"He's got a new manager. Watch him pitch now!" That was what Nan
Brown said to me about Rube Hurtle, my great pitcher, and I took it as
her way of announcing her engagement.
My baseball career held some proud moments, but this one, wherein I
realized the success of my matchmaking plans, was certainly the
proudest one. So, entirely outside of the honest pleasure I got out of
the Rube's happiness, there was reason for me to congratulate myself.
He was a transformed man, so absolutely renewed, so wild with joy, that
on the strength of it, I decided the pennant for Worcester was a
foregone conclusion, and, sure of the money promised me by the
directors, Milly and I began to make plans for the cottage upon the
hill.
The Rube insisted on pitching Monday's game against the Torontos, and
although poor fielding gave them a couple of runs, they never had a
chance. They could not see the ball. The Rube wrapped it around their
necks and between their wrists and straight over the plate with such
incredible speed that they might just as well have tried to bat rifle
bullets.
That night I was happy. Spears, my veteran captain, was one huge
smile; Radbourne quietly assured me that all was over now but the
shouting; all the boys were happy.
And the Rube was the happiest of all. At the hotel he burst out with
his exceeding good fortune. He and Nan were to be married upon the
Fourth of July!
After the noisy congratulations were over and the Rube had gone, Spears
looked at me and I looked at him.
"Con," said he soberly, "we just can't let him get married on the
Fourth."
"Why not? Sure we can. We'll help him get married. I tell you it'll
save the pennant for us. Look how he pitched today! Nan Brown is our
salvation!"
"See here, Con, you've got softenin' of the brain, too. Where's your
baseball sense? We've got a pennant to win. By July Fourth we'll be
close to the lead again, an' there's that three weeks' trip on the
road, the longest an' hardest of the season. We've just got to break
even on that trip. You know what that means. If the Rube marries
Nan--what are we goin' to do? We can't leave him behind. If he takes
Nan with us--why it'll be a honeymoon! An' half the gang is stuck on
Nan Brown! An' Nan Brown would flirt in her bridal veil! ... Why
Con, we're up against a worse proposition than ever."
"Good Heavens! Cap. You're right," I groaned. "I never thought of
that. We've got to postpone the wedding.... How on earth can we?
I've heard her tell Milly that. She'll never consent to it. Say,
this'll drive me to drink."
"All I got to say is this, Con. If the Rube takes his wife on that
trip it's goin' to be an all-fired hummer. Don't you forget that."
"I'm not likely to. But, Spears, the point is this--will the Rube win
his games?"
"Figurin' from his work today, I'd gamble he'll never lose another
game. It ain't that. I'm thinkin' of what the gang will do to him an'
Nan on the cars an' at the hotels. Oh! Lord, Con, it ain't possible to
stand for that honeymoon trip! Just think!"
"If the worst comes to the worst, Cap, I don't care for anything but
the games. If we get in the lead and stay there I'll stand for
anything.... Couldn't the gang be coaxed or bought off to let the
Rube and Nan alone?"
"Not on your life! There ain't enough love or money on earth to stop
them. It'll be awful. Mind, I'm not responsible. Don't you go holdin'
me responsible. In all my years of baseball I never went on a trip
with a bride in the game. That's new on me, an' I never heard of it.
I'd be bad enough if he wasn't a rube an' if she wasn't a crazy
girl-fan an' a flirt to boot, an' with half the boys in love with her,
but as it is----"
Spears gave up and, gravely shaking his head, he left me. I spent a
little while in sober reflection, and finally came to the conclusion
that, in my desperate ambition to win the pennant, I would have taken
half a dozen rube pitchers and their baseball-made brides on the trip,
if by so doing I could increase the percentage of games won.
Nevertheless, I wanted to postpone the Rube's wedding if it was
possible, and I went out to see Milly and asked her to help us. But
for once in her life Milly turned traitor.
"Connie, you don't want to postpone it. Why, how perfectly lovely! ...
Mrs. Stringer will go on that trip and Mrs. Bogart.... Connie,
I'm going too!"
She actually jumped up and down in glee. That was the woman in her.
It takes a wedding to get a woman. I remonstrated and pleaded and
commanded, all to no purpose. Milly intended to go on that trip to see
the games, and the fun, and the honeymoon.
She coaxed so hard that I yielded. Thereupon she called up Mrs.
Stringer on the telephone, and of course found that young woman just as
eager as she was. For my part, I threw anxiety and care to the four
winds, and decided to be as happy as any of them. The pennant was
mine! Something kept ringing that in my ears. With the Rube working
his iron arm for the edification of his proud Nancy Brown, there was
extreme likelihood of divers shut-outs and humiliating defeats for some
Eastern League teams.
