Baseball Joe Around the World; or, Pitching on a Grand Tour Read online

  CHAPTER III

  THE STRANGER'S VISIT

  Promptly the next morning at eleven, Westland put in an appearance at theMatson home. He was carefully groomed and everything about him indicatedmoney. He fairly exuded prosperity.

  He greeted Joe with a cordiality that seemed a trifle overdone,considering their brief acquaintance.

  "By George, Mr. Matson," he said, "this town has fallen for you all right.The whole place is buzzing with that affair of last night, and I don'twonder. If it hadn't been for you, the coroner and undertaker would bebusy this morning."

  "Oh, I don't know," responded Joe. "If I hadn't got to it someone elsewould. It wasn't much of a blaze anyway, and ten to one it would have goneout of itself."

  "Modest I see," laughed Westland. "They say that all great men are. Butyou can't get anyone in this town to take such a slighting view of it asyou do yourself."

  "You said last night that you had a business matter you wanted to see meabout," suggested Joe, in order to change the subject.

  "So I have," replied Westland, "and I've traveled over a thousand miles totalk to you personally about it."

  He lighted a fresh cigar while Joe waited indifferently. He had beeninterviewed so much in the last year or two on all conceivable subjectsthat his curiosity was scarcely awakened.

  "Of course, Mr. Matson," began Westland, "you've heard of the new majorleague that has just been organized and----"

  Joe's bored feeling vanished and he was wide-awake in an instant. So thiswas what the visit meant! Jim's prediction was coming true sooner than hehad expected.

  "Pardon me, Mr. Westland," he interrupted, "but if this is about baseball,I have a friend visiting me who is as much interested in the game as I am.In fact, he's a player himself. It's Jim Barclay of the Giants. You'veheard of him, of course. Hello there, Jim!" he called, as he threw openthe door into the adjoining room, where Jim was watching a distractingdimple come and go in Clara's cheek as they chatted together.

  "Really, Mr. Matson," said Westland, visibly flustered, "much as I wouldlike to meet Mr. Barclay, I would rather----"

  But just then Jim came strolling in, and Joe hastened to introduce him. Hehad used the stratagem in order to have a witness at hand. He wasdetermined that no false or twisted version of the interview should begiven out broadcast in the interest of the new league.

  Despite his annoyance, Westland was diplomat enough to make the best ofthe situation, and he acknowledged the introduction graciously.

  "Mr. Westland called in connection with the new league we were readingabout yesterday, Jim," explained Joe, "and I knew that you would beinterested and so I called you in."

  Jim's jaw set a trifle, but he only nodded and Westland went on:

  "I'm a business man, Mr. Matson, and so are you. So I won't beat aroundthe bush, but come straight to the point. You're the greatest pitcher inthe country, and we want to secure your services for the new league. We'vegot oceans of money behind us, and we're prepared to let you name your ownterms. We'll give you anything in reason--or out of reason for thatmatter--if you'll sign up with us."

  He delivered himself of this with the air of a man sure of having hisoffer accepted. But if he had expected Joe to gasp with astonishment anddelight, he was disappointed.

  "Well," said Joe quietly, after a moment's pause, "that's certainly a veryliberal proposition----"

  "Oh, we're no pikers," put in Westland complacently.

  "But there's one little thing in the way," Joe went on; "and that is thatI'm already signed up with the Giants for the next two years."

  Westland saw that he was in for a tussle and braced himself.

  "Of course, of course," he said, with the tolerant smile of a man of theworld. "I didn't think for a minute that McRae would let his kingpin runaround loose without being signed up. But you know what baseball contractsare. They're so jug handled that no court would uphold them for a minute.In fact, McRae wouldn't dare to bring it into court. He may threaten andbluster, but that will be the end of it. That ten-day clause alone wouldkill it with any judge."

  "Even admitting that I could break my contract with the Giants and getaway with it," said Joe, leading him on, "what guarantee would you havethat I wouldn't do the same thing with you if I should want to?"

  "The guarantee of your own self-interest," replied Westland, flicking theash from his cigar. "We'd make it so much worth your while to stay with usthat there wouldn't be any inducement to go anywhere else."

  "In other words," said Joe, with a touch of sarcasm, "if you once boughtme you'd rely on your money to see that I'd stay bought."

  "Now, now, Mr. Matson," put in Westland deprecatingly, "there's no useputting it in so harsh a way as that. This is simply business I'm talkingto you, and in this world every man has got to look out for Number One.Now I don't know how much money McRae pays you, but I make a guess thatit's about five thousand a year, a little more or a little less. Now I'lltell you what we're prepared to do. We'll hand you twenty thousand dollarsthe day you put your signature to a contract with us. Then we'll agree topay you fifteen thousand dollars a year for a three-years' term. And tomake the whole thing copper riveted, we'll put the whole amount in thebank now, subject to your order as you go along. So that even if the newleague should break up, you could loaf for three years and be sixty-fivethousand dollars to the good."

