le, the detective
overpowered him, for Shalleg's manner of life was not such as to make
him a fighter.

He saw that it was no use to bluff and bluster, and, his nerve
completely gone, he made a full confession.

After his unsuccessful attempt to borrow money of Joe, he really became
imbued with the idea that our hero had injured him, and was spreading
false reports about him. So he set out to revenge himself on Joe.

It was Shalleg who induced Wessel to pick a quarrel with Joe, hoping to
disable the pitcher so he could not play ball that season. It was a mean
revenge to plot. And it was Shalleg's idea, in luring Joe to the lonely
house, on the plea of helping Rad, to involve him in a fight that might
disable, or disgrace, him so that he would have to resign from the
Cardinals. Likewise it was a tool of Shalleg's who kept track of Joe,
who boarded the same car as did our hero, and who so cruelly twisted his
arm, hoping to put him out of the game.

Shalleg denied having induced Wessel to enter Joe's room that night in
question, but his denial can be taken for what it was worth. As to
Weasel's object, it could only be guessed at. It may have been robbery,
or some worse crime.

And then, when all else failed, Shalleg tried the desperate plan of
kidnapping Joe, but, as he explained, he did not really intend bodily
harm. And perhaps he did not. He was a weak and criminally bad man, but
perhaps there was a limit.

"Well, this is the end!" the former ball player said, bitterly, as he
was handcuffed, and led away. "I might have known better."

Some time afterward, when the ball season had closed, Shalleg was tried
on the charge of mistreating Joe, and was convicted, being sentenced to
a long term. His cronies were not caught, but as they were only tools
for Shalleg no one cared very much whether or not they were punished.

CHAPTER XXX

THE HARDEST BATTLE

Filled to overflowing were the big bleachers. Crowded were the
grandstands. Above the noise made by the incoming elevated trains, and
the tramp of thousands of feet along the boarded run-ways leading to the
big concrete Brush Stadium at the Polo Grounds, could be heard the
shrill voices of the vendors of peanuts, bottled ginger ale and ice
cream cones.

Out on the perfect diamond, laid out as though with rule and compass,
men in white and other men in darker uniforms were practicing. Balls
were being caught, other balls were being batted.

It was a sunny