JOE GOES IN
Batonby looked wonderingly, first at Joe, and then at Shalleg. The
latter's crony did not seem to be with him.
"What's the row, old top?" asked Batonby easily. "Who are you, anyhow,
and what's riled you?"
"Never you mind what's riled me! You'll find out soon enough," was the
sharp answer. "I heard you two chaps talking about me, and I want it
stopped!"
"Guess you're a little off, sport. I wasn't talking about you, for I
haven't the doubtful honor of your acquaintance."
"None of your impudence!" burst out Shalleg. Joe had not yet spoken.
"And I don't want any of yours," fired back Batonby, slapping his glove
from one hand to the other. "I say I wasn't talking about you!"
"I say you were. My name is Shalleg!"
Batonby let out a whistle of surprise.
"Is that the one?" he asked of Joe.
The latter nodded.
"Well, all I've got to say," went on Batonby, "is that I hope you don't
get on our team. And, for your information," he went on, as he saw that
Shalleg was fairly bursting with passion, "I'll add that all I said
about you was that I heard you were trying to get on the Cardinals. As
for Matson, he said even less about you."
"That's all right, but you fellows want to look out," mumbled Shalleg,
who seemed nonplused on finding that he had no good grounds for a
quarrel.
"And I want to add," broke in Joe, who felt that he had a right to say
something in his own behalf, "I want to add that I'm about through with
hearing threats from you, Mr. Shalleg," and he accented the prefix. "I
haven't said anything against you, and I don't expect to, unless you
give me cause. You've been following me about, making unjustified
remarks, and it's got to stop!"
"Hurray!" cried Batonby. "That's the kind of mustard to give him. Heave
at it again, Joe!"
The young pitcher stood facing his enemy fearlessly, but he had said
enough. Shalleg growled out:
"Well, somebody's been talking about me to the manager, giving me a bad
name, and it's got to stop. If I find out who did it, he'll wish he
hadn't," and he glared vindictively at Joe.
"I guess his own actions have given him the bad name," remarked Batonby,
as the dismissed player turned aside and walked off to join the throng
that had surged away from the little group.
"That's about it," agreed Joe, as Rad came up and joined them. "Good
work, old man!" said our hero, for Rad had done well.
"I came mighty near making an error, though, toward the last," Rad
responded. "Guess I'm not used to such strenuous life as playing nine
innings in a big game. My heart was in my throat when I saw that fly
ball coming toward me."
"But you froze on to it," said Batonby.
"Hello, what's up?" asked Rad quickly, for Joe's face still showed the
emotion he felt at the encounter with Shalleg. "Had a row?" asked Rad.
"Rather," admitted the young pitcher. "Shalleg was on deck again."
"Say, that fellow, and his side partner, Wessel, ought to be put away
during the ball season!" burst out Rad. "They're regular pests!"
Joe heartily agreed with him, as he related the circumstances of the
last affair. Then the friends passed on to the clubhouse, where the game
was played over again, as usual, a "post-mortem" being held on it. Only,
in this case the Cardinals, being winners, had no excuses to make for
poor playing. They were jubilant over the auspicious manner in which the
season had opened.
"Boys. I'm proud of you!" exclaimed Manager Watson as he strolled
through. "Do this often enough, and we'll have that pennant sure."
"Yes, a fat chance we have!" muttered Willard, sulkily.
"That's no way for a member of the team to talk!" snapped "Muggins."
Willard did not reply. It was clear that he was disgruntled because he
had not had a chance to pitch.
Then the splashing of the shower baths drowned other talk, and presently
the players, fresh and shining from their ablutions, strolled out of the
clubhouse.
"Got anything on to-night?" asked Rad of Joe, as they reached the hotel.
"Nothing special--why?"
"Let's go down to the Delaware Garden, and hear the Hungarian orchestra.
There's good eating there, too."
"I'm with you. Got to write a letter, though."
"Tell her how the game went, I s'pose?" laughed Rad.
"Something like that," agreed Joe, smiling.
He bought an evening paper, which made a specialty of sporting news. It
contained an account of the opening game, with a skeletonized outline
of the plays, inning by inning. The Cardinals were properly
congratulated for winning. Joe wished he could have read his name in the
story, but he felt he could bide his time.
Joe and Rad enjoyed their little excursion to the Delaware Garden that
evening, returning to the hotel in good season to get plenty of sleep,
for they were to play the Reds again the next day. There were four games
scheduled, and then the Cardinals would go out on the circuit, remaining
away about three weeks before coming back for a series on Robison Field.