  With the air of one who had played his trump card and felt sure of takingthe trick, Westland from out his pocket drew a fountain pen.

  "Put up your pen, Mr. Westland," said Joe calmly, "unless you want towrite to those who sent you here that there's nothing doing."

  Jim brought his fist down on the arm of his chair with a bang.

  "That's the stuff, Joe!" he cried jubilantly. "You knocked a home run thattime."

  A look of blended astonishment and vexation came into Westland's eyes. Heseemed to doubt the evidence of his ears.

  "Surely you're joking, Mr. Matson," he said. "No man in his senses wouldturn down such an offer as that."

  "I must be out of my senses then," replied Joe, "for that's exactly whatI'm doing."

  "Perhaps you think we're bluffing," said Westland, "but money talks, andhere is where it fairly shouts."

  He drew from his pocket a roll of bills of large denominations and laid iton the table.

  "There's the signing-up money," he explained. "They wanted me to bring acertified check, but I insisted on the actual cash. Count it if you likeand take it to the bank if you doubt that it's good. There's twentythousand dollars in that roll, and every cent of it's yours if you putyour name at the bottom of this contract."

  He laid an official-looking document on the table beside the bills, andleaned back in his chair, ostensibly intent on the end of his cigar, butwatching Joe keenly from the corner of his eyes.

  That pile of crisp yellowbacks was more money than Joe had ever seen atone time in his life, except through the bars of a cashier's cage. And allhe had to do was to reach out, sign his name, and the next minute thrustthe bills into his pocket. They meant independence. They meant security.They meant the power and comfort and luxury that money can give.

  But they also meant treachery and dishonor, and Joe never wavered for aninstant.

  "It's a lot of money, Mr. Westland," he agreed, "but it isn't enough."

  A look of relief came into Westland's eyes. Perhaps his task wasn'thopeless after all.

  "If that's the case, perhaps we can raise the figures a little," he saideagerly, "although we thought we were making a very liberal offer. But asI said before, we're no pikers, and we wouldn't let a few thousands standbetween us. State your terms."

  "You don't understand," replied Joe. "What I meant was that there isn'tmoney enough in your whole crowd to make me go back on my word and jump mycontract."

  "Hot off the bat!" exclaimed Jim. "Gee, I wish McRae and Robbie and therest of the Giant bunch could have heard this pow-wow."

  Westland evidently had all he could do to contain himself. He h
ad felt soserenely confident in the power of his money that he had scarcely allowedhimself to think of failure. Yet here was his money flouted as though itwere counterfeit, and he himself, instead of being greeted with open arms,was being treated with scorn and contempt.

  "Upon my word, Mr. Matson," he said, with an evident effort to keep cool,"you have a queer way of meeting a legitimate business proposition."

  "That's just the trouble," retorted Joe. "It isn't legitimate and you knowit. In the first place you're offering me a good deal more than I'mworth."

  "Oh, I don't know about that," expostulated Jim loyally. "There's at leastone man in the league getting that much, and he never saw the day when hewas a better man than you are."

  "More than I'm worth," repeated Joe. "Still, if that were all, and youwere simply trying to buy my baseball ability, it would be your own affairif you were bidding too high. But you don't want to give me all this moneybecause I'm a good pitcher. It's because you want to make me a good liar.You think that every man has his price and it's only a matter of biddingto find out mine."

  "Now, now!" said Westland, spots of color coming into his cheeks.

  "And more than that," went on Joe, not heeding the interruption, "you wantto make me a tool to lead others to break their contracts, too. I'm to bethe bellwether of the flock. You figure that if it's once spread abroadthat Matson has jumped into the new league, it will start a stampede ofcontract breakers. I tell you straight, Westland, it's dirty business. Ifyou want to start a new league, go ahead and do it in a decent way. Getnew players and develop them, or get star players whose contracts haveexpired. Play the game, but do it without marked cards or loaded dice."

  Westland saw that he had lost, and he threw diplomacy to the winds.

  "Keep your advice till it's asked for!" he snarled, snatching up the moneyand jamming it viciously into his pocket. "I didn't come to this jay townto be lectured by a hick----"

  "What's that?" cried Joe, springing to his feet.

  Westland was so startled by the sudden motion that he almost swallowed hiscigar. Before Joe's sinewy figure he stepped back and mumbled an apology.Then he reached for his hat, and without another word stalked out of thehouse, his features convulsed with anger and chagrin.

  As he flung himself out of the gate, he almost collided with a messengerboy bringing a telegram to Joe.

  The latter signed for it and tore it open hastily. It was from the Giants'manager and read:

  "I hear the new league is coming after you hotfoot. But I'm betting on you, Joe.

  "McRae."

  He handed it over to Jim who read it with a smile.

  "Betting on me, is he?" said Joe. "Well, Mac, you win!"