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'E didn't proveanything ou us,"
argued Red Lynch hopeful ly. as he settled down in the smoker of the night express. "O' course not!" snarled Jake Hart well. "He didn't have to. I tell you we're in Dutch, and all because you made a sucker play and met the man you were doing business with out on a street corner for every one to see. Oh, you're a smart guy! You couldn't have waited for that money for a day or so!" Red refused to have his argument sidetracked. "But if he doesn't prove it," he de manded, "how is he going to keep us out of organized baseball? Tell me that!" "Huh!" snorted the indignant Hart Well. "You talk like a man that wants him to prove it! I tell you that we're up against the same thing as a black list, and Flannery can queer us in any league in the country. If we get gay he'll put in his testimony before the commission, and there we are. Gee! I wish we'd punched Levine in the nose the first time he talked busi ness." Joe Flannery, the manager of the Keatsville Baseball club in the T. D. league, was no analyst, but when he learned that Sam Levine and a few others of his sort were openly making a strong book on each day's game at ifuctuating odds, the little manager started out on a quiet tour of investi gation. Joe hired a private detective and in side of three days word came that Le vine was covering every cent of the local wagers at even money on a cer tain Tuesday's game. The visiting club was a notoriously weak one and the Keatsville team should have been a strong favorite. This in itself was enough to warrant suspicion. Bed Lynch worked on Tuesday with his battery mate Jake Hartwell. In the fifth inning Hartwell threw a short bunt wild into right field, Lynch walk ed two men in succession and the next man up hit an absolutely straight ball to the center field fence for a home run. Again in the seventh inning Lynch, whose control was proverbial, walked one man. hit another and on the double steal Hartwell heaved the ball over the second baseman's head into center and another run came in. Joe Flan nery made a note of these things, kept his own counsel and redoubled his in terest in Sain Levine's operations, j. For several days no suspicious cir cumstance was reported. Levine seem ed to be booking on a percentage basis. Then, on the night of the ninth day, with a tailend team in town to open a series, the bookmaker again offered even money on the visitors. Flannery Another Run Came In. [Posed by Collins and Baker, Athletics.] did not fail to note that Red Lynch was scheduled to work in the opening game against the tai lenders. Lynch threw his own game away in the seventh inning and again Hart well's wild throwing to bases contrlb uted to the defeat That night the pri vate detective followed Red. saw him meet Sam Levine on a street corner and watched the couple disappear into the back room of a saloon. Five min utes later Jake Hartwell walked into the place, bought a glass of beer and entered the back room. Big League Stories J-ByfCHARLESTEVWN LOANT The next morning Joe Flannery sum moned both men to the office. "I'm on." he said grimly, "lou needn't say a word I've got you with the goods, both of you. I know the man you did business with I know •where you went to cut the money. If it wasn't ror stirring up a dirty mess in the papers I'd have you blacklisted and kicked out of baseball, but I'm not going to ruin the attendance this sea son just for a pair of thieving rats like you. I don't care where you go, VII.—A RAIN CHECK From "The Ten Thousand Dollar Arm and Other Tales of the Big League" Copyright. 1912, by Small. Maynird 6* Company BO long as you get out of this town quick, and you cnn bet your life that if either one of you tries to shove his nose back into organized baseball I'll pull this testi mony on you." Here Joe tapped a fat envelope which lay on the desk in front of him.' That envelope contained blank contracts for next season, but the bluff worked well. "Here's what money is coming to you. Now, beat it!