scrapping, a .360 hitter cannot be casually laid aside.
But Clary knew that matters would not stand as they were. Zimmer’s series of successes, after doing things which had been forbidden or ordered otherwise by the Manager, made a subtle impression on the other and less brilliant members of the aggregation. Disaffection made its appearance. The Blizzards shoved the Colts into third place and increased a slight lead by a double victory.
If he could only whip him once! Clary carefully doubled his big fists and realized that that was beyond the realm of possibility. If only Zimmer were an ordinary player, instead being a star of the greatest magnitude. If only the fans didn’t adore him so! And, finally, if he could only be brought under the direct domination of the manager, what a wonder he would be.
* * * *
It was less than two weeks later that Myrtle Scott, sister-in-law of Tommy Carey, joined the team. She was a winsome little thing, pretty, bright, vivacious—learned in the lore of the diamond; an ardent fan, and intensely feminine. If anything had been needed to crystallize the feeling which existed between Clary and Zimmer, Myrtle furnished it. From the jump they both made dead sets for her.
And in the game of love-making, Zimmer sorrowfully arrived at the conclusion that he was outclassed. A .360 batting average and a fielding average of .998 did not help much when Clary was ensconced on the observation platform with the girl, and the other members of the team set themselves to see that Zimmer did not interrupt. For two weeks on the important road trip, Clary kept his mouth shut as to the continued breaches of discipline of which Zimmer was guilty. Instead, he monopolized Myrtle and paraded her wherever he was sure Zimmer would be.
She showed but slight partiality, however. She accepted the attentions with which she was showered by both, and treated them alike. Of course if Clary happened to be more clever at making engagements then Charlie, that was Charlie’s lookout and not hers. She was mortgaged to neither.
Had Zimmer been an ordinary man or an ordinary player, the internal turmoil might have affected his playing injuriously. But, instead his average rose to very near the .400 mark and he pulled down line drives and sky- scrapers to the outfield with apparent ease. On the bases he was a demon; taking chances which other men would have scoffed at and refused to try—and making good. When Clary signaled a bunt, Zimmer usually hit it out; he stole on all occasions; he played the game in his own sweet way, and begot a reputation for being unique and deliciously eccentric.
On one occasion Zimmer’s unruliness passed the bounds of reason, and Clary summoned him into managerial conference.
“I’m sick and tired of this sort of thing, Zimmer,” he said hotly. “You’ve allowed your feelings to get personal, and you’re jeopardizing the team’s chances.”
“Have I ever failed to get away with it?”
“No, you haven’t. But that makes it none the less bad. You forget that you’re not in the bushes any more. Baseball in the major leagues is a scientific proposition, and by the time we make our next swing around the circuit, there won’t be a player in the league who won’t have doped you out to a fare-you- well; and then—good night! They’ll cop you at every turn, and your averages will sink to nothing.”
“That’s my lookout.”
“You’re another—it’s mine! I’m manager of the Colts, not you. And I mean to be obeyed. You’ve whipped me twice, and I see that I can’t subdue you that way; but I’m going to get you under my thumb if I have to break a neck to accomplish it.”
“Threats?” inquired Zimmer mildly.
“No, not threats! Facts! I’ve a good mind to bench you!”
“You wouldn’t dare. The fans wouldn’t stand for it—neither would this bunch of syndicate owners who dip their finger into the club’s pie all the time.” Clary bit his lips. He had not given Zimmer credit for knowing that the club’s owners interfered with him. “Besides, it wouldn’t matter much to me. I have enough kale laid aside to last me for quite a little while, and you’d be forced to take me back sooner or later. Glenn is rotten in the outfield.”
“Why in hell”—Clary was off on a new tack—“why in hell don’t you make yourself amenable to discipline? Why don’t you ever obey my signals?”
“I do—when they’re sensible.”
The manager gasped at the insolence of the reply.
“Of all—th’—nerve—”
“You’re a good manager,” tantalized Zimmer, “but you don’t know all about baseball there is to know. It’s like poker, when you study it, and it oughtn’t to be played according to Hoyle. You know that when a man’s on second or third, and no one down, the right thing to do is to pole out the ball. Sure it is—and that’s what the other guys are looking for. But suppose I come along and drop a little dribbler down the third base-line, don’t I get to first a heap easier? Sure I do—”
“That’s tomfoolishness. It may get by a few times, but as soon as they’re on to you they’ll nab your game in the bud. You don’t seem to realize that the science of baseball has been working itself out for years. You can’t upset the dope in a minute.”
“No?” insolently. “Well, I can play the game with my head as well as with my hands—and better both ways than some guys I know.”
The interview was over. Clary shook his head hopelessly and sought solace in Myrtle’s company. Five minutes after he joined her Zimmer careered around the music-room door.
“Miss Myrtle—” he started invitingly, when he espied Clary standing next to the piano.
“Well?” she asked sweetly. “Mayn’t I go walking with—”
“I’m awf’ly sorry, Mr. Zimmer, but I have a date with Mr. Clary.”
“How about to-night?”
“I’m going to see ‘The Baby Doll’ with
Mr. Clary.”
“Well,” desperately, “to-morrow evening after the game?”
She laughed.
“Too bad—I’ve got an engagement with Mr. Clary.”
“Damn Mr. Clary!” snapped Zimmer under his breath, and stumped away. For the first time in a month, Owen Clary had a hearty laugh.
“Well, I reckon.” he grinned, “that will hold him for a while.”
Her eyes sparkled into his.
“It was funny,” she agreed; “terribly funny!”
The Colts finished the Chicago series and entrained for the East. The train had not pulled out of the Smoky City before Zimmer was seated beside Myrtle.
“Is this seat Mr. Clary’s?” he asked significantly.
“Why, no—”
“Oh! I thought maybe he had a lien on you.”
She giggled.
“That