How well I calculated became a matter of baseball history during that
last week of June. We won six straight games, three of which fell to
the Rube's credit. His opponents scored four runs in the three games,
against the nineteen we made. Upon July 1, Radbourne beat Providence
and Cairns won the second game. We now had a string of eight
victories. Sunday we rested, and Monday was the Fourth, with morning
and afternoon games with Buffalo.
Upon the morning of the Fourth, I looked for the Rube at the hotel, but
could not find him. He did not show up at the grounds when the other
boys did, and I began to worry. It was the Rube's turn to pitch and we
were neck and neck with Buffalo for first place. If we won both games
we would go ahead of our rivals. So I was all on edge, and kept going
to the dressing-room to see if the Rube had arrived. He came, finally,
when all the boys were dressed, and about to go out for practice. He
had on a new suit, a tailor-made suit at that, and he looked fine.
There was about him a kind of strange radiance. He stated simply that
he had arrived late because he had just been married. Before
congratulations were out of our mouths, he turned to me.
"Con, I want to pitch both games today," he said.
"What! Say, Whit, Buffalo is on the card today and we are only three
points behind them. If we win both we'll be leading the league once
more. I don't know about pitching you both games."
"I reckon we'll be in the lead tonight then," he replied, "for I'll win
them both."
I was about to reply when Dave, the ground-keeper, called me to the
door, saying there was a man to see me. I went out, and there stood
Morrisey, manager of the Chicago American League team. We knew each
other well and exchanged greetings.
"Con, I dropped off to see you about this new pitcher of yours, the one
they call the Rube. I want to see him work. I've heard he's pretty
fast. How about it?"
"Wait--till you see him pitch," I replied. I could scarcely get that
much out, for Morrisey's presence meant a great deal and I did not want
to betray my elation.
"Any strings on him?" queried the big league manager, sharply.
"Well, Morrisey, not exactly. I can give you the first call. You'll
have to bid high, though. Just wait till you see him work."
"I'm glad to hear that. My scout was over here watching him pitch and
says he's a wonder."
What luck it was that Morrisey should have come upon this day! I could
hardly contain myself. Almost I began to spend the money I would get
for selling the Rube to the big league manager. We took seats in the
grand stand, as Morrisey did not want to be seen by any players, and I
stayed there with him until the gong sounded. There was a big
attendance. I looked all over the stand for Nan, but she was lost in
the gay crowd. But when I went down to the bench I saw her up in my
private box with Milly. It took no second glance to see that Nan Brown
was a bride and glorying in the fact.
Then, in the absorption of the game, I became oblivious to Milly and
Nan; the noisy crowd; the giant fire-crackers and the smoke; to the
presence of Morrisey; to all except the Rube and my team and their
opponents. Fortunately for my hopes, the game opened with
characteristic Worcester dash. Little McCall doubled, Ashwell drew his
base on four wide pitches, and Stringer drove the ball over the
right-field fence--three runs!
Three runs were enough to win that game. Of all the exhibitions of
pitching with which the Rube had favored us, this one was the finest.
It was perhaps not so much his marvelous speed and unhittable curves
that made the game one memorable in the annals of pitching; it was his
perfect control in the placing of balls, in the cutting of corners; in
his absolute implacable mastery of the situation. Buffalo was unable
to find him at all. The game was swift short, decisive, with the score
5 to 0 in our favor. But the score did not tell all of the Rube's work
that morning. He shut out Buffalo without a hit, or a scratch, the
first no-hit, no-run game of the year. He gave no base on balls; not a
Buffalo player got to first base; only one fly went to the outfield.
For once I forgot Milly after a game, and I hurried to find Morrisey,
and carried him off to have dinner with me.
"Your rube is a wonder, and that's a fact," he said to me several
times. "Where on earth did you get him? Connelly, he's my meat. Do
you understand? Can you let me have him right now?"
"No, Morrisey, I've got the pennant to win first. Then I'll sell him."
"How much? Do you hear? How much?" Morrisey hammered the table with
his fist and his eyes gleamed.
Carried away as I was by his vehemence, I was yet able to calculate
shrewdly, and I decided to name a very high price, from which I could
come down and still make a splendid deal.
"How much?" demanded Morrisey.
"Five thousand dollars," I replied, and gulped when I got the words out.
Morrisey never batted an eye.
"Waiter, quick, pen and ink and paper!"
