A LAME ARM
"But, great Scott, Joe!" exclaimed Rad, when he had been given all the
facts of the strange occurrence, "that was a raw sort of deal!"
"I think so myself."
"Why don't you get the police after them?"
"What would be the good? Nothing really happened, and just because I
have an idea it would have, if I'd given them the chance to get at me,
doesn't make them liable to arrest. I would look foolish going to the
police."
"Maybe so. But then there's that note. They didn't have any idea of
doing me a good turn. That was almost a forgery."
"The trouble is we can't prove it, though. I think the only thing I can
do is to let it go, and be more careful in the future."
"Well, maybe it is," agreed Rad slowly. "But what do you think was their
object?"
"I haven't the least idea," replied Joe. "That is, the only thing I can
imagine is that Shalleg wanted to scare me; or, perhaps, threaten me
for what he imagines I have done to him."
"And that is?" questioned Rad.
"That I've been spreading false reports about him to our manager, in
order to keep him off the team. As a matter of fact, I don't believe I
have ever mentioned him to Mr. Watson. It's all imagination on Shalleg's
part."
"What condition was he in to-night?" asked Rad, as he and Joe were on
their way to the hotel after the play.
"As far as I could judge, he was about as he has been most of the time
lately--scarcely sober. That, and his gambling and irregular living,
took him off the team, you know."
"And he thinks, with that record behind him, that he can get on the
Cardinals!" exclaimed Rad. "He's crazy!"
"He's dangerous, too," added Joe. "I'm going to be more careful after
this."
"And you thought you were doing me a favor, old man?"
"I sure did, Rad. I thought maybe some scout from another club was
trying to secure your valuable services."
"Now you're stringing me!"
"No, I'm not, really. You know there are queer doings in baseball."
"Yes, but none as queer as that. Well, I'm much obliged, anyhow. But
after this you stick to me. If there's any danger we'll share it
together!"
"Thanks!" exclaimed Joe warmly.
"Going to say anything to the boss about this?" asked Rad, after a
pause.
"I think not. Would you?"
"Well, perhaps we might just as well keep still about it," agreed Rad.
"We'll see if we can't trap this Shalleg and his crony, and put a stop
to their game."
"All they have been is a nuisance, so far," spoke Joe. "But there's no
telling when they might turn to something else."
"That's so. Well, we'll keep our weather eyes open."
Joe was not a little unnerved by his experience, and he was glad there
was not a game next day.
The Cardinals had crept up a peg. They were now standing one from the
top of the second division of clubs, and there began to be heard talk
that they would surely lead their column before many more games had been
played.
"And maybe break into the first division!" exclaimed Trainer Boswell.
"If you keep on the way you've started, Matson, we sure will do it!"
"I'll do my best," responded Joe.
In a series of four games with the Brooklyn Superbas the Cardinals broke
even, thus maintaining their position. But they could not seem to climb
any higher. Joe's pitching helped a lot, and he was regarded as a coming
star. He was acquiring more confidence in himself, and that, in playing
big baseball, helps a lot.
Of course I am not saying that Joe did all the work for his team. No
pitcher does, but a pitcher is a big factor. It takes batters to make
hits and runs, however, and the Cardinals had their share of them. They
could have done better with more, but good players brought high prices,
and Manager Watson had spent all the club owners felt like laying out.
The other pitchers of the Cardinals worked hard. It must not be imagined
that because I dwell so much on Joe's efforts that he was the "whole
show."
Far from it. At times Joe had his "off days" as well as did the others,
and there were times when he felt so discouraged that he wanted to give
it all up, and go back to a smaller league.
But Joe had grit, and he stuck to it. He was determined to make as great
a name for himself as is possible in baseball, and he knew he must take
the bitter with the sweet, and accept defeat when it came, as it is
bound to now and then.
Nor did his determination to overcome obstacles fail of its object.
With the other members of the team, Joe played so surprisingly well that
suddenly the Cardinals took one of those remarkable "braces" that
sometimes come in baseball, and from eighth position the club leaped
forward into fifth, being aided considerably by some hard luck on the
part of the other teams. In other words, "things broke right" for the
Cardinals and the St. Louis "fans" began to harbor hopes of a possible
pennant.
Joe had several incentives for doing his best. There were his folks. He
wanted to justify his father's faith in him, and also his sister's. Joe
knew that his mother, in spite of her kind and loving ways, was secretly
disappointed that he had quit his college career to become a baseball
player.
"But I'll show her that it's just as honorable as one of the learned
professions, and that it pays better in a great many cases," reasoned
Joe. "Though of course the money end of it isn't the biggest thing in
this world," he told himself. "Still it is mighty satisfactory."
Then there was another reason why Joe wanted to make good. Or, rather,
there was another person he wanted to have hear of his success. I guess
you know her name.
