Hugh Fullerton - Jimmy Kirkland and the Plot for a Pennant

Time was called and players rushed to assist the injured third baseman. Kennedy threw off his mask and ran to the bench.

"I signaled him and told him to pitch fast and waste two," he said to Manager Clancy. "He nodded that he would and then crossed me and lobbed up an easy curve inside the plate."

"Don't say a word," cautioned Clancy, as McCarthy, still dazed, but recovering, was helped to his feet. "Keep ordering him to pitch fast and outside. Signal me if he disobeys again."

McCarthy got onto his feet unsteadily, while the trainer worked with his numb and aching arm. He winced with pain as he tried to throw to see how badly his arm was damaged. While he was walking slowly back to the bag, testing his arm anxiously, McCarthy had the second shock. The cheering in the stands drew his attention, and as he glanced toward the crowd he saw a girl. She was sitting in one of the field boxes between two men and she was staring straight at him. McCarthy lifted his cap, as if acknowledging the tribute to the crowd, but really in salutation to the girl, who flushed angrily. A wave of resentment stirred McCarthy. He strove to think that she had failed to recognize him, yet feeling that the cut was deliberate.

Play had been resumed, but McCarthy's mind was not upon it. A sharp yell from Swanson aroused him from his reverie just in time to see a slow, easy bounding ball coming toward him. He leaped forward, fumbled the ball an instant, recovered and threw wild. Two runners dashed home, the batter reached second. McCarthy was thoroughly unnerved. A few moments later he permitted an easy fly ball to fall safe in left field without touching it. His errors gave the Maroons two more scores, and, although the Bears rallied desperately late in the game, it was too late, and they were beaten 5 to 3.

A sullen crowd of players climbed into their 'bus under punishment of the jeers of the crowd that gathered to see them start back to their hotel. McCarthy, with his shoulder and head aching, but with his heart aching worse, sat with his chin drawn down into the upturned collar of his sweater, refusing to be comforted. The Bears were in second place, half a game behind the Panthers, and he, McCarthy, had lost the game. Williams was smiling as if pleased and McCarthy blazed with anger.

"Come to the hotel parlor at eight this evening. I wish to see you."

The note, hastily scribbled on hotel letter paper, was awaiting him when Kohinoor McCarthy entered the hotel after the disastrous game. He recognized the angular scrawled writing at a glance. Since the moment his eyes had met those of Helen Baldwin during the game he had been thinking hard. Her behavior had hurt him and the thought that she deliberately had refused to recognize him stung his pride. The note proved she had recognized him on the field. Either she was ashamed of his profession or did not want the men with her to know that she knew him.

McCarthy ate a hurried dinner and paced the lobby of the hotel. He was anxious to meet the girl, yet he felt a dread of it, an uncertainty as to the grounds on which their acquaintanceship should be resumed. For nearly half an hour he waited, growing more impatient with every minute and wondering whether there had been a mistake. His mind was busy framing a form of greeting. When last they met it had been as affianced lovers. Now – A rustle of soft garments brought him to his feet and he stepped forward with outstretched hand to meet the tall, slender girl who came leisurely from the hallway. Her mass of light, fair hair framed a face of perfect smoothness.

"Helen," he exclaimed quickly, "this is a pleasant surprise."

"I wish to talk with you, Larry," she replied without warmth, as she extended a limp hand, sparkling with jewels.

"It is good to see you, Helen," he exclaimed, a bit crestfallen because of her manner. "What brings you East? I was nearly bowled over when I saw you to-day. I thought you did not know me, but I see you did."

"Surely you did not expect me to bow to you there," she responded. "Did you desire all those people to know that I had acquaintances in that – that class?"

"Then you chose to cut me deliberately?" he asked.

"Don't be foolish, Larry," she replied. "A girl must think of herself and I did not choose to have my companions learn that I was acquainted with persons in that – profession, do you call it?"

"Well, if you are ashamed of my profession" – he said hotly.

"Nonsense," she interrupted him. "I simply did not desire to have people see me speak to a person who earns his living sliding around in the dirt on his face. That is what I wanted to see you about. What new prank is this? Are you seeking notoriety?"

"I am earning my living," he said. "Baseball is the only thing I could do well enough to make money."

"Earn your living?" The girl's surprise was sincere. "You haven't broken with your Uncle Jim, have you?"

The girl's eyes grew wider with surprise, and her tone indicated consternation.

"I have – or, rather, he has – cut me off," the boy explained rather sullenly. "I tried to find a job – thought it would be easy here in the East, but no one wanted my particular brand of ability, and I tried something I knew I could do."

"Then you – then your uncle" – the girl's consternation was real, and she hesitated. "Then our engagement" —

"I thought that was broken before I left," he replied. "You said you wouldn't marry me at all if I told Uncle Jim."

"I thought you would be sensible," she argued. "Everyone at home thinks you are sulking somewhere in Europe because of a quarrel with me. Why didn't you write to me?"

"After our last interview it did not seem necessary," he said.

"Oh, Larry," the girl said, pouting, "you've spoiled it for both of us. If you had done as I wanted you to do everything would have been happy, and now you humiliate me and all your friends by earning your living playing with a lot of roughs."

"They're a pretty decent lot of fellows," he responded indignantly.

"Why did you do it?" she demanded, on the verge of tears from disappointment and annoyance.

"I quarreled with Uncle Jim," he admitted. "I told him I wanted to marry you, and he told me that if I continued to see you he'd cut me off."

"And you lost your temper and left?" she concluded.

"Just about that," he confessed. "He told me I was dependent upon him, and said I'd starve if I had to make my own living. Of course, I could not stand that" —

"Of course," she interjected stormily. "I told you that he hated all our family, but that if we were married he would forgive you."

"I couldn't cheat him that way," he replied with some heat. "Besides you had broken with me. I knew he hated your uncle – but I thought if he knew you" —

"He would have," she said, "if you had given him a chance."

"I told him I could make my living – a living for both if you would have me," he confessed.

"Playing ball?" Her tone was bitter. "And you had an idea you would come East and make your fortune and come back and claim me?"

"I did have some such idea when I left," he confessed. "It wasn't until I was broke and unable to find work that I realized how hopeless it was to think of you."

"I couldn't bear being poor, Larry," the girl spoke with some feeling.

"We were poor once. Be sensible. Go back home and make up with Mr. Lawrence – and when I return" —

"I am making a good salary," he said steadily. "I can support two. If you care enough" —

"I couldn't marry a mere ball player," she said, shrugging with disdain.

"You used to like it when I played at the ranch and at college," he retorted angrily.

"That was different," she argued. "There you were a hero – but here you are a mere professional."