GOING DOWN SOUTH
"Well, are you going to help us win the pennant, Matson?" asked Manager
Watson, when he had introduced Joe to a number of the other St. Louis
players, who were lounging about the billiard room. It was a cold and
blustery day outside, and the hotel, where the team had lately taken up
quarters, ready for the trip to the South, offered more comfort than the
weather without.
"I'm going to do my best," replied Joe modestly, and he blushed, for
most of the other players were older than he, many of them seasoned
veterans, and the heroes of hard-fought contests.
"Well, we sure do need help, if we're to get anywhere," murmured Hal
Doolin, the snappy little first baseman. "We sure do!"
"You needn't look at me!" fired back Slim Cooney. "I did my share of the
work last season, and if I'd had decent support----"
"Easy now, boys!" broke in Mr. Watson. "You know what the papers said
about last year--that there were too many internal dissensions among the
Cardinals to allow them to play good ball. You've got to cut that out if
I'm going to manage you."
I might add that Sidney Watson, who had made a reputation as a
left-fielder, and a hard hitter on the Brooklyn team, had lately been
offered the position as manager of the Cardinals, and had taken it. This
would be his first season, and, recognizing the faults of the team, he
had set about correcting them in an endeavor to get it out of the
"cellar" class. Quarrels, bickerings and disputes among the players had
been too frequent, he learned, and he was trying to eliminate them.
"Have a heart for each other, boys," he said to the men who gathered
about him, incidentally to covertly inspect Joe, the recruit. "It wasn't
anybody's fault, in particular, that you didn't finish in the first
division last season. But we're going to make a hard try for it this
year. That's why I've let some of your older players go, and signed up
new ones. I'm expecting some more boys on in a few days, and then we'll
hike for the Southland and see what sort of shape I can pound you into."
"Don't let me keep you from your game," said Joe to the manager. "Oh,
I'll let Campbell finish it for me, he's better at the ivories than I
am," and Watson motioned for the centre fielder to take the cue. "I'll
see what sort of a room we can give you," the manager went on. "Nothing
like being comfortable. Did you have a good trip?"
"Yes, indeed."
"Contract satisfactory, and all that?"
"Oh, yes. And, by the way, Mr. Watson, if it isn't asking too much I'd
like to know how you came to hear of me and sign me up?"
"Oh, I had scouts all over last fall," said the manager with a smile.
"One of them happened to see you early in the season, and then he saw
the game you pitched against Clevefield, winning the pennant. You looked
to him like the proper stuff, so I had you drafted to our club."
"I hope you won't repent of your bargain," observed Joe, soberly.
"Well, I don't think I will, and yet baseball is pretty much of a chance
game after all. I've often been fooled, I don't mind admitting. But,
Matson, let me tell you one thing," and he spoke more earnestly, as they
walked along a corridor to the lobby of the hotel. "You mustn't imagine
that you're going in right off the reel and clean things up. You'll have
to go a bit slow. I want to watch you, and I'll give you all the
opportunity I can.
"But you must remember that I have several pitchers, and some of them
are very good. They've been playing in the big leagues for years. You're
a newcomer, and, unless I'm much mistaken, you'll have a bit of stage
fright at first. That's to be expected, and I'm looking for it. I won't
be disappointed if you fall down hard first along. But whatever else you
do, don't get discouraged and--don't lose your nerve, above all else."
"I'll try not to," promised Joe. But he made up his mind that he would
surprise the manager and make a brilliant showing as soon as possible.
Joe had several things to learn about baseball as it is played in the
big leagues.
"I guess I'll put you in with Rad Chase," said Manager Watson, as he
looked over the page of the register, on which were the names of the
team. "His room is a good one, and you'll like him. He's a young chap
about your age."
"Was he in there?" asked Joe, nodding toward the billiard room, where he
had met several of the players.
"No. I don't know where he is," went on the manager. "Is Rad out?" he
asked of the clerk.
That official, stroking his small blonde mustache, turned to look at the
rack. From the peg of room 413 hung the key.
"He's out," the clerk announced.
"Well, you might as well go up and make yourself at home," advised the
manager. "I'll tell Rad you're quartered with him. Have his grip taken
up," went on Mr. Watson to the clerk.
"Front!" called the young man behind the desk, and when the same
freckle-faced lad, who had pointed out to Joe the manager, came
shuffling up, the lad took our hero's satchel, and did a little one-step
glide with it toward the elevator.
"Tanks," mumbled the same lad, as Joe slipped a dime into his palm, when
the bellboy had opened the room door and set the grip on the floor by
the bed. "Say, where do youse play?" he asked with the democratic
freedom of the American youth.
"Well, I'm supposed to be a pitcher," said Joe.
"Left?"
"No, right."
"Huh! It's about time the Cardinals got a guy with a right-hand
delivery!" snorted the boy. "They've been tryin' southpaws and been
beaten all over the lots. Got any speed?"
