The Zane Grey Megapack

by Zane Grey

  “Here I am, ma’am. What can I do for you?” replied the pitcher, rising.

  “My husband sent me, sir. Jim Ayers he is, sir, an’ used to work in Findlay, where he knew you,” she said in a low voice. “He wants to know if you’ll help him—lend him a little money. We’re bad in need, sir—an’ I’ve a baby. Jim, he’s been out of work an’ only got a job last week, an’ the second day he was run over by a team—”

  “I read it in the paper,” interrupted Cas. “Yes, I remember Jim.”

  “He said you’d remember him,” she went on eagerly. “Jim, he had friends in Ohio. He oughtn’t never to have left there. He hasn’t done well here—but Jim’s the best fellow—he’s been good to me—an’ never drinks except when he’s down on his luck.”

  Cas gently turned her toward the light. She was only a girl, pale, worn, sad.

  “Sure, I remember Jim,” said Cas, hurriedly. “Fine fellow, Jim was, when he left off drinking. I’ll lend Jim some money, Mrs. Ayers, if you’ll promise to spend it on yourself and your baby.”

  The young woman hesitated, then with a wan, grateful smile murmured, “Thank you, sir, I will.”

  “Now, you just go around the corner and wait.” Castorious led her a few steps toward the corner.

  When she had gotten out of sight he took a roll of bills from his pocket, and detaching one, put it in his hat. “Dig up,” he said, thrusting the hat under Mac’s snub nose.

  “Cas, you’re easy. You remember Ayers, don’t you?” replied Mac.

  “I do. He was strictly N.G., a booze fighter, an all-around scamp. I wouldn’t give him the price of a drink. But that girl, his wife—did you see her face?”

  “I did,” growled Mac, with his hand moving slowly toward his pocket.

  “Dig up, then.”

  Mac dug, and generously. The tall pitcher loomed over Thatcher. “Can you spare the price of a few neckties to aid a poor woman?” he asked, sarcastically.

  “I can,” instantly replied the Dude, throwing a bill into Cas’s hat.

  Ball players fight out rivalries even in their charities. Cas glanced grandly down on the Dude, and then passed to Havil.

  “The pot’s opened for five,” he said to Havil. Next to shooting shot, Havil liked best a game of poker. In a flash he had contributed to the growing fund.

  “I’m in, and it costs two more to play,” he replied. “Hicks, come on.”

  “Cas, I’m broke, an’ Mac won’t give me a cent till Saturday night,” answered Hicks.

  “Borrow, then,” rejoined Cas curtly. He threw his roll of bills into the catcher’s lap.

  Chase and several of the other players were ready for Cas, and so escaped calumny. Enoch mildly expostulated. “I’m gettin’ tired of bein’ buncoed this way,” he remarked.

  “Produce. Ain’t you the captain? Don’t you draw the biggest salary? Produce,” went on the inexorable Cas.

  “But, Cas, you’re always helpin’ some beggar or other.”

  “Wha-at!” demanded Cas hotly. “It was only last week you touched the team for a hobo. Produce!”

  Enoch meekly produced.

  “Wha’s the matter?” inquired Benny, lounging out of the hotel door. As usual he was under the influence of drink.

  “Hol’ on, Cas—gee! Wha’s all the dough for? Lemme in.”

  “Never mind, Benny,” replied Cas.” Just raising a little collection for Jim Ayers’ wife. Remember Jim?”

  “Got drunk with Jim many a time—hol’ on there. Wha’s the matter? Is my money counterfeit?”

  Benny was the most improvident of fellows. He seldom had any money. And his bad habit excluded him from many of the plans and pleasures of his comrades.

  “Say, Benny, this isn’t a matter of the price of a beer,” replied Cas, moving toward the corner.

  Benny straightened up. “You’re only kiddin’ me—if I thought you meant that for an insult—say! I’m just as much a sport an’ gennelman as you, any day.”

  Thereupon Benny soberly thrust his hand into his pocket, pulled out a bill and some silver, soberly turned the pocket inside out to get the small change, and with great dignity dropped all the money into Cas’s hat.

