THE CLASH
"That's the way! Line 'em out, now!"
"Put some speed into that!"
"Look out for a high one!"
"Oh, get farther back! I'm going to knock the cover off this time!"
These were only a few of the cries and calls that echoed over the ball
field at Montville. The occasion was the daily practice of the Pittston
nine, and orders had come from the manager and trainer to start in on
more lively work. It was Joe's third day with the professionals.
He had made the acquaintance of all the players, but as yet had neither
admitted, nor been admitted to, a real friendship with any of them. It
was too early.
Joe held back because he was naturally a bit diffident. Then, too, most
of the men were older than he, and with one exception they had been in
the professional ranks for several seasons. That one exception was
Charlie Hall, who played short. He, like Joe, had been taken that
Spring from the amateur ranks. Hall had played on a Western college
team, and had been picked out by one of the ever-present professional
scouts.
With Charlie, Joe felt more at home than with any of the others and yet
he felt that soon he would have good friends among the older men.
On their part they did not become friendly with Joe at once simply for
the reason that they wanted to "size him up," or "get his number," as
Jimmie Mack put it in speaking of the matter.
"But they'll cotton to you after a bit, Joe," said the assistant manager,
"and you'll like them, too. Don't get discouraged."
"I won't," was the answer.
There was one man on the team, though, with whom Joe felt that he would
never be on friendly terms, and this was Jake Collin, one of the
pitchers--the chief pitcher and mainstay of the nine on the mound, from
what Joe picked up by hearing the other men talk. And Collin himself was
not at all modest about his ability. That he had ability Joe was ready
to concede. And Collin wanted everyone else to know it, too. He was
always talking about his record, and his batting average, which, to do
him credit, was good.
Collin was not much older than Joe, but a rather fast life and hard
living counted for more than years. Joe heard whispers that Collin
could not last much longer.
Perhaps it was a realization of this that made Collin rather resent the
arrival of our hero on the Pittston nine. For he gave Joe but a cold
greeting, and, as he moved off to practice, the young pitcher could hear
him saying something about "college dudes thinking they can play
professional ball."
Joe's faced flushed, but he said nothing. It was something that called
more for deeds than words.
"Everybody lively now! I want some snappy work!" called Jimmie Mack as
the practice progressed. "If we're going to play the Montville team
Saturday we want to snow them under. A win by a few runs won't be the
thing at all, and, let me tell you, those boys can play ball.
"So step lively, everybody. Run bases as if you meant to get back home
some time this week. Slug the ball until the cover comes off. And you,
Collin, get a little more speed on your delivery. Is your arm sore?"
"Arm sore? I guess not! I'm all right!" and the man's eyes snapped
angrily.
"Well, then, show it. Let's see what you've got up your sleeve, anyhow.
Here comes Gregory now--he'll catch a few for you, and then we'll do
some batting."
The manager, whom Joe had met and liked, came out to join in the
practice. He nodded to our hero, and then took Collin off to one side,
to give him some instructions.
Joe under the direction of Jimmie Mack was allowed to do some pitching
now. With Terry Hanson the left fielder, to back him up, Joe began
throwing in the balls on a space in front of the grandstand.
Joe noticed that Collin regarded him sharply in the intervals of his own
practice, but he was prepared for a little professional jealousy, and
knew how to take it. He had seen it manifested often enough at school
and college, though there the spirit of the university was paramount to
personal triumph--every player was willing to sacrifice himself that the
team might win. And, in a large measure, of course, this is so in
professional baseball. But human nature is human nature, whether one is
playing for money or for glory, and in perhaps no other sport where
money counts for as much as it does in baseball, will you find more of
the spirit of the school than in the ranks of the diamond professionals.
"Take it easy, Joe; take it easy," advised Terry, with a good-natured
smile, as the lad stung in the balls. "You've got speed, and I'm willing
to admit it without having you split my mitt. But save yourself for a
game. You're not trying to pitch anyone out now, you know, and there's
no one looking at you."
"I guess I forgot this was just practice," admitted Joe with a laugh.
"I'll throw in some easy ones."
He did, and saw an admiring look on Terry's face.
"They seem to have the punch--that's a nice little drop you've got. But
don't work it too much. Vary your delivery."
