CHAPTER III

THE RIOT AT THE THEATER

“A rah, rah boy, is he?” sneered a voice from the group not far away. “I see his finish.”

Lefty knew they were talking about him. He had been aware of the fact for five minutes or so, but this was the first remark which had reached his ears in its entirety. Sitting in a corner of the Hatchford House lobby, he turned his head slightly and met the belligerent glance of a burly, dark-browed, full-lipped fellow of twenty-six or seven, who was lounging against a pillar a little way off.

For a moment their eyes clashed, and then Hagin――Lefty had heard him so called, and recognized the name as that of the left fielder on the regulars――laughed disagreeably and said something to the man next him, who glanced up, stared, and turned away with just the same sort of laugh.

Lefty’s eyes dropped to the newspaper he held before him. In the scant nine hours since his appearance on the field that morning, the wide difference between a bush-league team and an organization like the Hornets had been forced upon him at every turn. In his joy and astonishment at the unexpected offer from Brennan’s scout, to say nothing of the better one which followed it so closely, he had given little thought to what his reception would be by the other players.

He was far too sensible, of course, to expect anything like an open-armed welcome, but he had not quite counted on the cold-shouldered indifference which was meted out to him from every quarter.

The other fellows were mostly friendly enough among themselves. On the field, in the hotel dining room, and now in the lobby, they gathered in little groups, laughing, joking, chaffing each other in a way which, in no small degree, emphasized the newcomer’s loneliness and isolation.

Lefty had tried several times during the day to scrape acquaintance with some fellow who looked pleasant and friendly enough, for he was a chap who enjoyed the companionship of his fellow men, and exactly the sort of joshing give-and-take which is inevitable when a crowd of like-minded individuals get together. His mild little efforts had been met with such brusque, chilling indifference, however, that he speedily gave it up.

“I seem to have gotten in wrong from the start,” he reflected, as he sat with his eyes fixed on the paper, though he had read scarcely a word. “Brennan’s sore as a crab because he had to back water before his own men. I wish to thunder he hadn’t! I’d be better off. Then there was that fool exhibition of mine on the field. I suppose they all think I’m swelled up about my pitching, and was showing off. And now they’ve found out I’m a college man. I wonder how they got wise to that. I didn’t mean any one should know, if I could help it; some professionals seem to have such a deep dislike for a fellow who’s been through college. I wonder if Elgin could have dropped a hint.”

In reality Lefty had quite missed the most important reason of all. Other things may have influenced the men in some small degree, but the simple fact of his belated arrival at the training quarters accounted for more than anything else.

Ten days had been ample for the cubs, or new recruits, to become acquainted. They had formed their little cliques, split up into their different factions. They were sufficient unto themselves. It was natural for them to treat a new arrival with jealous coldness, for every additional candidate only decreased the chances of the others to make good. As for the old men――the regulars of this especial team――they had small use for a youngster until he showed himself made of the right stuff.

At length, tired of sitting alone, Lefty arose and sallied forth to take a casual inspection of the Texas town. Ashland was a place of some size, and decidedly up to date. A number of factories and various oil refineries gave employment to several thousand workmen, the majority of whom――it seemed to Lefty――were thronging the brightly lighted streets, blocking the corners, or crowding into the many moving-picture or vaudeville shows which lined the main thoroughfares.

Lefty did not find this solitary inspection of the town very exciting, and, after he had traversed a few of the principal streets, he decided that he had had enough. A glance at his watch told him that it was only a quarter to eight. The evening seemed to be dragging along with infinite slowness. He might return to the hotel and go to bed, of course, but he wasn’t in the least sleepy, and somehow he had a feeling that by doing such a thing he would be giving in. Finally the glaring lights of a combination moving-picture and vaudeville show across the street gave him an idea. Crossing hastily, he bought a ticket and pushed into the darkened auditorium.

The place was jammed to the doors with a rather boisterous crowd, made up almost entirely of men. Lefty could see no vacant seat, and so he took his place against the wall back of the last row, from which position he watched the progress of the pictured drama with a certain amount of interest. There was no questioning the unusual excellence of the films.

Two of them were rolled off before the stage lights went up and the curtain lifted upon the Montmorency Sisters, vocalists. Lefty yawned, and decided to get out. The place was hot and stuffy, and he was on the point of crowding past the later arrivals who filled the space near him, when, suddenly catching sight of two men sitting three rows away, he changed his mind.

One of them was a total stranger. Lefty did not remember ever having seen him before. The other was Bert Elgin, and, as his eyes took in the sharp profile, with the familiar, sneering uplift at the corner of the lips, Locke’s face darkened. The face had changed little since he had last seen it. An added line or two showed about the mouth, perhaps, and there was, no doubt, a certain maturity which years alone can bring. In all essential features, however, it was unaltered, and the sight of it brought a rush of vivid recollection into Lefty’s mind which made him frown. It seemed the irony of fate that they two should meet again under conditions which must throw them together in most undesirable terms of intimacy.

Oblivious to the twittering pair capering about the stage, Lefty stood staring at the back of Elgin’s head with unseeing eyes. His mind was back in the past, and his expression showed how unpleasant the remembrance was.

The burst of handclapping at the end of the act aroused him in time to see Elgin and his companion arise and crowd toward the aisle. He stood there waiting for them to go, for he had no desire to encounter the fellow just now. With narrowing eyes, he watched his old enemy elbow his way roughly toward the door, careless of who or what was in his path.

It all came about so suddenly and unexpectedly that Lefty never knew just what was the real cause. He saw one or two men turn and stare angrily at the fellow shoving his way past them, muttering something under their breath as they did so. Then, just as the pair were opposite him and close to the door, Locke heard a sharp cry of pain in a woman’s voice, followed instantly by a bellow of fury from a man. Swiftly there came the thud of bare fists against flesh and bone. A dozen men sprang up and began shoving toward the door. A woman screamed shrilly.