  THE SHORTSTOP [Part 2]

  CHAPTER X

  MARJORY AND POND-LILIES

  It was July second, and Chase was happy. Many things had occurred to make him so; summed up, they made a great beautiful whole. The team had won fourteen straight victories before dropping a game to Columbus and had come home in first place. He had kept up his good work, especially at the bat.

  Friends he had made everywhere. What a rousing welcome Findlay had given its team on homecoming! On the first of the month he had drawn one hundred dollars and had sent it home to his mother. While in Columbus, Mac had taken him to see a surgeon, a wonderful specialist, who had injected something into the corner of his crooked eye, had cut a muscle or ligament, and then bound a little black cap over the eye, cautioning him to wear it till a certain time. Chase had managed to play with only one eye, but now the time was up. That morning he had temporarily slipped off the black cap to find he did not recognize the straight glanced, clear-eyed person in the mirror.

  Then there was another thing which, though he would hardly admit it to his own consciousness, had more than all else added a brightness to his day. An exceptionally large and enthusiastic audience had attended yesterday’s game, and in the grandstand, sitting among a merry crowd of young people, he had seen golden hair and blue eyes that he knew. He looked again to make sure.

  It was Marjory. And the whole grandstand seemed to grow gayer and brighter, the shrill cries of excited rooters had a joyous ring, the very sky and field took on a warmer color. The wonder of wonders was that at a critical stage of the game, when by fast sprinting he scored a run and was passing by the stand, he looked up to catch wonderfully, in all that sea of faces and waving hats, a smile meant for him.

  Even the abuse of his fellow-players, renewed doubly since the homecoming, had no power to affect him after that smile. And a significant remark of Mittie-Maru’s had further enhanced the spell: “I’ve fixed it fer you, all right, all right. You mosey out along the river. See!”

  Chase had turned hot and cold at Mittie’s speech, had lamely questioned him further, but nothing more, except elaborate winks, could be elicited from the mascot.

  And all this was why Chase was happy and roaming wild in the meadows. It was a soft, warm summer morning. The larks were turning their black-spotted yellow breasts to the sun and singing their sweet songs. Chase tramped and tramped and ever resolutely tried to turn away from the maple-grove along the river. But every circle led that way, and he found himself at last in the shade of the trees. Through the bushes he caught a glance of the cool river, and then he saw a boat and a glimpse of blue and a gleam of gold. He tried to run away, but could not. His steps led him down the sandy path to the huge old maple.

  “Good-morning, Mr. Chase. Why, aren’t you lost?” Marjory’s blue eyes regarded him in laughing surprise.

  Chase had a vague thought that somehow he was lost, but all he could think of to say was that the weather was fine for the time of year.

  “It is—lovely,” she said.

  Then he had a brilliant thought, and he wondered why it had not come sooner. “Were—you going to—row?”

  “Oh, yes. I row every morning.”

  “Might I—would you—I—I like to row.”

  “You do? How nice! Then you must row me up to the meadow-pond where the lilies grow.”

  Chase awkwardly got into the boat. Whatever was wrong with his hands and feet? When he had seated himself and straightened the oars he began to row. She was very close to him. He had not looked up, but he saw her little feet and the blue hem of her gown.

  “You’re rowing into the bank,” she said.

  “Why—so I am.” Hastily he turned out and then was careful to row straight. The boat glided smoothly and silently. The little river meandered between high green
banks. Tall trees cast shadows on the water. Here were dark patches of shade, there golden spaces of sunshine. Birds were flitting and singing.

  “Have you seen Mittie-Maru?” asked Chase.

  “Yes, indeed. Lots of times. I’ve seen his den and fished with him, and we’ve rowed after pond-lilies and had fine times together.”

  What was there in her simple, kind words to make him feel so strangely toward Mittie? Of course, he was glad she had been with Mittie, but somehow the gladness was an entirely new thing. All at once he discovered he was sorry that the Findlay team had to play games on the road. If it had not been for that he could have helped her give Mittie a good time.

  “Here’s the pond,” said Marjory. “It’s very shallow, so you must be careful or we’ll stick in the mud.”