"Well, maybe a little," admitted Joe, smiling at the lad's
ingenuousness.
"Curves, of course?"
"Some."
"Dat's th' stuff! Say, I hopes you make good!" and the lad, spinning
the dime in the air, deftly caught it, and slid out of the room.
Joe looked after him. He was entering on a new life, and many emotions
were in conflict within him. True, he had been at hotels before, for he
had traveled much when he was in the Central League. But this time it
was different. It seemed a new world to him--a new and big world--a much
more important world.
And he was to be a part of it. That was what counted most. He was in a
Big League--a place of which he had often dreamed, but to which he had
only aspired in his dreams. Now it was a reality.
Joe unpacked his grip. His trunk check he had given to the clerk, who
said he would send to the railroad station for the baggage. Then Joe
changed his collar, put on a fresh tie, and went down in the elevator.
He wanted to be among the players who were to be his companions for the
coming months.
Joe liked Rad Chase at once. In a way he was like Charlie Hall, but
rather older, and with more knowledge of the world.
"Do you play cards?" was Rad's question, after the formalities of
introduction, Joe's roommate having come in shortly after our hero went
down.
"Well, I can make a stab at whist, but I'm no wonder," confessed Joe.
"Do you play Canfield solitaire?"
"Never heard of it."
"Shake hands!" cried Rad, and he seemed relieved.
"Why?" asked Joe.
"Well, the fellow I roomed with last year was a fiend at Canfield
solitaire. He'd sit up until all hours of the morning, trying to make
himself believe he wasn't cheating, and I lost ten pounds from not
getting my proper sleep."
"Well, I'll promise not to keep you awake that way," said Joe with a
laugh.
"Do you snore?" Rad wanted next to know.
"I never heard myself."
Rad laughed.
"I guess you'll do," he said. "We'll hit it off all right."
Joe soon fell easily into the life at the big hotel. He met all the
other players, and while some regarded him with jealous eyes, most of
them welcomed him in their midst. Truth to tell, the St. Louis team was
in a bad way, and the players, tired of being so far down on the list,
were willing to make any sacrifices of professional feeling in order to
be in line for honors, and a share in the pennant money, providing it
could be brought to pass that they reached the top of the list.
Joe spent a week at the hotel while Manager Watson was arranging matters
for the trip South. One or two players had not yet arrived, "dickers"
being under way for their purchase.
But finally the announcement was made that the start for the training
camp, at Reedville, Alabama, would be made in three days.
"And I'm glad of it!" cried Rad Chase, as he and Joe came back one
evening from a moving picture show, and heard the news. "I'm tired of
sitting around here doing nothing. I want to get a bat in my hands."
"So do I," agreed Joe. "It sure will be great to get out on the grass
again. Have you ever been in Reedville?"
"No, but I hear it's a decent place. There's a good local team there
that we brush up against, and two or three other teams in the vicinity.
It'll be lively enough."
"Where do you like to play?" asked Joe.
"Third's my choice, but I hear I'm to be soaked in at short. I hate it,
too, but Watson seems to think I fill in there pretty well."
"I suppose a fellow has to play where he's considered best, whether he
wants to or not," said Joe. "I hope I can pitch, but I may be sent out
among the daisies for all that."
"Well, we've got a pretty good outfield as it is," went on Rad. "I
guess, from what I hear, that you'll be tried out on the mound, anyhow.
Whether you stick there or not will be up to you."
"It sure is," agreed Joe.
A box-party was given at the theatre by the manager for the players, to
celebrate their departure for the South. The play was a musical comedy,
and some of the better known players were made the butt of jokes by the
performers on the stage.
This delighted Joe, and he longed for the time when he would be thought
worthy of such notice. The audience entered into the fun of the
occasion, and when the chief comedian came out, and, in a witty address,
presented Manager Watson with a diamond pin, and wished him all success
for the coming season, there were cheers for the team.
"Everybody stand up!" called Toe Barter, one of the veteran pitchers.
"Seventh inning--everybody stretch!"
The players in the two boxes arose to face the audience in the theatre,
and there were more cheers. Joe was proud and happy that he was a part
of it all.
That night he wrote home, and also to Mabel, telling of his arrival in
St. Louis, and all that had happened since.
"We leave for the South in the morning," he concluded.
The departure of the players on the train was the occasion for another
celebration and demonstration at the depot. A big crowd collected,
several newspaper photographers took snapshots, and there were cheers
and floral emblems.
Joe wished his folks could have been present. Compared to the time when
he had gone South to train for the Pittston team, this was a big
occasion.
A reporter from the most important St. Louis paper was to accompany the
team as "staff correspondent," for St. Louis was, and always has been, a
good "fan" town, and loyal to the ball teams.
"All aboard!" called the conductor.
There were final cheers, final good-byes, final hand-shakes, final
wishes of good luck, and then the train pulled out. Joe and his
teammates were on their way South.
It was the start of the training season, and of what would take place
between that and the closing Joe little dreamed.