*" Some of the Keatsville players may Slave suspected the truth, but pride in the team held them silent, and Red Lynch and Jake Hartwell were whirled away to new fields, quarreling as they went. They had received $100 apiece for the last bit of business, and they felt, too late, that they had sold out their athletic birthrights for a song, and a pretty poor song at that. A stranger in Tucson, Ariz., would have no trouble in locating the sport ing center of that sporty little south western city. It was a billiard parlor on the main street, recognized as the official "hangout" for baseball players, boxers and other professional gentle men. The particular stranger which we have in mind made a few casual ac quaintances, and, quite naturally, Pat sy Delaney, the manager of the Tucson Eagles, came by the information that there was a new player in town. Patsy sought out the stranger and asked a few questions. "They tell me you've played base ball," said he. "Some." "What position?" "Behind the bat mostly," said the stranger, "but 1 can play first or the outfield." "Hum! Hit any?" "Oh, about two-ninety in the semipro leagues around St. Louis." "Come on out to the park tomorrow afternoon," suggested Delaney. Needless to state, there was nothing at all the matter with the way "George White of St. Louis" shaped up. His throwing to the bases was nothing less than a revelation, and he "got the ball away" with a snap that kept the sec ond baseman and the shortstop up on their toes all the while. Even Jack Gibbs. the regular catcher, admitted that White was the best "pegger" he had ever seen. In the batting practice Lew Kelly, the Eagles' mainstay in the box, went out on the slab under instructions to "put something on the ball" for the stranger. Lew obeyed orders, but the way White fell on his wide, round house curve and spattered it to all cor ners of the lot was discouraging, to say the least. "He's a bear, Pat," said the discom fited Kelly. "Did you see the way he murdered that drop ball of mine?" "You bet!" said the manager cheer fully. "White asked for the verdict a few minutes later. "How about it?" he said carelessly. "Think you can use me?" "Use you!" ejaculated Delaney. "You bet your life I can use you! Two games a week. The players split the money sixty and forty after the man agement takes out 25 per cent of the gross." "Uli-huh!'' said White, without en thusiasm. "And how much does this cut usually run?" "Never less than $25, and sometimes as much as $-10," said Delaney, fully expecting to see White's eyes light up at the news. "Not good enough," said White cold ly. "I'll tell you what I'll do. Make it a guarantee of $50 a week and you're on." "I'll try yon for a week," Delaney said. This was on a Tuesday. Each after noon some of the players went to the park for practice, and, as in every town, the embryo diamond stars turn ed out to assist them. On Thursday six members of the Tucson team were languidly warming up on the field, when a lanky, red headed young man climbed down out of the bleachers where he had been sitting in solitary judgment. The red headed stranger removed his coat, vest, collar and tie, and. borrowing a glove from a small boy, took a place in line with the near performers. "Who's the bricktop?" asked White. "Looks to me like a pitcher." Patsy scrutinized the newcomer. "You can search me," he said. "Some tramp ball player. I guess. The woods are full of 'sm." "Well." said White, after some time spent in watching the stranger. "I don't know about his being a tramp. Pat, but take it from me he sure is one pippin of a pitcher." "Is that so?" said the manager, be ginning to show some interest "I hadn't noticed it" "Well, I have," announced White positively. "Whe-e-w! What do you know about that speed? Talk about a smoke ball! Tell you what I'll do. I'll get him to pitch some to me and we'll turn him loose on these fellows in the batting practice. You understand, I haven't seen Lew Kelly in a game yet and I don't know how good he really is, but I've seen him warm up and, be lieve me, this redhead has got more than Kelly ever saw!" "Think so?" said Delaney eagerly. "Try him out. If we had another good pitcher now we'd be loaded for bear." White loafed over and spoke to the kanlt.v stranger. "Come on, kid!'' he whispered. "The manager's over by the stand. He wants to see how you work against hitters. Give him some of that Class A stuff." The redhead went into the box, whirled over a few preliminary balls and Delaney sent his Eagles up with instructions to tear the cover off the ball. Dutch Schmidt. Tucson's famous home run hitter, almost broke his back reaching after a fadeaway drop. House McGhee. the fighting short stop, "swung like a garden gate" and Kid Peters, Moose Jones and Smil ing Kelly did no better. The red head made them look foolish with a dazzling succession of fast balls, slow balls, curve balls and a jumping in shoot. which hummed as it cut the in side corner of the plate. The Eagles were wounded in their vanity, but Patsy Delaney was the happy man. "Can he pitch!" snorted the catcher. "Why, say, that sorrel top has got half these big leagures cheated! He's a wonder, I tell you. Grab him!" So the sorrel top was grabbed. He said that his name was Eli Bates and he came from Eugene, Ore., where he had pitched ball "a little." On Sunday morning the Bisbee Griz zlies came