the Shortstop (1992) (16 page)

After the first game, which Findlay won, Chase met a very agreeable, smoothfaced, quiet-looking man. Chase had seen him about town somewhere, and was under the impression that Cas or Mac had said he was one of the many gamblers known in the oil-belt. He talked baseball and appeared friendly, so Chase treated him civilly. The next day h
e
met him again. They sat in the lobby of the hotel and talked a while. It appeared the man had an engagement with Speer and was waiting for him. Some time later Chase saw the stranger with Speer and noticed that the latter had been drinking. This occasioned Chase some surprise, because Mac expected to pitch Speer in the next game, and Mac's rules in regard to drink were stringent.

On Saturday, when Chase passed the small park near his boarding house, he encountered the agreeable gentleman sitting on one of the park benches. " Hello, Chase. Fine hot day for the game. Sit down. I've been enjoying the shade."

Chase took a seat, more from his habit of pleasantry than from any desire to converse with the man. He was aware of a close scrutiny, but being used to that sort of thing took little heed of it.

" How about the game today? " asked the fellow. " Weaell win. We've got to have two out of three."

"Think there's any chance to win some money?" " I never advise bets."

The gentleman adjusted his cuffs, picked a. thread off his coat sleeve, and flicked the dust from his patent leather boots. Then quite casually he glanced all around the park. "Have you seen Speer this morning?" he asked.

"No."

"Hum! I - he said he expected to see you. Mebbe he will yet."

Then he took a roll of bills from his pocket, snapped off a rubber and unrolled them, showing tens and twenties, rolled them up again and snapped on the band He was most deliberate. His next move was to hand the roll to Chase. "Stick that in your pocket."

Chase would have been more surprised if he had not already been the recipient of so many presents; still this seemed out of all proportion. He could not imagine why a big sum of money should be handed him by a total stranger, and he said so.

"'You're wise. If not, Speer will put you wise," replied the man, agai
n
adjusting his cuffs.

Is this money for me?"

" Sure."

" What for?"

" Aren't you wise? "

" I certainly am not."

"Well, I got a chance to win a few thousand this afternoon - "

" Here, I won't try to place any money for you.

"That bundle's for you, and you'll get another like it -if I win."

" Do you mean you are going to bet on Findlay and give me this mone
y
to make me play all the harder? Because, if you do, take it back. I
c
ouldn't play any harder for ten thousand dollars."

" Not exactly. You see I'm betting on Columbus."

" Oh-h! "

Then the man shook off his slow, deliberate manner, rose to his feet
,
and glanced at Chase with keen, hard eyes. " You're wise now, aren'
t
you? "

" Not exactly," said Chase, slowly.

"It's a cinch. You're going to pull off a couple of hundred. It's lik
e
finding money. I've got Speer fixed. Now all you need to do is to fall ove
r
a couple of grounders this afternoon or make a wild throw at a critica
l
time. See!"

" You're asking me to - "

" Lay down, be off your form - "

"You're trying to buy me to throw the game? " Chase rose unsteadily.

" Hum! Call it so if you like, but - "

In blind rage Chase threw the money in the gambler's face and pushe
d
him violently with his left hand. The gambler staggered against th
e
bench. Then Chase swung his right arm with all the power he coul
d
summon. Gambler and bench went down together.

" You hound! " cried Chase, quivering. " I 'll have you run out of town fo
r
this." On the instant Chase wheeled and hurried down the avenue to th
e
hotel. He went directly to Speer's room, to find the pitcher lying on hi
s
bed looking rather sick.

" Speer ! What's this I hear? " demanded Chase, and he breathlessly de!
s
cribed the proposition that had just been made him.

" Ain't it rotten of me? He bought me, Chase. But I was drunk," sai
d
Speer, in tears. " I'm sober enough now to know what a deal it was."

"Sure you were drunk!" exclaimed Chase. "But I won't peach, old man.

You just forget it and cut out drinking with strangers after this." Chas
e
bolted downstairs to collide with Mac, Cas, Enoch, and Thatcher, al
l
going in to lunch. "Fellows, I just punched a man who tried to buy me t
o
throw the game. Flashed a hundred on me. Tried to put it in my pocket."

" Wha-at? " roared Cas. " Where is he?"

Mac swore. " Smooth-faced guy, well dressed, big blinker in his necktie?

I saw him hangin' round. What we won't do to him - "

"Come on!" roared Cas.

" Wait; get the gang ! " shouted Enoch. But the smooth-tongued
,
smooth-faced gentleman could not be found.

Several passengers at the station testified to seeing a gentleman answering that description - except that he had a badly swelled and discolored eye - going north along the tracks.

That night the story was town talk and Chase was a hero.

Chapter
XIII.

SUNDAY BALL
.

SAY, shure I got somethin' to tell you Indians thet I ain't stuck on," sai
d
Mac. " The directors hev decided to play Sunday ball! "

The boys could not have made a more passionate and angry outbreak i
f
they had heard they were to be hanged. " Beef ! Beef ! " shouted Mac
,
red as a lobster. " Haven't I been agin it? You puff-in-front-of-the-hote
l
stiffs talk as if I was to blame."

" Wha-at?" roared Castorious.

" Gimme my release!" cried Benny, who had recently taken to attendin
g
a certain church. Benny never did anything by halves.

The Dude flung his bat through a window, carrying away glass and sash.