  Chase saw that the river widened out into a large basin. There were islands, and bogs, and piles of driftwood. The green and gold and white of pond-lilies sparkled on all sides. The place was alive with birds and water denizens. Kingfishers resented the invasion; water-wagtails skimmed the surface and screamed plaintive cries. Turtles splashed off stumps, and frogs plunked under the lily pads. Snakes sunned themselves in bright places. And a great gray crane stood solemnly on one leg and watched.

  “I want a pink one,” said Marjory, after Chase had gathered a mass of dripping lilies. He rowed around the pond and at last located a lily of the desired color, but could not reach it from the boat. He stepped out upon a log and stretched as far as he could reach.

  “Oh! You’ll fall in!” cried Marjory, in sweet solicitude.

  Chase slipped off the log and went in with a great splash. The water came up to his waist. He managed by grasping a branch to avert a worse disaster, and securing the coveted pink lily, climbed back upon the log and so got into the boat.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said.

  “It’s nothing. I’ll dry in a little while.”

  Then they both laughed. Chase rowed back to the bank and placed the boat so that Marjory was in the shade of an overhanging grapevine, and he sat out in the sun. Somehow her merry laughter had given him courage, so he raised his glance to look at her. She had been only pretty before. Now, though…!

  But the blue of her eyes meeting his drove away his thoughts.

  “When will you be able to—to take off that eye-shield?” she asked.

  “Why—how did you know?” he asked, breathlessly.

  “I heard, and I read the baseball notes every day.”

  “You do?” exclaimed Chase. Then he took off the shield and threw it away.

  “Oh! I’m glad. But—but are you sure it’s time.”

  “Yes. I only waited because—well that is—I—I wanted you to see me first.”

  This appeared to be an unfortunate remark, for Marjory colored a soft rose under her white cheeks and began diligently to sort the lilies.

  “Mittie-Maru will be glad,” said Chase.

  “If only he could be cured, too!” she replied. “Do you know he suffers all the time, and sometimes dreadfully, yet he never says a word?”

  “Yes, I know. Poor Mittie!” Chase found it much easier to talk, now she avoided looking at him. “You were at the game yesterday. Do you like baseball?”

  “Oh, yes, indeed. I like the running, and I love to see the ball flying, but I don’t understand much of the game.”

  “Won’t you let me teach you?”

  “Thank you, that would be nice, but I’m so stupid.”

  “Stupid! You?” Chase laughed at the hint of such an impossibility.

  A blue flitting gleam flashed upon him from under the long lashes. “Oh, I am. Now what is a bingo?”

  “A bingo? Why that’s baseball talk for a safe hit, a ball knocked safely out of the reach of a fielder.”

  “What does Captain Winters mean when he hops ’round the base and yells ‘Mugg’s Landing! Irish stew! Ras-pa-tas’?”

  “He’s coaching then, saying any old thing to try to rattle the pitcher.”

  “Oh, is that it? What do you do with a base after you steal it?”

  “Stealing a base means to run from first to second, or from second to third, without being put out. It really means stealing the distance, not the base.”

  “What’s a foul?”

  “A ball hit any way back of the white lines running from home-plate to first and third base.”

  “What’s a knocker? A fellow who gives the ball a knock?”

  “That’s more baseball talk. A fellow who speaks ill of another is a knocker.”

  “Oh, but doesn’t he play the game too? I heard Mr. Winters say he was captain and first knocker. I’m surprised about him. He has such a nice face.”

  “Captain Winters meant he was the first batter.”

  “Then why did he say he was first knocker? Oh!—you see I’m stupid. I knew you’d see it.”

  “I haven’t seen it.”

  “You have. You as much as said so. I won’t go to any more games.”

  The flash of reproachful fire and the glimpse of a petulant face that accompanied the words caused a sinking of Chase’s heart. What in the world had he said?

  “Marjory—” he cried. Then at the sound of his voice, at his boldness in so addressing her, he halted and began to fumble over his wet shoes and squeeze the water out of his coat. There was a long silence. He dared not look up. How quiet she was! How angry she must be!

  “We had better row home,” she said at last.

