Luther Bemis blundered. He had been given the signal to let Nuccio steal, but he hit at the ball and raised a foul to Colby, who stepped back upon first and completed a double play unassisted, the Italian having made a break for second. Nuccio was disgusted, and Cap’n Wiley made a few remarks to Bemis that caused the lengthy center fielder to retire to the bench in confusion.

“There has been a sudden addition to the bone crop,” concluded the vexed manager of the Wind Jammers. “Beamy, in order to avoid getting your dates mixed, you should carry a telescope and take an occasional survey of the earth’s surface.”

“Niver mind, cap’n,” called O’Reilley. “I’ll put ye across whin I hit.”

With a twinge of apprehension, Locke sought to trick the confident Irishman into biting at a curve. And, even as he pitched, he was annoyed with himself because apprehension prevented him from bending the ball over. O’Reilley stubbornly declined to bite.

There was a sudden chorus of warning shouts as Sommers returned the ball, and the pitcher was surprised to see Cap’n Wiley running for the registry station. The foxy old veteran was actually trying to steal home on the Big League pitcher. Laughing, Lefty waited for the ball, aware that Sommers was leaping into position to nail the runner. Without undue haste, yet without wasting a second, the slabman snapped the sphere back to the eager hands of the catcher, who poked it into the sliding man’s ribs. Wiley was out by four feet, at least.

“Why didn’t you wait for O’Reilley to hit?” Locke asked.

“I wanted to spare your already tattered nerves,” was the instant answer. “You see, sympathy may be found elsewhere than in the dictionary.”

Still floundering in the bog of doubt, Lefty was far from satisfied. He had told himself that he invited the test which would give him the answer he sought, yet he realized that, face to face with it, he had felt a shrinking, a qualm, akin to actual dread; and he was angry with himself because he drew a breath of relief when the blundering and reckless playing of the Wind Jammers postponed the ordeal, leaving him still groping in the dark.

Sommers led off with a hot grounder, which O’Reilley booted. Playing the game, Locke bunted, advancing Sommers and perishing himself at first.

“Cleverly done,” admitted Cap’n Wiley, “but it will avail you naught. I shall now proceed to decorate the pill with the oil of elusion.”

A friend called to Lefty in the crowd back of first, and the pitcher walked back to exchange a few words with him. He was turning away when a hand fell on his arm, and he looked round to find Weegman there. The man’s face wore a supercilious and knowing smile.

“I didn’t mean to attend this game,” said Weegman, “but, having the time, I decided to watch part of it, as it would give me a good chance to settle a certain point definitely in my mind. What I’ve seen has been quite enough. Your arm is gone, Locke, and you know it. You’re laboring like a longshoreman against this bunch of bushers, and, working hard as you are, you couldn’t hold them only for their dub playing. I admit that you struck out some of their weakest stickers, but you were forced to the limit to do it, and it made that injured wing of yours wilt. They had you going in the last round, and threw away their chance by bonehead playing.”

“Weegman,” said Locke, “I’m tired of hearing you talk. The sound of your voice makes me weary.”

But instead of being disturbed the man chuckled. “The truth frequently is unpleasant,” he returned; “and you know I am speaking the raw truth. Now I like you, Locke; I’ve always liked you, and I hate to see you go down and out for good. That’s what it means if you don’t accept my offer. As manager of the Blue Stockings, you can hold your job this season if you don’t pitch a ball; it’ll enable you to stay in the business in a new capacity, and you’ll not be dependent on your arm. A pitcher’s arm may fail him any time. As a manager, you may last indefinitely.”

“It would be a crime if the sort of a manager you want lasted a month.”

“If you don’t come at my terms, you may kiss yourself good-by. The Feds are going to learn that your flinger is gone; be sure of that.”

“That’s a threat?”

“A warning. If their crazy offer has tempted you, put the temptation aside. That offer will be withdrawn. Every manager and magnate in the business is going to know that as a pitcher you have checked in. There’s only one door for you to return by, and I’m holding it open.” He laughed and placed his hand again ingratiatingly upon Locke’s arm.

Locke shook it off instantly. “Were I as big a rascal as you, Weegman,” he said, with limitless contempt, “I’d make a dash through that door. Thank Heaven, I’m not!”

The baffled man snapped his fingers. “You are using language you’ll regret!” he harshly declared, although he maintained his smiling demeanor to such a degree that any one a few yards distant might have fancied the conversation between the two was of the pleasantest sort.

Lefty returned to the coaching line, taking the place of Tremain; for Wiley had issued a pass to Hallett, Watson was at bat, and the doctor followed Watson. Instantly sizing up the situation, the southpaw signaled for a double steal, and both runners started with the first movement of the pitcher’s delivery. Schaeffer’s throw to third was not good, and Sommers slid under. Hallett had no trouble about reaching second.

“What are you trying to pull off here?” cried the manager of the Wind Jammers. “Such behavior is most inconsiderate, or words to that effect. However it simply makes it necessary for me to inject a few more kinks into the horsehide.”Admittedly he did hand up some peculiar curves to Watson, but his control was so poor that none of the twisters came over and like Hallett, the left fielder walked. This peopled the corners.

“Here,” said Wiley, still chipper and undisturbed, “is that jolly soul who obligingly batted an easy one into my fin the last time. I passed the last hitter in order to get at this kind party again.”

Tremain let one pitch go by, but the next one pleased him, and he cracked the ball on the nose. It was a two-base drive, which enabled the runners already on to score. As the three raced over the plate, one after another, Wiley was seen violently wigwagging toward the bench. In response to his signal, Mysterious Jones rose promptly and prepared to warm up with the second catcher.

“I’m off to-day; perhaps I should say I’m awful,” admitted the Marine Marvel. “A spazoozum like that is sufficient to open my eyes to the humiliating fact that I’m not pitching up to class. In a few minutes, however, you’ll have an opportunity to see Mr. Jones uncork some of the real stuff.”

Wiley dallied with the next batter for the purpose of giving the dummy pitcher time to shake the kinks out of his arm. Apparently Jones did not need much time in which to get ready, for when the sailor presently dealt out another pass the relief twirler signified his willingness to assume the burden.

As Jones walked out upon the diamond, Locke looked around vainly for Weegman. It was possible, of course, that Collier’s private secretary had departed at once following his last rebuff, but somehow Lefty felt that he was still lingering and taking pains not to be seen by Mysterious Jones. Suddenly the southpaw felt a desire to bring the two men face to face, wondering what would happen. There was more than a possibility that such a meeting might present some dramatic features.

Turning back, Lefty’s eyes followed Jones. The interest and fascination he had felt at first sight of the man returned, taking hold upon him powerfully and intensely. There was something in the solemn face of the mute that spoke of shattered hopes, deep and abiding sorrow, despair, tragedy. He was like one who stood aloof even while he mingled with mankind. Knowing other mutes, many of whom seemed happy and contented, Locke could not believe that the peculiarities of Mysterious Jones were wholly due to resentment against the affliction which fate had placed upon him. Behind it all there must lay a story with perhaps more than one dark page.