ed the soft impeachment.

"By the way," said Hughson, changing the subject, "while I think of it,
Joe, I want to give you a tip to be on your guard against 'Bugs'
Hartley."

"Why, what's he up to, now?" inquired Joe.

"I don't know," Hughson replied. "But I do know that he's sore at you
through and through. He's got the idea in that twisted brain of his that
you got him off the Giant team. I met him in the street the other
day----"

"Half drunk, I suppose," interjected Jim.

"More than half," replied Hughson. "He's got to be a regular
panhandler--struck me for a loan, and while I was getting it for him, he
talked in a rambling way of how he was going to get even with you. Of
course I shut him up, but I couldn't talk him out of his fixed idea. He'll
do you a mischief if he ever gets the chance."

"He's tried it before," said Joe. "He nearly knocked me out when he doped
my coffee. Poor old 'Bugs'--he's his own worst enemy."

"But he's your enemy too," persisted Hughson. "And don't forget that a
crazy man is a dangerous man."

"Thanks for the tip," replied Joe. "But 'threatened men live long' and I
guess I'm no exception to the rule!"

CHAPTER IX

THE UNDER DOG

"Talking of angels!" exclaimed Jim, giving Joe a sharp nudge in the ribs.

Joe looked up quickly and saw Hartley coming down the corridor.

"It's 'Bugs,' sure enough," he said. "And, for a wonder, he's walking
straight."

"Guess he's on his good behavior," remarked Hughson. "There's a big
meeting of the American League here just now, winding up the affairs of
the league, now that the playing season is over. Maybe Hartley thinks he
has a chance to catch on somewhere. Like everybody else that's played in
the big leagues, he hates to go back to the bushes. He'd be a find, too,
if he'd only cut out the booze--there's lots of good baseball in him
yet."

"He's a natural player," said Joe, generously. "And one of the best
pitchers I ever saw. You know how Mac tried to hold on to him."

"I don't think he has a Chinaman's chance, though, of staying in big
league company," observed Jim. "After the way he tried to give away our
signals in that game at Boston, the Nationals wouldn't touch him with a
ten-foot pole, and I don't think the American has any use for him either.
You might forgive him for being a drunkard, but not for being a traitor."

Hartley had caught sight of the group, and at first seemed rather
undecided whether to go on or stop. T