“I can’t get only one solution. It must be he didn’t pull well with the new manager. I know Carson, and he’s rough on a man he don’t cotton to. Lefty was suspended shortly before that railroad smash-up. When that came he improved his opportunity to duck. Fool thing to do, but it must be just what he done, Peter. Mebbe he plans to lay low until Carson gets in a hole and needs him desperate. Then, perhaps, he’ll wire Carson and try to make terms. It don’t seem to me that the Lefty Locke I knew would try any such jinks as that, but you never can tell what a man will do.” “By goudy!” said Peter. “If that’s what he’s up to, mebbe we can get him to do some pitching for us while he’s waitin’ to pull the thing off. We’d make Bristol go some. Why don’t you try it, Jack? You oughter be able to make a deal with him, if anybody can.” Kennedy shook his head. “I dunno,” he growled, “I dunno ’bout that. Why, he just said not only that he’d never played, but that he’d never as much as seen a game. He’s got me guessing. I’m afraid I can’t make a deal with him.” “Then _I’ll_ try,” announced Landlord McLaughlin. “Wait till he comes out from supper. Leave it to me.” CHAPTER XXV STRANGER GETS A JOB When the new guest reappeared from the dining room, having finished his supper, Landlord McLaughlin met him with an engaging manner. “Welcome to our town,” said Peter. “We’re always glad to see strangers drift in. Smoke?” He tendered a cigar, which the other accepted in a somewhat hesitating manner. Peter nipped off the end of another cigar and struck a match, which he held for the young man to light up before lighting his own. “It’s rather dry,” said the landlord. “Is it?” said the one who called himself Stranger, taking the cigar from his mouth and looking at it doubtfully. “I mean the weather. We ain’t had much rain lately. Rather bad for crops, though it’s good for baseball, and we’re interested in that round here.” The young man made no reply, but took another uncertain whiff or two at the cigar. Suddenly he said: “I don’t believe I smoke. I don’t care for it, anyhow. If you don’t mind, I won’t smoke this one.” To McLaughlin it seemed a bit odd that any man shouldn’t know whether he smoked or not, but he made no comment as the other tossed the cigar into a cuspidor. “How’s things the way you come from?” he asked. “We always like to meet folks from the big town. Say, won’t you come into the writing room and set down for a little chat?” “I don’t mind. I’m a bit tired, but it’s rather early to turn in.” Kennedy was watching them from behind a newspaper in a distant corner. He saw them enter the writing room, where the landlord placed a chair for the guest in such a manner that the latter’s back would be turned toward the door. Almost immediately Jack rose, and, paper in hand, walked quietly toward the writing room.