, smiling.

"We'll settle that right here," declared Kennedy, with a growl.

"Locke's the lad. I haven't had time to talk to him much, but I was telling him before you came in that he'd have to accept. As for me, a Cla.s.s AA team ain't so worse. You're dead sure I can hook up with St. Paul?"

"I wired you about the proposition from Byers. He wants you, but he wasn't going to try to cut in on us. Did you send him word?"

"Not yet. Decided to have my talk with Lefty first."

"I've always liked you, Kennedy," said Weegman. "You've been a great man in your day. You're a good man now, but it needs younger blood, especially in this fight against the Feds, confound them! About so often a team needs to change managers, especially when it begins to slip.

The Blue Stockings began to slip last year, and the Feds have given us a push. Locke's young, and he's got the energy to build the team up.

Working together, we can put it on its feet again. He'll have the very best counsel and advice. He's a favorite with the fans, and he'll be tolerated where you would be blamed. He'll come through and win out.

Of that I am certain. The Feds will blow before the season's over, and the woods will be full of first-cla.s.s players begging for jobs. Next season should see the Stockings stronger than ever, and the man who's managing the team's bound to be popular. He'll get a lot of credit."

Lefty had taken a chair. He opened his lips to speak, but stopped when he caught a warning sign from old Jack behind Weegman's shoulder.

"Is that contract ready for the boy?" asked Kennedy.

"I've got it in my pocket."

"Then nail him right now. Push it at him, and we'll make him sign.

Don't let him get away."

Weegman produced the doc.u.ment. Then, for a moment, he seemed to hesitate, flashing old Jack a look and giving Locke a hard stare.

"You understand the conditions?" he said, addressing the latter.

"Yes," answered Lefty, "you made them plain enough for a child to understand when you talked to me in Fernandon."

"Course he understands," cut in Kennedy. "He told me, and I told him to grab on without makin' no further talk. Just as you say, Weegman, with proper advice he can swing the thing. It looks pretty big to him, and he's doubtful. Let him look at that paper."

He took it from Weegman's hand and looked it over himself. It was practically the same sort of an agreement old Jack had signed himself when he took control of the team, and the name of Charles Collier, properly witnessed, had already been affixed to it. With the contract in his possession, along with Collier's power of attorney, Weegman could sign up any one he chose to manage the Blue Stockings. For a fleeting instant Kennedy's face was twisted into an expression of rage, which, however, Collier's private secretary did not catch.

Locke saw that flash of anger and understood; old Jack was playing the fox, and losing no time about it.

"Skullen will do for the other witness," said Weegman, going to the room telephone. "He'll feel bad, of course, but I told him he didn't have a show in the world." He called the operator and gave the number of a room.

While Weegman was engaged, Kennedy handed the agreement over to Locke.

"You sign it just as it is," he directed. "You've had your talk with Mr. Weegman, and you know what he said to you. You don't have to chin it over any more."

By this time Weegman had got Skullen on the phone and asked him to come round to Kennedy's room, giving him the number. Locke sat grimly reading the contract until Skullen knocked at the door.

"Maybe you'll feel bad, Mit," said Weegman, admitting the man, "but you know I told you there wasn't a show in the world of me signing you up as manager. It's settled with Locke, and I want you to witness him put his autograph to the paper. Now don't make a growl, but do as you're wanted."

Skullen kept still as directed, but he looked as if Weegman's first words had surprised him a trifle.

Kennedy had produced a fountain pen and thrust it into Locke's hand.

"Sign right here, son," he urged. "Let's see how pretty you write."

"Wait!" cried Weegman, his eyes on the southpaw, who had promptly moved up to the little table. "You haven't forgotten our talk? You understand?"

"I haven't forgotten a thing," a.s.serted Lefty, boldly and swiftly writing his name. "There it is!"

CHAPTER XVI

THE WRONG STOOL PIGEON

Skullen and Kennedy attached their names as witnesses. The thing was done; Lefty Locke--Philip Hazelton was the name he wrote on the contract--was now manager of the Blue Stockings. He received a duplicate copy, which he folded and slipped into his pocket.

"Now we're all set for business," said Bailey Weegman. "I congratulate you, Locke. One time I was afraid you didn't have sense enough to welcome Opportunity when she knocked. I'll see you later, Mit, if you're around. We've got to square away now and have a little conference. Don't cry because you didn't get the job."

"Cry--nothin'!" said Skullen. "I wouldn't have taken it if you'd handed it to me with twice the salary."

"Old Mit's disappointed," chuckled Weegman, when the door closed behind him, "but he doesn't want anybody to know it. He'll deny he came looking for the position, of course."

Kennedy had seated himself, and Weegman drew a chair up to the table, producing a packet of papers and running them over until he found the one he wanted.

"Here's a list of the men the Feds have grabbed off us," he said.

"Grist, Orth, Temple, Nelson, Hyland, and Lewis. Grist is no particular loss, but Temple and Orth knock a hole in the pitching staff. Nelson was our reliance behind the bat. With Dayly and Lewis gone, the whole side of the infield is wide open. We ought to be able to fill Hyland's place in right garden."

"It's a swell team that's left!" said Locke. "And you told me that Dillon was negotiating with the outlaws."