Presently my hand, none too firm, was signing my name to a contract
whereby I was to sell my pitcher for five thousand dollars at the close
of the current season. I never saw a man look so pleased as Morrisey
when he folded that contract and put it in his pocket. He bade me
good-bye and hurried off to catch a train, and he never knew the Rube
had pitched the great game on his wedding day.
That afternoon before a crowd that had to be roped off the diamond, I
put the Rube against the Bisons. How well he showed the baseball
knowledge he had assimilated! He changed his style in that second
game. He used a slow ball and wide curves and took things easy. He
made Buffalo hit the ball and when runners got on bases once more let
out his speed and held them down. He relied upon the players behind
him and they were equal to the occasion.
It was a totally different game from that of the morning, and perhaps
one more suited to the pleasure of the audience. There was plenty of
hard hitting, sharp fielding and good base running, and the game was
close and exciting up to the eighth, when Mullaney's triple gave us two
runs, and a lead that was not headed. To the deafening roar of the
bleachers the Rube walked off the field, having pitched Worcester into
first place in the pennant race.
That night the boys planned their first job on the Rube. We had
ordered a special Pullman for travel to Toronto, and when I got to the
depot in the morning, the Pullman was a white fluttering mass of satin
ribbons. Also, there was a brass band, and thousands of baseball fans,
and barrels of old foot-gear. The Rube and Nan arrived in a cab and
were immediately mobbed. The crowd roared, the band played, the engine
whistled, the bell clanged; and the air was full of confetti and
slippers, and showers of rice like hail pattered everywhere. A
somewhat dishevelled bride and groom boarded the Pullman and
breathlessly hid in a state room. The train started, and the crowd
gave one last rousing cheer. Old Spears yelled from the back platform:
"Fellers, an' fans, you needn't worry none about leavin' the Rube an'
his bride to the tender mercies of the gang. A hundred years from now
people will talk about this honeymoon baseball trip. Wait till we come
back--an' say, jest to put you wise, no matter what else happens, we're
comin' back in first place!"
It was surely a merry party in that Pullman. The bridal couple emerged
from their hiding place and held a sort of reception in which the Rube
appeared shy and frightened, and Nan resembled a joyous, fluttering
bird in gray. I did not see if she kissed every man on the team, but
she kissed me as if she had been wanting to do it for ages. Milly
kissed the Rube, and so did the other women, to his infinite
embarrassment. Nan's effect upon that crowd was most singular. She
was sweetness and caprice and joy personified.
We settled down presently to something approaching order, and I, for
one, with very keen ears and alert eyes, because I did not want to miss
anything.
"I see the lambs a-gambolin'," observed McCall, in a voice louder than
was necessary to convey his meaning to Mullaney, his partner in the
seat.
"Yes, it do seem as if there was joy aboundin' hereabouts," replied Mul
with fervor.
"It's more spring-time than summer," said Ashwell, "an' everything in
nature is runnin' in pairs. There are the sheep an' the cattle an' the
birds. I see two kingfishers fishin' over here. An' there's a couple
of honey-bees makin' honey. Oh, honey, an' by George, if there ain't
two butterflies foldin' their wings round each other. See the
dandelions kissin' in the field!"
Then the staid Captain Spears spoke up with an appearance of sincerity
and a tone that was nothing short of remarkable.
"Reggie, see the sunshine asleep upon yon bank. Ain't it lovely? An'
that white cloud sailin' thither amid the blue--how spontaneous! Joy is
a-broad o'er all this boo-tiful land today--Oh, yes! An' love's wings
hover o 'er the little lambs an' the bullfrogs in the pond an' the
dicky birds in the trees. What sweetness to lie in the grass, the lap
of bounteous earth, eatin' apples in the Garden of Eden, an' chasin'
away the snakes an' dreamin' of Thee, Sweet-h-e-a-r-t----"
Spears was singing when he got so far and there was no telling what he
might have done if Mullaney, unable to stand the agony, had not jabbed
a pin in him. But that only made way for the efforts of the other
boys, each of whom tried to outdo the other in poking fun at the Rube
and Nan. The big pitcher was too gloriously happy to note much of what
went on around him, but when it dawned upon him he grew red and white
by turns.
Nan, however, was more than equal to the occasion. Presently she
smiled at Spears, such a smile! The captain looked as if he had just
partaken of an intoxicating wine. With a heightened color in her
cheeks and a dangerous flash in her roguish eyes, Nan favored McCall
with a look, which was as much as to say that she remembered him with a
dear sadness. She made eyes at every fellow in the car, and then
bringing back her gaze to the Rube, as if glorying in comparison, she
nestled her curly black head on his shoulder. He gently tried to move
her; but it was not possible. Nan knew how to meet the ridicule of half
a dozen old lovers. One by one they buried themselves in newspapers,
and finally McCall, for once utterly beaten, showed a white feather,
and sank back out of sight behind his seat.
