THE PENNANT
The pennant was not yet won. So far the teams had broken even, and
unless Pittston could take the next two games there would be a fifth one
necessary.
"If there is," decided Gregory, "we'll make it an exhibition, on some
neutral diamond, and get a big crowd. It will mean a lot more money for
us."
"Will it?" asked Joe. "Then let's do it!"
"We can't make sure of it," went on the manager. "We'll not think of
that, for it would mean throwing a game away if we won the next one, and
I've never thrown a game yet, and never will. No, Joe, we'll try to win
both games straight, even if it doesn't mean so much cash. Now take care
of yourself."
"I'll try," promised Joe.
The next contest would take place at Pittston, and thither the two teams
journeyed that evening. Before they left Joe spent a pleasant time at
the hotel where Reggie and his sister had rooms.
"Are you coming back to Pittston, or stay here for the fourth game?" the
young pitcher asked.
"We're going to see you play--of course!" exclaimed Mabel. "I wouldn't
miss it for anything."
"Thank you!" laughed Joe, and blushed. "Did you get your auto all
right?" he asked Reggie.
"Yes. The man brought her in. Not damaged a bit. Sis and I are going to
motor in to-morrow. But I won't take a chance in giving you a ride
again--not so close to the game."
"I guess not," agreed Joe, laughing.
"Did you find out anything?" Reggie went on. "About who meddled with
your watch?"
"I didn't ask any questions. It was too unpleasant a thing to have come
out. But my first guess was right. And I don't think that player will
stay around here."
I may say, in passing, that Collin did not. He left town that night and
was not seen in that part of the country for some years. He broke his
contract, but Gregory did not much care for that, as he was about ready
to release him anyhow. Joe told the story to the manager only, and they
kept it a secret between them. It was a mystery to Collin's team-mates
why he disappeared so strangely, but few ever heard the real story.
The third game with Clevefield came off before a record-breaking crowd.
It was a great contest, and was only won for Pittston in the tenth
inning, when Jimmie Mack, the doughty first-baseman, scored the winning
run.
The crowd went wild at that, for it had looked as though Clevefield
would take the game home with them. But they could not stand against
Joe's terrific pitching.
This made the pennant series stand two to one in favor of the Pittston
team. Another victory would clinch the banner for them, but the
following game must take place in Clevefield, and this fact was rather
a disadvantage to Joe's team.
"Now, boys, do your best," pleaded Gregory, as he sat with his men on
the bench, making up the batting order. "We want to win!"
Tom Tooley was to pitch in Joe's place, for our hero's arm really needed
a rest.
"I may have to use you anyhow, toward the end, if we get in a hole,
Joe," said the manager. "So hold yourself in readiness."
Much as Joe liked to pitch he was really glad that he did not have to
go in, for he was very tired. The strain of the season, added to the
responsibility of the final big games, was telling on him.
The battle opened, and at first it seemed to favor Pittston. Then her
best hitters began to "slump," and the game slipped away from them.
Clevefield came up strong and though, as a desperate resort, Joe was
sent in, it was too late. Clevefield won the fourth game by a score of
nine to seven.
"That means a fifth game!" announced Gregory. "Well, we'll have a better
chance in that! Oh, for a rain!"
"Why?" asked Jimmie Mack, as they walked off the field.
"To give Joe a chance to rest up. He needs it."
And the rain came. It lasted for two days, and a third one had to pass
to let the grounds at Washburg dry up. It had been decided to play
off the tie there, for the diamond was a fine one, and Washburg was
centrally located, insuring a big attendance.
"We should have arranged this series to be the best three out of five in
the beginning," said Gregory. "We'll know better next time. There's too
much uncertainty in a three out of four--it practically means five games
anyhow."
Reggie and Mabel saw every contest, and announced their intention of
going to Washburg for the last. At least Mabel did, and Reggie could do
no less than take her.
The rest had done Joe good, though of course it had also allowed his
opponents to recuperate. Joe felt fit to play the game of his life.
The grandstands were filled--the bleachers overflowed--the band
played--the crowds yelled and cheered. There was a riot of
color--represented by ladies' hats and dresses; there was a forest of
darkness--represented by the more sober clothes of the men. It was the
day of the final game.
"Play ball!" called the umpire, and Joe went to the mound, for Pittston
had been lucky in the toss-up and could bat last.
Joe hardly knew whether he was more elated over his own chance of
shining in this deciding game or over the fact that Pop Dutton was
playing. The old pitcher had improved wonderfully, and Gregory said, was
almost "big league stuff" again. So he had been put in centre field. His
batting, too, was a bulwark for Pittston.
Just before the game Joe had received a letter from home, telling him
news that disconcerted him a little. It was to the effect that an
operation would be necessary to restore his father's sight. It was
almost certain to be successful, however, for a noted surgeon, who had
saved many by his skill, would perform it. But the cost would be heavy.
"So I've just got to win this game; to make my share of the money
bigger," Joe murmured. "I'll need every cent of it for dad--and Pop."
The winner of the pennant, naturally, would receive the larger share of
the gate money, and each man on the winning team, the manager had
promised, was to have his proportion.
"We've just got to win!" repeated Joe.
It was a desperately fought battle from the very start. Joe found
himself a trifle nervous at first, but he pulled himself together and
then began such a pitching battle as is seldom seen.
For five innings the game went on without a hit, a run or an error on
either side. It was almost machine-perfect baseball, and it was a
question of which pitcher would break first. Joe faced batter after
batter with the coolness of a veteran. Little "no count" flies were all
he was hit for, not a man getting to first.
