said.
“Sure it’s power. And it’s one thing to buck into that every election time, but when you go in there swinging a charge of murder at somebody, or willful negligence … that’s dynamite, Alex.”
He got up and flicked his cigarette out the door.
“It makes you wonder where to begin, doesn’t it, Dad?”
“Yes, it does. You’ve got to have the discretion of St. Paul.”
“There was something thicker than water between Andy and old Addison. Maybe that’s the place to start.”
“Maybe. But don’t fool yourself, Alex. They’re too big to take any chances. I want you to think about something it’s taken me a long time to learn: people with influence don’t very often corrupt a community. It’s the community corrupts themselves trying to curry favors.”
Mrs. Whiting called them to supper.
Chapter 7
E VERY MONDAY AND WEDNESDAY evening, weather permitting, the teams of the soft ball league met at the edge of town for seven innings. On Labor Day the league winners, or “the survivors” as the Sentinel referred to them, took on their counterpart from Mason City. It was late in the season now, and that night Baldwin’s Bottlers, composed mostly of fellows who worked at the bottling plant, were meeting Fabry’s Fables. Alex played first base on the latter team. Both teams had suffered eleven defeats, each having won a single game. Very few people would have been on hand ordinarily, but that night half the town was there.
Scarcely a man got to first base who hadn’t some comment to make on Andy Mattson’s death. That would also account for the crowd along the sidelines and on the car fenders. Every once in a while Alex heard somebody yell, “Hey, what happened?” They weren’t paying much attention to the ball game. He saw Joan talking with Sarah Randalls. Sarah worked for the telephone company. Overworked today, no doubt, unless she was on the board at night this week.
“Come on, Whitie. Get some life into it.”
Alex scooped up a handful of dust and trotted away from the bag. “All right, gang. Let’s go. Let’s go. Put him away, Pete. This guy couldn’t hit a barrel with buckshot. Give it to him slow. Nice and slow.”
Jim Brennan swung hard on the spinner and loped it over second base. The center fielder, coming in fast, overran it, and the ball rolled out to the target Chief Waterman had set up for practice. Here he trained Gilbert, and kept his own hand in. It had taken a steady hand to hit the cat, flying at him as it had. There was something wrong with it. No animal turned like that unless there was something physically wrong with it.
“For cripe’s sake, Whitie, get the lead out of your shoes.”
He should have been covering second base, but it was too late now, anyway. Brennan was already sliding into third. This was not his night in the field. Lou Ivantic got to first on a bunt, but Brennan was held at third. The pitcher grew cautious then and the game slowed up.
“Some business up there with the old man, huh, Whitie?”
“Yeah.”
“He was in thick with the Addisons, wasn’t he?”
“I don’t know how thick,” Alex said.
“I’ll bet Altman had convulsions.”
Alex followed him off the bag a couple of steps. “Why?”
“He’s been out at the factory a lot. Going over expansion plans with Hershel. I got a notion they’re working on a deal with Addison.” Lou Ivantic worked at the toy factory.
“Are you guessing, Lou, or are you sure of that?”
“I wouldn’t go to court and swear to it, if that’s what you mean. I just work there. He don’t consult me on those things. I heard the name a couple of times and put two and two together.”
The Fables’ pitcher was standing with his hands on his hips looking at them. “Are you playing Siamesie with that guy, Whiting? For cripe’s sakes, make up your mind if you’re going to play ball or detective.”
“Keep your shirt on, Pete. I’ll get on it now.”
The game ended in a twelve to ten victory
“Sure it’s power. And it’s one thing to buck into that every election time, but when you go in there swinging a charge of murder at somebody, or willful negligence … that’s dynamite, Alex.”
He got up and flicked his cigarette out the door.
“It makes you wonder where to begin, doesn’t it, Dad?”
“Yes, it does. You’ve got to have the discretion of St. Paul.”
“There was something thicker than water between Andy and old Addison. Maybe that’s the place to start.”
“Maybe. But don’t fool yourself, Alex. They’re too big to take any chances. I want you to think about something it’s taken me a long time to learn: people with influence don’t very often corrupt a community. It’s the community corrupts themselves trying to curry favors.”
Mrs. Whiting called them to supper.
Chapter 7
E VERY MONDAY AND WEDNESDAY evening, weather permitting, the teams of the soft ball league met at the edge of town for seven innings. On Labor Day the league winners, or “the survivors” as the Sentinel referred to them, took on their counterpart from Mason City. It was late in the season now, and that night Baldwin’s Bottlers, composed mostly of fellows who worked at the bottling plant, were meeting Fabry’s Fables. Alex played first base on the latter team. Both teams had suffered eleven defeats, each having won a single game. Very few people would have been on hand ordinarily, but that night half the town was there.
Scarcely a man got to first base who hadn’t some comment to make on Andy Mattson’s death. That would also account for the crowd along the sidelines and on the car fenders. Every once in a while Alex heard somebody yell, “Hey, what happened?” They weren’t paying much attention to the ball game. He saw Joan talking with Sarah Randalls. Sarah worked for the telephone company. Overworked today, no doubt, unless she was on the board at night this week.
“Come on, Whitie. Get some life into it.”
Alex scooped up a handful of dust and trotted away from the bag. “All right, gang. Let’s go. Let’s go. Put him away, Pete. This guy couldn’t hit a barrel with buckshot. Give it to him slow. Nice and slow.”
Jim Brennan swung hard on the spinner and loped it over second base. The center fielder, coming in fast, overran it, and the ball rolled out to the target Chief Waterman had set up for practice. Here he trained Gilbert, and kept his own hand in. It had taken a steady hand to hit the cat, flying at him as it had. There was something wrong with it. No animal turned like that unless there was something physically wrong with it.
“For cripe’s sake, Whitie, get the lead out of your shoes.”
He should have been covering second base, but it was too late now, anyway. Brennan was already sliding into third. This was not his night in the field. Lou Ivantic got to first on a bunt, but Brennan was held at third. The pitcher grew cautious then and the game slowed up.
“Some business up there with the old man, huh, Whitie?”
“Yeah.”
“He was in thick with the Addisons, wasn’t he?”
“I don’t know how thick,” Alex said.
“I’ll bet Altman had convulsions.”
Alex followed him off the bag a couple of steps. “Why?”
“He’s been out at the factory a lot. Going over expansion plans with Hershel. I got a notion they’re working on a deal with Addison.” Lou Ivantic worked at the toy factory.
“Are you guessing, Lou, or are you sure of that?”
“I wouldn’t go to court and swear to it, if that’s what you mean. I just work there. He don’t consult me on those things. I heard the name a couple of times and put two and two together.”
The Fables’ pitcher was standing with his hands on his hips looking at them. “Are you playing Siamesie with that guy, Whiting? For cripe’s sakes, make up your mind if you’re going to play ball or detective.”
“Keep your shirt on, Pete. I’ll get on it now.”
The game ended in a twelve to ten victory
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