From time to time as the practice proceeded Terry gave Joe good advice.
Occasionally this would be supplemented by something Mack or Gregory
would say and Joe took it all in, resolving to profit by it.
The practice came to an end, and the players were advised by their
trainer, Mike McGuire, to take walks in the country round-about.
"It'll be good for your legs and wind," was the comment.
Joe enjoyed this almost as much as the work on the field, for the
country was new to him and a source of constant delight. He went out
with some of the men, and again would stroll off by himself.
Saturday, the day when the first practice game was to be played, found
Joe a bit nervous. He wondered whether he would get a chance to pitch.
So too, for that matter, did Tom Tooley, the south-paw moundman, who
was nearer Joe's age than was Collin.
"Who's going to be the battery?" was heard on all sides as the Pittston
players went to the grounds.
"The old man hasn't given it out yet," was the reply of Jimmie Mack. The
"old man" was always the manager, and the term conveyed no hint of
disrespect.
The Montville team, a semi-professional one, was a good bit like the
Silver Stars, Joe thought, when he saw the members run out on the
diamond for practice. Still they looked to be a "husky lot," as he
admitted, and he was glad of it, for he wanted to see what he and his
team-mates could do against a good aggregation.
"Play ball! Play ball!" called the umpire, as he dusted off the home
plate. There was quite a crowd present, and when Gregory handed over his
batting list the umpire made the announcement:
"Batteries--for Pittston, Collin and Gregory. For Montville, Smith and
Jennings."
"Um. He's going to pitch Collin," murmured Tooley in Joe's ear. "That
means we warm the bench."
Joe was a little disappointed, but he tried not to show it.
This first game was neither better nor worse than many others. Naturally
the playing was ragged under the circumstances.
The Pittstons had everything to lose by being beaten and not much to
gain if they won the game. On the other hand the home nine had much to
gain in case they should win. So they took rather desperate chances.
Pittston was first at bat, and succeeded in getting two runs over. Then
came a slump, and in quick succession three men went down, two being
struck out. The Montville pitcher was a professional who had been in a
big league, but who had drifted to a minor, and finally landed in the
semi-pro ranks. But he had some good "heaves" left.
Collin walked to the mound with a rather bored air of superiority. There
was a little whispered conference between him and the catcher-manager,
and the second half of the first inning began.
Collin did well, and though hit twice for singles, not a run came in,
and the home team was credited with a zero on the score-board.
"Oh, I guess we can play some!" cried one of the professionals.
"What are you crowing over?" demanded Jimmie Mack. "If we win this I
suppose you fellows will want medals! Why this is nothing but a kid
bunch we're up against."
"Don't let 'em fool you, though," advised the manager, who overheard the
talk.
And then, to the surprise and dismay of all, the home team proceeded to
"do things" to the professionals. They began making runs, and succeeded
in stopping the winning streak of the Pittstons.
The detailed play would not interest you, and, for that matter it was a
thing the Pittstons did not like to recall afterward. There was a bad
slump, and when the seventh inning arrived Gregory called:
"Matson, you bat for Collin."
Joe felt the blood rush to his face.
"Does that mean I'm going to be taken out of the box?" asked the chief
pitcher, stalking angrily over to the manager.
"It means just that, son. I can't afford to lose this game, and we sure
will the way you're feedin' 'em in to 'em. I guess you drew it a little
too fine the last few days. You need a rest."
"But--I--er--I----" protested Collin.
"That'll do," said Gregory, sharply. "Joe Matson will pitch. It's a
chance, but I've got to take it."
"What's the matter with Tooley?" demanded Collin. "What do you want to
go shove this raw college jake in ahead of us for? Say!"
"Go to the bench!" ordered the manager. "I know what I'm doing, Collin!"
The pitcher seemed about to say something, and the look he gave Joe was
far from friendly. Then, realizing that he was under the manager's
orders, he stalked to the bench.
"You won't do this again, if I can prevent it!" snapped Collin at Joe,
as he passed him. "I'll run you out of the league, if you try to come it
over me!"
Only a few players heard him, and one or two whispered to him to quiet
down, but he glared at Joe, who felt far from comfortable.
But he was to have his chance to pitch at last.