whooping into Tucson for a two game series. The Grizzlies were a chesty aggregation, which had been making life a burden for the Phoenix Terrors, the Prescott Grays and the Cananea Coyotes. The Eagles had always been easy plucking for the Bisbee club, and the sporting men who journeyed with the team offered to bet 2 to 1 on the game in which Moreno would pitch, or S to 10 that the Grizzlies would win both games. Pete Moreno, a Mexi can, was their star pitcher, with a season's record of eleven victories and a single defeat. "Better get you some of that 2 to 1," said White to Delaney. "I've taken $50 worth myself. This 'Oregon baby' will eat 'em alive!" Lew Kelly pitched on Saturday and was properly and painfully lambasted by the Grizzlies. The only bright spot was the work of the new catcher. lie threw out the first three men who started to steal second base, caught one man napping off first and another off third and made three long hits out of four times at bat. After the fourth inning the Grizzlies hugged the bases and waited for the safe hits. George White of St. Louis had them "glued to the sacks," as the morning paper ex pressed it But on Sunday the "Oregon baby" was called upon to face the invincible Moreno, and, as White had prophesied, he ate them alive. Just as a sample of what he could do if really pressed, Eli Bates of Eugene struck out the first four men who faced him and sent the entire Grizzly lineup back to the bench sore from swinging at his deceptive curves. Some of them drew fouls, which White cared for others hit weakly down the infield and were toss ed out at first base. In about seven minutes Tucson was aware that the red headed recruit "had something," and the betting odds switched to even money. Pete Moreno held his own until the sixth inning, when White smashed out a long triple, and the redhead followed him with a vicious line drive between Moreno's shoulder and ear. White scored, and the Mexican pitcher blew up with a loud report. Before he re covered Dutch Schmidt whaled the ball over the left field fence, and three runs won the game. In no time at all the Eagles, once a team feared by none, became the ter rors of the Arizona circuit. The bet ting switched until Tucson men fought for a chance to bet 2 to 1 on Bates whenever he pitched. Patsy Delaney took his club on a tour, and it won eight games out of ten, Eli Bates scor ing six shut outs. One night shortly after the Eagles returned home Oily Tom Blake, a gambler reported to be worth well into five figures, received a call from George White. George sparred very cleverly for an opening, found it and unfolded a plan which caused Oily Tom to set out some very aged liquor and open a box of cigars. Then he listened in tently for twenty minutes, nodding from time to time. "It's the softest thing you ever saw," urged White. "They'll give any kind of odds you want to name, because this pitcher hasn't lost a game and never even had to pitch his best against these clubs. To make it all the better these Eagles can't hit Mo reno with a bed slat. That Mexican's a mighty good pitcher. And if we don't get any runs off him it'll be the easiest thing in the world to slough the game to Bisbee. Say something happens to this Bates and he gives a couple of bases on balls and I cut in with a wild heave over a baseman's head—there goes your old ball game, eh? Why, it's as safe as a government bond. With the amount of money they're betting now you ought to be able to clean up eight or ten thou sand." "Yes." said Blake thoughtfully. "But what security do 1 get for my money? How do I know that you ain't going to cross me Instead of everybody else In town?" White fished out a roll of bills. "Put that in with what you bet," he said. "That's Bates' money and mine —$500. Think we'd double cross our own bete?" THE COURIER-DEMOCRAT, THURSDAY. JULY 16, 1914 This conference took place ou a Monday night On Saturday the Bis bee Ciri/xlies were coming over to play their last engagement. They were not overconfident. Bates liad beaten Moreno three times and struck out so in.'i-: tlie Bisbee piayers that it \v:,- Ins-Dining a habit with him. :l 1 •v Bates in tin? box, the Tucson xi'".:.- would "siand a tap" without ie:i hesitation. a O n ,. "Now to get the money .. would never do for Blake tin- i:i the transaction, but a niriii liiim Bisbee might do the work. :i wrote a letter and sat down i. developments. He li-ew t!:-• in in whom the letter was written too uvil ihat man's pea. of mind, and he feii si'.re that his friend May he v.