CHAPTER IX
AN OLD ENEMY
Baseball Joe started as he looked at the man more closely.
"Bugs Hartley!" he ejaculated. "I thought we'd seen the last of thatfellow. I imagined that by this time he'd be in jail or in a lunaticasylum."
"He'll get there some time likely enough," replied Jim. "But just nowhe's here. That's Bugs as sure as shooting."
It was evident that the man had recognized them also, for he stoppedsuddenly, as though debating whether to advance or retreat. He decidedon the former course, and with an air of bravado came toward them. Joeand Jim would have passed him without speaking, but he planted himselfsquarely in their path, a malignant look glowing in his bleary eyes.
"So here you are again," he snarled, addressing himself to Joe.
"Sure thing," answered Joe coolly. "You see me, don't you?"
"I see you all right," replied Hartley, as his eye took in Joe'swell-dressed form. "All dolled up too. The man who took the bread andbutter out of my mouth. Oh, I see you all right, worse luck."
Bugs Hartley had been a well known character in baseball for someyears. He had gained his nickname from his erratic habits. He had neverbeen any too strong mentally, and his addiction to liquor had stillfurther contributed to throw him off his balance. But he had been aremarkable pitcher, with a throwing arm that made up for some of hismental deficiencies, and had played in several major league clubs. Forsome years he had been a member of the Giants, and was still a memberwhen Joe joined the team. His vicious habits and utter failure to obeythe rules of discipline had made him a thorn in his manager's side, butMcRae had tolerated him because of his unusual skill in the box.
Joe had felt sorry for the man, and had done all he could to help himalong. Once he had found him wandering intoxicated in the streetson the eve of an important game, and had got him off quietly to bedso as to hide the matter from McRae. But there was no gratitude inHartley's disposition, and besides he was consumed with envy at seeingJoe's rapid progress in his profession, while he himself, owing to hisdissipation, was going backward.
On one occasion, he had tried to queer Joe by doping his coffee justbefore the latter was scheduled to pitch in a game with Philadelphia.His hatred was increased when, after being knocked out of the boxduring a game, Joe had taken his place and won out. McRae at last lostpatience with him and gave him his walking papers. Hartley's twistedbrain attributed this to Joe, though as a matter of fact Joe had askedMcRae to give Bugs another chance.
Hartley's reputation was so bad as a man and it was so generallyunderstood that he was through as a pitcher that no other club cared toengage him. This increased his bitterness against the supposed authorof his misfortunes. On one occasion he had tried to injure Joe in adark street by hurling a jagged bolt of iron at his head, and the onlything that saved Baseball Joe was that at the moment he had stooped toadjust his shoelace. At that time Joe might have handed him over to thepolice, but instead he let him go with a warning. Now he had again metthis dangerous semi-lunatic in the streets of New York.
"Now look here, Bugs," said Joe quietly and decidedly. "I'm just abouttired of that kind of talk. I've done everything I could for you, andin return you've doped me and otherwise tried to hurt me. You've beenyour own worst enemy. I'm sorry if you're hard up, and if you needmoney I'll give it to you. But I want you to keep away from me, and ifthere's any more funny business you won't get off as easily as you didlast time."
"I don't want your money," snapped Bugs. "I'm after you, and I'll getyou yet."
"I don't think you'd better try it. It won't get you anywhere, exceptperhaps in jail."
"There's ways of doing it," growled Hartley. "Ways that you ain'tdreamin' of."
A sudden thought struck Joe.
"Do you mean anonymous letters?" he asked, looking keenly intoHartley's eyes.
"Anon-non--what do you mean?" the man asked sullenly. He was anilliterate man and had probably never heard the word before.
"Letters without any name signed to them," persisted Joe.
"Aw! what are you giving me?" snapped Hartley. "I don't know whatyou're talking about."
His mystification was so genuine that Joe knew that his shot, fired atrandom, had missed the mark. He could eliminate Hartley at once as apossible author of the anonymous letter Mabel had received.
"Never mind," said Joe. "Now one last word, Bugs. Twice you've tried todo me up and twice you've failed. Don't let it happen a third time. Itwill be three strikes and out for you if you do."
He made a move to pass on. Hartley seemed for a moment as though hewould bar the way, but the steely look in Joe's eyes made him thinkbetter of it. With a muttered imprecation he stepped aside, and the twofriends moved on.
"A bad egg," remarked Jim, as they walked along.
"I don't know whether he's just bad or is mad," replied Joe regretfully."A combination of both I suppose. He's got the fixed idea that I'vedone him a wrong of some kind and his poor brain hasn't room foranything else. It's too bad to see a man that was once a great pitchergo to the dogs the way he has. I suppose he picks up a few dollars nowand then by pitching for semi-professional teams. But most of that Isuppose is dissipated."
"Well, you want to keep on your guard against him, Joe," warned Jim, insome anxiety. "A crazy man makes a dangerous enemy."
"Oh, I don't think there's any need of worrying about Bugs," rejoinedJoe carelessly. "The chances are ten to one we'll never run across himagain."
The encounter had rather spoiled their morning, and they hailed ataxicab to take them back to their hotel. There they had lunch and thenrode up to the Polo Grounds for the game.
As Joe had predicted, the Bostons that afternoon were out for bloodand they evened up the score. Markwith pitched a good game except forone bad inning when he lost control, and hits, sandwiched in withpasses and a wild pitch, let in three runs. He braced up after that,but it was too late, and the Giants had to take the little end of thescore.
In the next two weeks the Giants met the rest of the Eastern teams,and, taking it as a whole, the result was satisfactory. They had notrouble in taking the Phillies into camp, for that once great team hadbeen shot to pieces. The majority of the Boston games also went to theGiants' credit. They met a snag, however, in Brooklyn, and the teamfrom over the bridge took four games out of six from their Manhattanrivals. But then the Brooklyns always had been a hoodoo for the Giants,and in this season, as in many others, they lived up to the tradition.
Still the Giants wound up their first Eastern series with a percentageof 610, which was respectable if not brilliant. But now their real testwas coming. They were about to make their first invasion of the West,where the teams were much stronger than those of the East. Cincinnatiwas going strong under the great leader who had once piloted thePhillies to a championship. Chicago was quite as formidable as in theyear before, when the Giants had just nosed them out at the finish.St. Louis, though perhaps the least to be feared, was developingsluggers that would put the Giants' pitchers on their mettle. But mostof all to be feared was Pittsburgh, which had been going through therest of the Western teams like a prairie fire.
"Pittsburgh's the enemy," McRae told his men, and Robbie agreed withhim. "Beat those birds and you'll cop the flag!"