There came a break in the sixth. How it happened Joe never knew, but he
hit the batter, who went to first, and a runner had to be substituted
for him. Naturally this made Joe nervous and he was not himself. Then
one of the Clevefield players knocked a home run, bringing in the man
from first, and there were two runs against none for Pittston, and only
one man out.
Then, if ever, was a crucial moment for Joe. Many young pitchers would
have gone to pieces under the strain, but by a supreme effort, Joe got
back his nerve. The crowd, always ready to be unfriendly when it sees a
pitcher wavering, hooted and howled. Joe only smiled--and struck out
the next man--and the next. He had stopped a winning streak in the nick
of time.
"Get some runs, boys! Get some runs!" pleaded Gregory, and his men got
them. They got three, enough to put them one ahead, and then Joe knew he
must work hard to hold the narrow margin so hardly won.
"I've got to do it! I've just got to do it!" he told himself. "I want to
win this game so I'll have money enough for dad--and Pop! I'm going to
do it!"
And do it he did. How he did it is history now, but it is history that
will never be forgotten in the towns of that league. For Joe did not
allow another hit that game. He worked himself to the limit, facing
veteran batters with a smile of confidence, sending in a deadly
cross-fire with his famous fade-away until the last tally was told, and
the score stood:
PITTSTON 3
CLEVEFIELD 2
When the last batter had gone down to defeat in the first half of the
ninth Joe drew off his glove, and, oblivious to the plaudits of the
crowd and his own mates, hurried to the dressing rooms.
"Where are you going?" cried Charlie Hall. "They're howling for you.
They want to see you--hear you talk."
Joe could hear the voices screaming:
"Speech! Speech! Speech, Matson! Baseball Joe!"
"I just can't! I'm all in, Charlie. Tell them," pleaded Joe. "I want to
send a telegram home, telling the folks that I'll be with them when
dad's operated on. I can't make a speech!"
Charlie told the crowd, and Joe was cheered louder than before.
And so ended the race for the pennant of the Central League, with
Pittston the winner.
As Joe walked off the field, on his way to the telegraph office, being
cheered again and again, while he made his way through the crowd, a
keen-faced man looked critically at him.
"I guess you're going to be mine," he said. "I think we'll have to draft
you."
"What's that?" asked Pop Dutton, who recognized the man as a well-known
scout, on the lookout for promising players.
"Oh, nothing," answered the keen-faced one, with a laugh. Pop laughed
also, but it was a laugh of understanding.
And what it meant--and what the man's remark meant to Joe, may be learned
by reading the next volume of this series, to be called: "Baseball Joe in
the Big League; Or, a Young Pitcher's Hardest Struggles."
Joe hurried home that night, stopping only to say good-bye to Mabel,
and promising to come and see her as soon as he could. The operation on
Mr. Matson was highly successful. It cost a large sum, and as his father
had no money to pay for it, Joe used much of the extra cash that came to
him as his share in the pennant series. Had his team not won he would
hardly have had enough.
But there was enough to spare for the simple operation on Pop Dutton's
arm.
"Joe, I hate to have you spend your money this way--on me," objected the
grizzled veteran of many diamonds. "It doesn't seem right."
"Oh, play ball!" cried Joe, gaily. "You can pay me back, if you want to,
you old duffer, when you get into a bigger league than the Central, and
are earning a good salary."
"I will!" cried Pop, enthusiastically. "For I know I'm good for some
years yet. I have 'come back,' thanks to you, Joe."
They clasped hands silently--the young pitcher at the start of his
brilliant career, and the old one, whose day was almost done.
Pop's operation was successful, and he went South for the Winter, there,
in company with an old friend, to gradually work up into his old form.
Hogan seemed to have vanished, but Reggie got all the pawned jewelry
back. The Pittston players, in common with the others in the league
teams, went their several ways to their Winter occupations, there to
remain until Spring should again make green the grass of the diamond.
"Oh, Joe!" exclaimed Mrs. Matson, with trembling voice, when it was
certain her husband would see again, "how much we owe to you, my son."
"You owe more to baseball," laughed Joe.
Clara came in with a letter.
"This is for you, Joe," she said, adding mischievously:
"It seems to be from a girl, and it's postmarked Goldsboro, North
Carolina. Who do you know down there?"
"Give me that letter, Sis!" cried Joe, blushing.
And while he is perusing the missive, the writer of which you can
possibly name, we will, for a time, take leave of Baseball Joe.
THE END
THE BASEBALL JOE SERIES
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3. BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
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4. BASEBALL JOE IN THE CENTRAL LEAGUE
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5. BASEBALL JOE IN THE BIG LEAGUE
_or A Young Pitcher's Hardest Struggles_
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_or Making Good as a Twirler in the Metropolis_
7. BASEBALL JOE IN THE WORLD SERIES
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8. BASEBALL JOE AROUND THE WORLD
_or Pitching on a Grand Tour_
9. BASEBALL JOE: HOME RUN KING
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10. BASEBALL JOE SAVING THE LEAGUE
_or Breaking Up a Great Conspiracy_
11. BASEBALL JOE CAPTAIN OF THE TEAM
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12. BASEBALL JOE CHAMPION OF THE LEAGUE
_or The Record that was Worth While_
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* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
--Printer, punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently
corrected, except as noted below.
--Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
--Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.
--Author's em-dash style has been preserved.
--Changed "Rocky-ford" (p. 17) to "Rocky Ford", the Resolutes ball
team's home town, for consistency with previous and subsequent
books in the series.