- would not fail him. i(:i Thu:s:l :.v a man registered at the hest bote! in Tucson and scrawled "Bishee" after his name. "1 understand." said this individual, "that there'--- some money here thai says you've got a ball dub in Tucson." "All the 2 to 1 you want!" said the clerk. "There's a man right over there by the cigar stand who was just saying he'd like to get a bet." And then, quite by accident, of course. Tom Blake drifted over to the desk in time to hear the Bisbee man say that Moreno's arm was better than ever. Tom stated his opinion that Moreno was "yellower'n canary bird. and, of course, the man from Bisbee offered to bet that he wasn't, and the hotel clerk hold the first wager. That was the opening gun of the campaign, and Oily Tom was under cover. Tucson received this Bisbee booster with open arms, whereupon he Hashed a roll of bills as thick as a man's wrist and announced his in tention of going broke if Pete Mo reno was not the greatest pitcher in the southwest. Tucson was willing to accommodate him, and he did a land office business for two days, and no bet was too large for him and none too small. AH he wanted was 2 to 1, and he got it. and his only stipulation was that the money should go on the game in which Moreno pitched. Sunday dawned clear and cool under a sky dappled with tiny fleecy clouds. The sporting population of Tucson managed to exist until noon, when it snatched a hasty lunch, and the exodus to the ball park began. The lone tick et seller, working with both hands, surveyed a waiting line and remarked to himself that it was going to be a big day, if not the big day of the sea son. White and Bates met outside the shack which served as a dressing room for the players. It was characteristic of White's caution that he had seldom if ever been seen in the company of the red headed pitcher. "Remember, now," was the catcher's warning. "We can't make this thing look bad. It's got to be done artis tically. This is the country where they string you up to a telegraph pole, you know. Maybe it would be a good thing to walk a couple of men and let Culpepper or Bateman hit it a mile. They'll hit ha/rd enough if you'll groove 'em for 'em. And shut 'em out the first part of the game. Don't pull it until the seventh anyway. Savvy?" "Jake," said the pitcher admiringly,, "you've got a great head for businessv haven't you? Leave it to me. I'll, blow this game so nice and easy that these folks won't know how bad they're hurt for a week." Then they went out where glory waited, and sporting Tucson stood up and welcomed those precious- burglars as she has never welcomed a president of the United States. Why describe the- first six innings? Pete Moreno drove the few Bisbee men crazy when he struck out White in the third inning and followed by making the peerless Eli hit a- weak foul back of first base. Considering it as a contest between pitchers it was a remarkable exhibi tion. but Tucson unhesitatingly award ed premier honors to Eli. the incom parable. Moreno had been hit safely three times and had given one base on balls the Grizzlies had yet to make their first single, and- Eli had issued 110 transportation. The score was rep resented by a double row of ciphers on the board excitement ran high and loud, and the few Bisbee men realized with sinking hearts that Eli was pitch ing as they had never seen him pitch before. At the end of the sixth inning White found a chance to whisper to Eli. "Better let 'er go in this inning," be whispered. "It's clouding up and there may be a storm. Slip in one or two runs and it'll stiffen this Mexi can's backbone. They'll never get a foul off him if he gets a lead." Joe Dorsey, the weakest hitter on the visiting club, who waited on a pitcher because he was afraid to hit and miss, opened the seventh inning, and Eli soon had three balls and two strikes on him. In order that it might look "good" the last ball was a drop curve, aimed about two feet low. No man with any judgment, seeing that the ball was going to hit the plate itself, would have offered at it. but Joe Dorsey was a bad batter, and he swung. There was nothing for White to do but let the ball get away from him, and Dorsey hustled for first base. White straightened up with the ball when Joe was almost on the sack and slammed away, a wild, blind heave ten feet over Smiling Kelly's glove. The right fielder was taken entirely by sur prise and Dorsey went from first to third. In the grand stand they were beginning to call for three strikeouts— anything to keep that man on third base. The fence breaking Culpepper was next at bat Oul hated a drop curve but he could knock the cover off a straight ball, and that was what Eli offered him. Cul lined it back as straight as it had come. Eli stuck out his hand mechanically, the ball hit his glove and dropped dead at his feet. It was a startling bit of fielding for the crowd, and