And so the young pitcher kept on, struggling to perfect himself in the
technicalities of the big game, playing his position for all it was
capable of. As the season went on Joe's name figured more and more often
in the papers.
"He's got reporters on his staff!" sneered Willard.
"Well, I wish we all had," observed Manager Watson. "Publicity counts,
and I want all I can get for my players. It's a wonder some of you
fellows wouldn't have your name in the papers oftener."
"I don't play to the grandstand," growled the grouchy pitcher.
"Maybe it would help some if you did," the manager remarked quietly.
The baseball practice and play went on. Joe was called on more often now
to pitch a game, as Mr. Watson was kind enough to say some of the club's
success was due to him, and while of course he was not considered the
equal of the veteran pitchers, he was often referred to as a "comer."
What Joe principally lacked was consistency. He could go in and pitch a
brilliant game, but he could not often do it two days in succession. In
this respect he was not unlike many celebrated young pitchers. Joe was
not fully developed yet. He had not attained his full growth, and he had
not the stamina and staying power that would come with added years. But
he was acquiring experience and practice that would stand him in good
stead, and his natural good health, and clean manner of living, were in
his favor.
The Cardinals had come back to St. Louis in high spirits over their
splendid work on the road.
"We ought to take at least three from the Phillies," said Boswell, for
they were to play four games with the Quaker City nine. "That will help
some."
"If we win them," remarked Joe, with a smile.
"Well, we're depending on you to help," retorted the trainer.
Joe only smiled.
There was some discussion in the papers as to who would pitch the first
game against the Phillies, and it was not settled until a few minutes
before the game was called, when Slim Cooney was sent in.
"I guess Mr. Watson wants to make sure of at least the first one,"
remarked Joe, as he sat on the bench.
"Oh, you'll get a chance," Boswell assured him. "You want to keep
yourself right on edge. No telling when you'll be called on."
It was a close game, and it was not until the eleventh inning that the
home team pulled in the winning run. Then, with jubilant faces, the
members hurried to the clubhouse.
"Whew!" whistled Cooney, as he swung his southpaw arm about. "I sure
will be lame to-morrow."
"You can have a rest," the manager informed him. "And be sure to have
your arm massaged well. This is going to be a stiffer proposition than I
thought."
"Did you see him at the game?" asked Rad of Joe, as they walked along
together.
"See who?"
"Shalleg."
"No. Was he there?"
"He sure was! I had a glimpse of him over in the bleachers when I ran
after that long drive of Mitchell's. He was with that Wessel, but they
didn't look my way."
"Humph!" mused Joe. "Well, I suppose he's got a right to come to our
games. If he bothers me, though, I'll take some action."
"What?"
"I don't know, yet. But I'm through standing for his nonsense."
"I don't blame you."
If Joe could have seen Shalleg and Wessel talking to a certain "tough"
looking character, after the game, and at the same time motioning in his
direction, he would have felt added uneasiness.
"Oh, let's go out to some summer garden and cool off," proposed Rad
after supper. It was a hot night, and sitting about the hotel was
irksome.
"All right," agreed Joe, and they started for a car. The same "tough"
looking character who had been talking with Wessel and Shalleg took the
car as well.
Coming back, after sitting through an open-air moving picture
performance, Joe and Rad found all the cars crowded. It was an open one,
and Joe and Rad had given their seats to ladies, standing up and holding
to the back of the seat in front of them. Just beyond Joe was a burly
chap, the same one who had left the hotel at the time they did. He kept
his seat.
Then, as the car reached a certain corner, this man got up hurriedly.
"Let me past! I want to get off!" he exclaimed, in unnecessarily rough
tones to Joe, at the same time pressing hard against him.
"Certainly," the young pitcher replied, removing his hands from the seat
in front of him. At that moment the car stopped with a sudden jerk, and
the fellow grabbed Joe by the right arm, twisting it so that the ball
player cried out, involuntarily.
"'Scuse me!" muttered the fellow. "I didn't mean to grab youse so hard.
I didn't know youse was so tender," he sneered.
"Seems to me you could have grabbed the seat," objected Joe, wincing
with pain.
The other did not answer, but afterward Rad said he thought he saw him
wink and grin maliciously.
"Hurt much?" asked Rad of Joe, as the fellow got off and the car went on
again.
"It did for a minute. It's better now."
"It looked to me as though he did that on purpose," said Rad.
"He certainly was very clumsy," spoke one of the ladies to whom Joe and
Rad had given their places. "He stepped on my foot, too."
Joe worked his arm up and down to limber the muscles, and then thought
little more about the incident. That is, until the next morning. He
awoke with a sudden sense of pain, and as he stretched out his pitching
arm, he cried out.
"What's the matter?" asked Rad.
"My arm's sore and lame!" complained Joe. "Say, this is tough luck! And
maybe I'll get a chance to pitch to-day."