“Huh!” grunted the Kid, twisting off a chew of tobacco with his square teeth, “seems to me we didn’t shine like stars of the first magnitude this P.M. Why, with old Peter on the firing line we was barely able to rake in the plum by one measly run.” “And the way Grist had to go, he won’t be in any shape to-morrow,” said Nelson. “Neither Orth nor Dillon can hold this bunch of sack swipers, and, besides pitching yesterday, Locke’s suspended. We’ve got a couple of reserves, but Handy’s arm is broke in the middle, and Carney has been sick for a month. Excuse my tears.” “I wish you’d tell me,” said Stillman, “what’s the matter with Locke, anyhow.” “Tell _us_,” invited the trio in chorus. The reporter shook his head. “I’ve tried to find out, but he won’t talk to me. Anybody would think,” he added in an injured way, “that I was his worst enemy; and I was about the only news man who pulled hard for him all the way after he joined the Hornets in the South last spring.” “He’s sick,” cried Nelson, thumping his knee. “If he ain’t, he’s crazy, and oughter be shut up somewhere with the rest of the bugs. Think of him going wrong just now! Wouldn’t it make a parson use bad language!” “I heard something to-night,” said Stillman. “I wonder if you fellows have got wind of it? There’s a rumor that Carson has a deal on.” “What sort of a deal?” asked Daly. “A trade. They say he got busy on the wire this morning, and that he’s trying to make arrangements to trade Locke off for another pitcher.” “Who says so?” snapped Lewis. “I don’t believe it!” shouted Daly. “Thunder!” breathed Nelson. “You know I can’t go round blowing the source of my information,” said Stillman, “but it seemed to come straight enough.” “Perhaps it is straight,” said Nelson. “Carson ain’t never took to Locke. But who’s the man he’s after?” “You couldn’t guess,” said the reporter. “I won’t prolong your agony. If the report is true, it’s Chick O’Brien, of the Wolves.” Even with the warning he had given them, this statement seemed to strike them like a bursting bombshell. The Wolves, although in the second division, had harried the leaders all through the season, mainly by the marvelous work of O’Brien, and it was generally agreed that with a first-division team behind him Chick would show himself one of the great pitchers in the business. “Sufferin’ snakes!” cried Lewis, his face glowing and his eyes snapping. “If we could get Chick now, I’d begin right away planning how to spend my post-season money.” “Me, too,” agreed Daly. “There’s nothing to it,” announced Nelson. “You couldn’t pry O’Brien away from the Wolves with a twenty-thousand dollar lever. Old Frazer wouldn’t let him go for _two_ youngsters like Locke and a barrel of money to boot. Every manager in the league has been after him, and Frazer’s held on with the grip of death, knowing the Wolves would go plumb into the sub-cellar without Chick.”