All except Chase were violent in word and action, and he was too greatl
y
surprised to move or speak. Mac's position often assumed exasper!
a
ting phases. This was one of them. He tried reason on the most choleric of his players with about as much success as if they had been brass mules. They persisted in venting their spleen on him. Then he lost his temper.

" Flannel-mouths! Hev you all swallowed red-hot bricks? Cheese it now, cheese it! The guy thet doesn't report here Sunday gets let down, an' fined besides. Got thet ? "

Chase left the gounds in some distress of mind. The past four weeks had been so perfect that he had forgotten things could go wrong. Sunday ball! It had never even occurred to him. To give up his place on the team and all the bright promise of the future he could not consider for a moment. He would have to reconcile himself to the inevitable. But what would his mother say? He might keep it from her, he did not need to tell her; she would never find it out. No! The temptation lasted only a mo!ment. He would not deceive her.

And then a further consideration weighed upon him. If he played base!ball on the Sabbath in order to attain a future success, would that success be an honest one? He was afraid it would not. He had been trained to respect the Sabbath. If he kept faith with his training he must confess Sunday games were wrong. Nevertheless he could not harbor the idea of resigning his place. This made him feel he was wilfully doing wrong. And he plunged into bitterness of spirit.

It was with no little curiosity that Chase went out upon the field on Sunday. The grandstand looked as usual; many familiar faces were there. The bleachers were packed, and a line of men and boys, twenty deep, extended along to the right and left of the diamond. Chase had never seen such a crowd in the grounds. Nor had he ever seen such enthusiasm.

All at once it occurred to him that here were hundreds and thousands of boys and men who worked every hour of daylight six days in the week. They were new to him, and he saw that he was as new to them. They had never seen him play. They had never before had
a
chance to see a ball game in Findlay.

A question came naturally to Chase's quick mind. Had they played the game when mere tots on the commons and learned to love it, as had he? A blind man would have answered in the affirmative. They were wild and bubbling over from sheer joy. If they loved the game and had only one day to go, albeit that day was Sunday, were they doing harm? Chase could not answer that. But he knew whatever it was for them applied also to him.

Findlay won the first Sunday game. A greater and noisier crowd had never before been in attendance. Noise! the field was a howling bedlam. The boys ran like unleashed colts; the men cheered their own players, roared at their opponents, and at each other.

In his heart Chase was trying desperately hard to justify his own part in it, and because of that he saw much and found food for reflection. Well he knew the pallor of these boys; it came from the dark, sunless foundries. The hun!
d
reds of men present had a yellowish, oily look;. they were the diggers and refiners, the laborers from the oil-fields. At first Chase thought their unbridled mirth, their coarse jests at the umpire, at the players, and themselves, their unremitting wild, hoarse yells, as unnatural as strident.

Then suddenly a smile here, a laugh of delight there, told him all this was only natural. These men and boys had found expression for their pent-up feelings, for a short delight in contrast to the long day. This was their hour of freedom.

"Yell! That's right, yell!" muttered Chase through his teeth as he went up to bat. He felt for them, but could not quite understand. He drove one of his famous liners against the fence. " Yell for that ! " he said to himself. A long screeching, swelling howl of rapture rose from the field and stands. It rang in Chase's ears as he sped round the bases, and when, after sliding into third, he stood up, he saw a sight he never forgot. The crowd was one leaping, tossing, waving, Crazy mass.

With Chase, to get the track of anything, was to trail it to the end. The faces and actions of that crowd made him think; their frenzied glee made him sad, because it reminded him of his old longing for freedom, and its very violence bespoke the bottled-up love of play. These men and boys wanted to play, and circumstances had made it so they could not. They loved to play, As they had mothers, sisters, brothers, children, to support, they had no time to play. As the next best thing they loved to see some one else play. And they had only one day - Sunday.

" It's this way," said Chase to himself. " If these men and boys spend their Sundays at home and in church, then Sunday ball is wrong. If they spend it otherwise, then Sunday ball is not wrong."

Chase was tenacious and stubborn. He found he had loved the game as a boy because of the play in it; now he loved it because of what it was doing for him, because he believed in it. And he set himself to find out what it might b
e
doing for others. He could not write to his mother till he had decided the question. So he spent much of his leisure time going the rounds of the foundries, factories, refineries, brick-yards, and he took care to drop into all the saloons, the beer-gardens, and dance-halls. Everywhere he was known and welcomed. He asked questions, he listened, and he watched.

When another Sunday had passed he was in possession of all he needed to know. With immeasurable relief he decided that, while he would rather not have played Sunday ball, it was not wrong for him to do so. He even decided he was doing good. Thus he settled the perplexing question forever in his own conscience. He would tell his mother how he had arrived at his conclusion, and as for others it did not matter what they thought.

All this time Chase had not been blind to certain indications of coolness on the part of people who had hitherto been pleased to be courteous and affable And as these indications had come solely from chance meetings in the streets, h
e
began to wonder how much deeper this coldness would go, provided he sought the society of these persons. That thought alone kept him away from Marjory for over a week. He believed she would understand, and still be his friend. But instinctively he feared her mother; and he had a momentary twinge when he called to mind the young minister so welcome in the Dean household.

One evening when a party of ladies coolly snubbed him, Chase could stand the suspense no longer. So he presented himself at Marjory's home, and much to his relief found her on the porch alone. "Chase, mama has forbidden me to see you," she said, with her blue eyes on him.