a still more startling bit of fielding for Eli himself. And there was the ball at bis feet, and Joe Dorsey was halfway between third and the plate. Eli made a snatch for the ball and dribbled it along the ground for ten feet. When he did pick it up he whipped it to White like a bullet, but he was very careful to throw the ball shoulder high, and as it thudded into the big catcher's mitt, Joe Dorsey slid over the plate low and safe. The crowd was stunned into silence. An error apiece for this wonderful pair— and a run for Bisbee. What was going to happen next? They were not kept in suspense very long. Eli, thinking of the money, made up his mind that since the public idol had to have a clay foot, he might as well have a pair. Culpepper was on first base. Eli knew well that Smil ing Kelly had a fatal weakness. A ball low down on his bare hand side would get away from him nine times out of ten. And, of course, that was why Eli tried to nab Culpepper off first base by throwing with all the strength in his arm low down and on the "meat hand side." The ball went bopping to the bleachers, Culpepper went bopping to second base and the Tucson crowd was hopping IUJHI. Eli threw bis glove on the ground and walked around in circles. White ran in as if to steady him, but what he said was: "Give 'em another one, and then wind her up quick. Look at the clouds!" Eli knew that Slattery, the next hit ter, liked a ball high up under liis shoulders, and high up it came. If Slat tery had put in a mail order for it he could not have been better suited. Slattery knocked that free will offer ing into center for a single* and Cul pepper scored. Tucson was very sick. Delaney, on the bench, was desperate. Then suddenly the Eli of blessed memory blossomed, forth just as if he had never been under an eclipse. He struck out two men with seven pitched balls, and the third one fouled into White!s glove. There was an ominous rumbling in the west as the teams changed sides and an ominous grumbling in the grand stand. If Eli expected applause for locking the stable door after he had stolen the horse he was disappointed. Pete Moreno looked at the figure 2 on the scoreboard for the first half of the seventh, and it struck him that thes-j Eagles were not so fierce after all easy picking. Then Pete fell into the common error of those of his blood. He grew careless, tried to "show off" a new curve ball with which he had been experimenting and Mouse walked, slightly reviving the hopes of the populace. Smiling Kelly missed two mighty swings and then rolled one gently down the first base line. Mouse Mc Ghee reached second base, but theTuc son men knew that this was no time to play for single runs. It would take a cluster of three to win, two would save the bacon, and the rain was com ing out of the west on the wings of a stiff wind. Kid Peters walked out, swinging his short black bludgeon. "What shall I do, Pat?" he asked. "Do your dest!" said the man ager desperately. Kid Peters obeyed orders to the let ter, for he fanned without so much as touching the ball, and Moreno grinned at his catcher. There was not a sound in the grand stand. The Tucson root ers had one eyes on the diamond and one eye on the sullen masses of black clouds rolling up from the west. No need for some fool on the bleachers to yell "Now or never!" Without doubt this, would lie the last full inning play ed. Mouse McGhee was waiting on second base, and "two hands were gone." Moose Jones shut his eyes and took a crack at the first thing that resem bled a baseball. Moose was not much of a hitter at best, but there are times when the man who swings blindly in troduces the element of luck into a contest of skill. The ball dropped safe in short right field, but the Mouse had no chance to score. Third base was the best he could do. and the Moose stayed on first Bingo Bodie spent some time select ing his weapon, and he picked out the biggest and the heaviest bat he could find. Then he dug his spikes into the turf and addressed Pete Mo reno. "Come on, you yellow hammer!" he taunted. "You ain't game enough to stick one over. There never was a game guy in the whole Moreno family. Every one of em would quit. Stick it over. I dare you!" Moreno grinned, for he was seasoned to pleasant conversation. He knew that Bodie was not a first ball bitter and that he did a great deal of talk ing. Moreno confidently expected Bodie to wait for the first one at any rate, and he cut loose his fast ball. To Mo reno's disgust Bingo swung as if he never expected to have another chance at a straight ball in his life. It was the kind of a wallop that makes every man in the grand stand grunt in sym pathy. What was a great deal more important. Bingo Bodie hit that fast ball squarely on the trademark. Out in left field Culpepper of the Bisbee club took a few flying steps and then stopped to save his breath for profan ity. The ball sailed out against the back ground of black until it was no more than a tiny white speck floating in space, bung between heaven and earth for an instant and then settled down gracefully beyond the fence—the long PAGE SEVEN est home run ever .