Skullen and Kennedy attached their names as witnesses. The thing was done; Lefty Locke–Philip Hazelton was the name he wrote on the contract–was now manager of the Blue Stockings. He received a duplicate copy, which he folded and slipped into his pocket.

“Now we’re all set for business,” said Bailey Weegman. “I congratulate you, Locke. One time I was afraid you didn’t have sense enough to welcome Opportunity when she knocked. I’ll see you later, Mit, if you’re around. We’ve got to square away now and have a little conference. Don’t cry because you didn’t get the job.”

“Cry–nothin’!” said Skullen. “I wouldn’t have taken it if you’d handed it to me with twice the salary.”

“Old Mit’s disappointed,” chuckled Weegman, when the door closed behind him, “but he doesn’t want anybody to know it. He’ll deny he came looking for the position, of course.”

Kennedy had seated himself, and Weegman drew a chair up to the table, producing a packet of papers and running them over until he found the one he wanted.

“Here’s a list of the men the Feds have grabbed off us,” he said. “Grist, Orth, Temple, Nelson, Hyland, and Lewis. Grist is no particular loss, but Temple and Orth knock a hole in the pitching staff. Nelson was our reliance behind the bat. With Dayly and Lewis gone, the whole side of the infield is wide open. We ought to be able to fill Hyland’s place in right garden.”

“It’s a swell team that’s left!” said Locke. “And you told me that Dillon was negotiating with the outlaws.”

“He hasn’t jumped; he hasn’t had the nerve,” sneered Weegman, snapping his fingers. “Instead, he’s been howling for a contract. You’d find him waiting if you didn’t sign him until the first of April.” For just a flicker he had actually seemed to betray annoyance because Pink Dillon had not followed the example of the deserters, but he ended with a laugh.

“It seems to me,” said the new manager, “that I’d better get busy and try to save the pieces. The men who haven’t jumped should be signed up without delay.”

“Of course,” agreed Weegman blandly. “You must send out the contracts. Unluckily, I haven’t any blanks with me, but I’ll see that you are furnished with them to-morrow.”

“Every day counts, perhaps every hour; by to-morrow we may lose another good man, or more.”

“Not much danger, and you don’t want to make the mistake of getting into a panic and trying to do things in too much of a hurry. We’ve been farming some clever youngsters, more than enough to make up a team; but you should consult with Kennedy about them, and take only the right ones. You’ll have the most trouble getting hold of pitchers.”

“Youngsters,” said Locke, “are all right; but do you mean to suggest that we should stop the gaps wholly with men who lack Big League experience? You know how much show that sort of a team would have in the race. We’ve got to make some deals that will give us some players who have ripened. It’ll cost money, too.”

“Right there,” said Weegman, “is where you’re going to need the check-rein. Charles Collier won’t stand for needless extravagance in that line, I know, and I shall not countenance the purchasing of high-priced men.”

The blood rose into Lefty’s face; he tingled to tell the rascal something, but again a warning flicker of Kennedy’s left eye restrained him.

“There are lots of good youngsters coming on,” said the veteran soothingly. “There were three or four I could have used last season if I’d had room for them. We’ll run over the list and see how they’ll fit in.”

For another hour they continued in conclave, and a dozen times Weegman took occasion to impress upon Locke that he should do nothing definite without receiving Weegman’s approval. When he seemed to feel that he had driven this into the new manager’s head, he excused himself on the pretext of attending to a pressing matter, and departed, leaving old Jack and Lefty together. Kennedy quietly locked the door. Lefty jumped to his feet and began pacing the floor like a caged tiger.

“Never had such a job to keep my hands off a man!” he raged. “Only for you, I’d–”

“I know,” said old Jack, returning and sitting down heavily. “I wanted to kick him myself, and I think I shall do it some day soon. He’s crooked as a corkscrew and rotten as a last year’s early apple. But he ain’t shrewd; he only thinks he is. He’s fooled himself. You never agreed to his verbal terms, and, just as I said, he didn’t dare put them in writing. According to that contract, you’ve got as much power as I ever had, and you can exercise it. It’s up to you to get busy. Don’t wait for contract forms from Weegman; they’ll be delayed. I have plenty. Wire the old players who are left that contracts will be mailed to them to-night.”

Locke stopped by Kennedy’s chair and dropped a hand on the old man’s shoulder.

“And you’re going to St. Paul?” he said. “You’ve been handed a wretched deal.”

“Nix on the St. Paul business, son; there’s nothing to it. That wolf thought I swallowed that guff. Byers is Garrity’s friend, and it’s plain now that Garrity’s mixed up in this dirty business. It was easy enough to ask if I’d consider hooking up with St. Paul. By the time I got round to saying yes, Byers could tell me it was off. This time, Lefty, I’m out of the game for good.” His voice sounded heavy and dull, and his shoulders sagged.

The southpaw was silent, words failing him. After a few minutes old Jack looked up into the face of his youthful companion, and smiled wryly.

“You’ve got a little glimpse of what goes on behind the scenes in baseball,” he said. “The fans that pay their money to see the games look on it, generally, as a fine, clean sport–which, in one way, it is. That part the public pays to see, the game, is on the level. There’s a good reason: the crookedest magnate in the business–and, believe me, there’s one who can look down the back of his own neck without trying to turn round–knows it would spell ruin to put over a frame-up on the open field. By nature the players themselves are like the average run of human critters, honest and dishonest; but experience has taught them that they can’t pull off any double deals without cutting their own throats. People who talk about fixed games, especially in the World’s Series, show up their ignorance. It can’t be done.

“But when it comes to tricks and holdups, and highway robberies and assassination, there’s always somethin’ doing off stage. What you’ve seen is only a patch. The men who run things are out for the coin, and they aren’t any better, as a rule, than the high financiers who plunder railroads and loot public treasuries. They’ll smile in a man’s face while they’re whetting the knife for his back. Some of them have put the knife into Charles Collier now, and they intend to sink it to the hilt. You’ve been picked as a cat’s-paw to help them pull their chestnuts off the coals. They intend to fatten their batting average at your expense, and when it’s all over you’ll be knocked out of the box for good. You’ll get the blame while they pluck the plums.”

“Kennedy,” said Locke, his voice hard as chilled steel, “they’ve picked the wrong stool pigeon. My eyes aren’t sewed up. With your help, I’m going to find a way to spoil their villainous schemes. I know you’ll help me.”

The veteran sprang up, a bit of the old-time fire in his face. “You bet your life, son! That’s why I wired for you to come on, and that’s why I wanted you to pretend to take the hook and sign up with Weegman. I knew we could work together, and it puts us in position to get the harpoon into them before they wise up to what’s doing. Let’s get busy.”