  He squared his shoulders and pulled hard on the oars. The little red boat flew over the placid water, leaving a troubled wake. Fast as he rowed, he thought it a long way to the maple landing. All the way, he never looked up or spoke. He could not think very connectedly; he only knew a terrible calamity had befallen him.

  He moored the boat and turned to help her out.

  Marjory glanced at him over a great load of pond-lilies which she held with both arms. At the very top of the load, just under her lips, lay the pink lily.

  “Take it,” she said.

  “W-what?” stammered Chase.

  “The pink one.”

  “Then—it’s all right” cried Chase, taking the lily. “We’re—you’re not angry?”

  “Because you said I was stupid? Oh, no.”

  “I didn’t say so. But I meant—about the—”

  “You’re the stupid one.” She tripped up the bank and turned again with her blue gaze shining above the lilies. “I’m having a little party tomorrow night. Will you come?”

  “Yes, yes, I’ll come—thank you.”

  “Good-bye.”

  Then the blue eyes and blue dress were gone. Chase had nothing to prove that they had been there except the pink lily which he clasped close to make sure of its reality. She had told him to take it, and she meant it to be his. Keep it? Forever!

  He tramped the meadows like one possessed. The sunlight dazzled him; the river shone like silver; the meadows gleamed white and gold. A glamour lay upon the world. The winds blew sweet in his face. The blue sky came down to meet the horizon like a deep azure curtain. Overhead, all around, sounded a low, soft, steady hum. To him it was music. He ran through the clover field and burst upon Mittie-Maru at his dinner-task.

  “Mittie, I never was so glad to see you. I’ve been on the river—been boating—pond-lilies. See, this pink one. Isn’t it lovely? I fell in trying to reach it. She gave it to me—isn’t that great? And we had a quarrel—I called her Marjory, or stupid, or something—we didn’t speak for an age—I was sick. Then she gave me this, bless her! And Mittie, she’s asked me to her party—it’s tomorrow night—she really asked me. Oh!—”

  “Say!” yelled Mittie, with all his might. “Cut it out, will you? Hey! I been pluggin’ yer game with her fer two weeks just to be mushed over like this? I knew you had it bad, but I’ll be dinged if I thought you’d go dotty. You’re up in the air. Steady up! Steady up, old man! If you get rattled this way in the first inning, what’ll you do when they tie the score a
long about the fifth? Miss Marjory’s got a raft of fellars, as ain’t no wonder. An’ thet preacher guy I don’t like is settin’ the pace. Come down out of the air, Chase, me Romeo. Keep cool, play hard, an’ along about the eighth hit one over the fence an’ put the game on ice. Now, hev some dinner with yer Uncle Dudley.”

  CHAPTER XI

  INSIDE BALL

  Findlay lost the second game to Toledo, and according to Mac, largely through the weird playing by Chase. The Chronicle gave the excuse that Chase had not had time to accustom himself to the new arrangement of his eyesight, hence his errors. Mac, however, was not disposed to be generous, and after the game, told Chase he might expect a “call” when there was time to give it. And the players had heaped such terms of reproach upon Chase that he was well nigh distracted. He felt the cardinal necessity of acting on Castorious’s advice, yet was loath to bring matters to such an issue.

  On the day following, when he presented himself at the grounds, he met Mittie-Maru at the dressing-room entrance. It was evident that Mittie wanted to speak to him, but had only time for a warning glance before the explosion came from the players.

  Chase walked to his locker through a storm of billingsgate, and somehow he sensed this was the climax. He turned his back, hurriedly got out his suit, and began to dress. If it must come to a fight, he preferred to fight in his uniform. He listened to the storm, and for moments could scarcely distinguish any particular player’s voice or epithet. Then suddenly he heard mention of a boat and a girl in such manner that his blood leaped through him like a flame.

  The moment had come. He was on his feet trembling. “Hold on!” he yelled. “I know you’re after me. But come now, one at a time—unless you’re cowards!”

  A blank silence followed his words. Castorious slowly separated himself from the others. Enoch glanced keenly at Chase and said, “I’m called, sonny. I was only kiddin’.”

  Chase eyed the next player, who happened to be Havil.

  “Me, too,” he said.

  “I only said you’re a swelled-up mutt,” put in Thatcher, with a disarming smile.