• in Arizona. And just as the white in point was blotted out by the line o!' the fence, just as the three base runners were getting under way. just as 4.000 wild men and women came tip in a cheer ing wave, just as Ton: Blake's new cigar slipped down inside his speckled waistcoat, the first great drops of rain began to whisper to the shingled roof. Silver Bill Barrett, the umpire, was the last man to leave tiie diamond. Pausing an instant at the plate, he looked at his watch, and. in a sten torian voice which sounded above the bowling wind and the pelting rain. Silver Bill called lime. Oily Tom Blake seized the dripping: umpire as he hoisted himself into the stand. "It's called off. ain't it?" demanded: the gambler anxiously. "It oughtn't to go unless they play the full nine innings!" Silver Bill reached into his hip pock et and brought out a well thumbed volume. "Rule 74. section 1!" he bellowed. "If it rains for half an hour 1 have v'A Bingo Swung as if He Never Expected to Have Another Chance. [Posed by Bescher, New York Giants.] the power to terminate the game. Want to see the book?" Oily Tom did not wish to see the book. "But the bets?" be asked. "They stand, of course!" "Could they go on and finish the game in half an hour?" Tom was begging now. "Say?" demanded the umpire sud denly, "which club have you been bet ting on? Finish the game! Man, this, ain't no rain! This is a flood!" Blake sat down, looked at his watch* examined the somber sky. but found, no comfort there, looked at his watch again, and then settled down, chin on his chest, to the melancholy con templation of the diamond, fast being turned into a lake. Ha- was working out a sum in mental, arithmetic, and: the result caused him to wince as it in pain. Silver Bill watched the gambler out of the corner of his eye. He also was working out a little- problem of his own. Over in one corner of the stand, the victorious Eagles were holding an informal reception, and Silver Bill Bairrett noticed the- fact that Eli Bates, the incomparable one, was not cele brating with his fellows. He sat apart, staring out: on the field. Silver Bill was no Sherlock Holmes, but he could put two and two together as well as the next man. Darkness was. settling down over the city. The storm had spent itself, though in the distance the lightning winked and the thuncter muttered. Two men were picking their way down a side street which led to the railroad yards. "Well, Jake," said the red headed one. "you've got a great business he- I. I've got t& hand it to- you!" "That's right!" snarled the n^in ad dressed, as Jake. "Blame me for itl I made it rain, I suppose!" A man came running after them, splashing through the puddles. "All bell's loose!" he panted. "Ev erybody in town is ou to us. They got May hew soused, and he gave up. They'll tar and feather yoa both!" Jake and the red headed one looked at each other with bulging eyes. "Tar and feathers!" said Eli Bates. "This is no »lace for a minister's son!" "That's what I get" panted Blake, "for listening to a pair of cheap crooks like you! I've got to jump the town and lose 6,000 bucks!" Over in the railroad yard a heavy freight engine began to cough hoarse ly, and a long string of empty cars clanked into motion. Red Lynch look ed at Jake Hartwell and then at the freight train. Then both looked at Tom Blake. "What do I get for my $6,000?" de manded the gambler bitterly. "I guess we'll have to give you a rain check for it." snid Lynch. "Come to think of it. we owe you something for letting this story get out" Hartwell looked at the moving cars and measured distance and speed with a practiced eye. Then he nodded at Lynch. "A rain check and a receipt!" said the red head. And the next thing Tom Blake knew he was picking himself out of a mud puddle with a lump on his jaw the size of a turkey egg. Red Lynch could do more than pitch baseball with that right arm of his. Some time later, bedded down for the night on the jolting floor of an empty furniture car. Red Lynch thought of something. "Oh, Jake! Asleep?" Hartwell grunted savagely. "Jake, when I was a kid I had a copybook, and there was a line in it that said 'Honesty is the best policy.'" "Well?" "Ob. nothing," said Lyncb, ffrinnia* into the dark, "bat I guess that CM* in baseball anyway."