Which was typical of him lately. Brainard dressed as fashionably as ever but wasted little personal charm—of which he had plenty—on any of us but Waterman. I would like to have been friends, but Brainard’s demeanor said clearly that he’d go his own way, thanks.
We played at the fairgrounds again. This time there was no gusting wind. Partly to conserve Allison’s hands and partly to keep the Forest Citys guessing, Harry started Allison in right and Mac at pitcher; he brought George in to hurl in the second and finished with Brainard.
Angry and doubtless feeling they were being toyed with, the Forest Citys jumped out in front, 5-2. Then Brainard went to work in earnest, allowing only two runs while shutting them out in four of the last six innings. Behind Sweasy’s solid hitting and Andy’s baserunning, we notched seven runs in the fourth, four in the fifth, and went on to win convincingly, 28-7.
Nobody had held them to so few runs all season. In thumping our foremost western rivals, we’d extended our streak and given critics the scientific baseball display they wanted. And now we were heading home.
“Listen to this,” Andy read later from the Winnebago County Chief. “‘When the boys of the F.C.B.B.C. meet any other than the nine red-legged giants gathered from the four quarters of the Union and rendezvoused at Cincinnati, they can gobble them up; but when they run against these nine scarlet runners they come in contact with nine gentlemen whom they cannot handle.’”
“About time a country paper admitted we were the best,” said Allison. “They can say we’re from the moon, so long’s they admit we warmed their butts.”
“‘Nine red-legged giants,’” Andy repeated. “That’s good writing, ain’t it, Sam?”
“What if it had been ‘red-legged midgets’?” I countered.
He grinned. “That’d narrow it to our top aces!”
We reached the Pearl Street depot on Tuesday just before dark. Champion was waiting to tell us he’d scheduled a game with the touring Syracuse club the next afternoon.
“I’m not playing!” Brainard exclaimed as soon as Champion was out of hearing. “They’re wringing us dry. I didn’t sign on to sweat my life away!”
Harry stepped in front of him. “Asa, calm down.”
“They’re making money and puffing themselves off us,” Brainard said angrily. “Are we getting a fair slice? Hell, no! They think we’ll settle for banquets and parades!”
“You signed your contract,” Harry said. “No one forced you.” His tone was flat. “Be on the grounds tomorrow or catch a train home.”
We drifted away. Hearing Waterman trying to pacify Brainard, I turned and walked back to them.
“Best leave him be when he’s riled,” Waterman said.
“Asa, we’re all tired,” I said. “I don’t like the schedule lately either, but you can’t blame Champion for trying to—”
“What the hell do you know?” He swung around and faced me, his voice an angry buzz. “I’ve pitched for this club till my arm’s dead. I gave up my life to come out to this damned place. I’ve got financial obligations. In New York we’d be in the clover. But Holy Harry expects us to fall over dead to glorify him and his pet brother!”
“Oh, bullshit,” I retorted. “Harry’s just running his ball club, and you can’t deny he does a hell of a job. Champion’s trying to pay off the club’s debts. Simple as that. There’s no conspiracy against you.”
“‘Simple as that,’” he repeated, jaw muscles working. “Well, I say some things ain’t simple at all. Take what’s happened with you, say. You used to be readier’n most to bend rules to suit yourself.”
“I haven’t forgotten how you helped me.”
“You weren’t no damn company man then,” he said. “You hadn’t hired on as Champion’s flunky.”
“Asa, you’re well-known here,” I said, trying not to let him provoke me. “You’ve got business sense. This concession thing at the ballpark just might take off. If we expand I could use another partner—”
“I ain’t no huckster,” he said, and spat on the platform. End of discussion.
It was dark at Cait’s. The hack waited while I deposited the gifts from Chicago on the porch: for Cait a silver chain and pendant bearing two doves; for Timmy a pine toolbox and set of kid-sized carpentry tools. I left a note saying I’d see them soon and walked down the steps. Something caught my ear. I moved to the corner of the house. Muffled scraping and thumping seemed to come from directly below. Somebody working in the basement, I thought, and turned back to the hack.
In the morning I sent Johnny to ask if Cait and Timmy were coming to the game. And if I could visit that evening. He returned and said that nobody had answered his knock. The packages were not in evidence.
“Could you handle the pickups?” I said. “I want to find out what’s going on.” Seeing his reproachful look, I added, “Time and a half pay.”
“Hell, Sam,” he said, wiggling his ears comically, “for that, Helga and me’ll do the works every time!”
Traffic was bad that morning. It took the better part of an hour to flag a hack and get across town. I arrived to find the boardinghouse as quiet as it had been the previous night. I banged on the door and shouted.
It opened suddenly, and there she stood, unsmiling, heartbreakingly beautiful.
“Cait, are you all right? I was worried.”
“You needn’t.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
I tried to read her expression. “Did you get the presents?”
“We did, thank you. Tim was very excited and wants you to show him the use of the tools.”
“I will. Where is he?”
“Away for several days.”
I waited in vain for her to elaborate. “Cait, last night the place seemed deserted except for weird noises in the basement. You didn’t answer for Johnny earlier. What’s going on?”
“There’s no mystery.” I thought I saw apprehension flicker in her eyes. “The boarders are away just now. Fearghus has taken Tim on a trip with him.”
“A trip? What about the basement?”
“I don’t know what you