The tables were turned in the next game. The Cincinnati team, stinging
from their previous defeat, played strong ball. They sent in a new
pitcher, and with a lead of three runs early in the contest it began to
look bad for the Cardinals.
"I'll get no chance to-day," reasoned Joe, as he saw a puzzled frown on
Mr. Watson's face. Joe knew that only a veteran would be relied on to do
battle now, and he was right.
Mr. Watson used all his ingenuity to save the game. He put in pinch
hitters, and urged his three pitchers to do their best.
Willard was allowed to open the game, but was taken out after the first
inning, so fiercely was he pounded. Cooney and Barter had been warming
up, and the latter went in next.
"You go warm up, too, Matson," directed Boswell, "though it's doubtful
if we'll have to use you."
Joe hoped they would, but it was only a faint hope.
Barter did a little better, but the Reds had a batting streak on that
day, and found his most puzzling curves and drops. Then, too, working
the "hit and run" feature to the limit and stealing bases, which in
several cases was made possible by errors on the part of the Cardinals,
soon gave the Reds a comfortable lead of five runs.
"I'm afraid they've got us," grumbled the manager, as he substituted a
batter to enable Cooney to go in the game. "You've got to pull us out,
Slim," he added.
Slim grinned easily, not a whit disconcerted, for he was a veteran. But
though he stopped the winning streak of the Reds, he could not make
runs, and runs are what win ball games.
With his best nine in the field the manager tried hard to overcome the
advantage of his opponents. It looked a little hopeful in the eighth
inning, when there were two men on bases, second and third, and only one
out, with "Slugger" Nottingham at the plate.
"Now, then, a home run, old man!" pleaded the crowd.
"Soak it on the nose!"
"Over the fence!"
"A home run means three tallies, old man. Do it now!"
Nottingham stood easily at the plate, swinging his bat. There was an
interchange of signals between catcher and pitcher--a slight difference
of opinion, it seemed. Then the ball was thrown.
There was a resounding crack, and the crowd started to yell.
"Go it, old man, go it!"
"That's the pie!"
"Oh, that's a beaut!"
But it was not. It was a nice little fly, to be sure, but the centre
fielder, running in, had it safely before the batter reached first.
Then, with Nottingham out, the ball was hurled home to nip the runner at
the plate.
Dugan, who had started in from third, ran desperately, and slid in a
cloud of dust.
"You're out!" howled the umpire, waving him to the bench.
"He never touched me!" retorted Dugan. "I was safe by a mile!"
"Robber!" shrieked the throng in the bleachers.
"Get a pair of glasses!"
"He was never out!"
The umpire listened indifferently to the tirade. Dugan dusted off his
uniform, and, losing his temper, shook his fist at the umpire, sneering:
"You big fat----" and the rest of it does not matter.
"That'll cost you just twenty-five dollars, and you can go to the
clubhouse," said the umpire, coolly.
Dugan's face fell, and Manager Watson flushed. He bit his lips to keep
from making a retort. But, after all, the umpire was clearly within his
rights.
In silence Dugan left the field, and the Reds, who were jubilant over
the double play, came in from the diamond.
"The fat's in the fire now, for sure," sighed Rad, "with Dugan out of
the game. Hang it all, anyhow!"
"Oh, we can't win every time," and Joe tried to speak cheerfully.
And so the Reds won the second of the first series of games. There was a
rather stormy scene in the clubhouse after it was over, and Mr. Watson
did some plain talking to Dugan. But, after all, it was too common an
occurrence to merit much attention, and, really, nothing very serious
had occurred.
The contest between the Reds and Cardinals was an even break, each team
taking two. Then came preparations for the Cardinals taking the road. A
series of four games with the Chicago Cubs was next in order, and there,
in the Windy City, St. Louis fared rather better, taking three.
"I wonder if I'm ever going to get a chance," mused Joe, who had been
sent to the "bull-pen" many times to warm up, but as yet he had not been
called on.
After games with the Pittsburg Pirates, in which an even break was
registered, the Cardinals returned to St. Louis. As they had an open
date, a game was arranged with one of the Central League teams, the
Washburgs.
"Say, I would like to pitch against them!" exclaimed Joe.
And he had his chance. When the practice was over Manager Watson, with a
smile at our hero, said, with a friendly nod:
"Joe, you go in and see what you can do."
Joe was to have his first big chance.