The boys did not recover from that shock until late in the afternoon.
As it was a physical impossibility for Nan to rest her head all day
upon her husband's broad shoulder, the boys toward dinner time came out
of their jealous trance. I heard them plotting something. When dinner
was called, about half of my party, including the bride and groom, went
at once into the dining-car. Time there flew by swiftly. And later,
when we were once more in our Pullman, and I had gotten interested in a
game of cards with Milly and Stringer and his wife, the Rube came
marching up to me with a very red face.
"Con, I reckon some of the boys have stolen my--our grips," said he.
"What?" I asked, blankly.
He explained that during his absence in the dining-car someone had
entered his stateroom and stolen his grip and Nan's. I hastened at
once to aid the Rube in his search. The boys swore by everything under
and beyond the sun they had not seen the grips; they appeared very much
grieved at the loss and pretended to help in searching the Pullman. At
last, with the assistance of a porter, we discovered the missing grips
in an upper berth. The Rube carried them off to his stateroom and we
knew soon from his uncomplimentary remarks that the contents of the
suitcases had been mixed and manhandled. But he did not hunt for the
jokers.
We arrived at Toronto before daylight next morning, and remained in the
Pullman until seven o'clock. When we got out, it was discovered that
the Rube and Nan had stolen a march upon us. We traced them to the
hotel, and found them at breakfast. After breakfast we formed a merry
sight-seeing party and rode all over the city.
That afternoon, when Raddy let Toronto down with three hits and the
boys played a magnificent game behind him, and we won 7 to 2, I knew at
last and for certain that the Worcester team had come into its own
again. Then next day Cairns won a close, exciting game, and following
that, on the third day, the matchless Rube toyed with the Torontos.
Eleven straight games won! I was in the clouds, and never had I seen
so beautiful a light as shone in Milly's eyes.
From that day The Honeymoon Trip of the Worcester Baseball Club, as the
newspapers heralded it--was a triumphant march. We won two out of
three games at Montreal, broke even with the hard-fighting Bisons, took
three straight from Rochester, and won one and tied one out of three
with Hartford. It would have been wonderful ball playing for a team to
play on home grounds and we were doing the full circuit of the league.
Spears had called the turn when he said the trip would be a hummer.
Nan Hurtle had brought us wonderful luck.
But the tricks they played on Whit and his girl-fan bride!
Ashwell, who was a capital actor, disguised himself as a conductor and
pretended to try to eject Whit and Nan from the train, urging that
love-making was not permitted. Some of the team hired a clever young
woman to hunt the Rube up at the hotel, and claim old acquaintance with
him. Poor Whit almost collapsed when the young woman threw her arms
about his neck just as Nan entered the parlor. Upon the instant Nan
became wild as a little tigress, and it took much explanation and
eloquence to reinstate Whit in her affections.
Another time Spears, the wily old fox, succeeded in detaining Nan on
the way to the station, and the two missed the train. At first the
Rube laughed with the others, but when Stringer remarked that he had
noticed a growing attachment between Nan and Spears, my great pitcher
experienced the first pangs of the green-eyed monster. We had to hold
him to keep him from jumping from the train, and it took Milly and Mrs.
Stringer to soothe him. I had to wire back to Rochester for a special
train for Spears and Nan, and even then we had to play half a game
without the services of our captain.
So far upon our trip I had been fortunate in securing comfortable rooms
and the best of transportation for my party. At Hartford, however, I
encountered difficulties. I could not get a special Pullman, and the
sleeper we entered already had a number of occupants. After the ladies
of my party had been assigned to berths, it was necessary for some of
the boys to sleep double in upper berths.
It was late when we got aboard, the berths were already made up, and
soon we had all retired. In the morning very early I was awakened by a
disturbance. It sounded like a squeal. I heard an astonished
exclamation, another squeal, the pattering of little feet, then hoarse
uproar of laughter from the ball players in the upper berths. Following
that came low, excited conversation between the porter and somebody,
then an angry snort from the Rube and the thud of his heavy feet in the
aisle. What took place after that was guess-work for me. But I
gathered from the roars and bawls that the Rube was after some of the
boys. I poked my head between the curtains and saw him digging into
the berths.
"Where's McCall?" he yelled.
Mac was nowhere in that sleeper, judging from the vehement denials.
But the Rube kept on digging and prodding in the upper berths.
"I'm a-goin' to lick you, Mac, so I reckon you'd better show up,"
shouted the Rube.
The big fellow was mad as a hornet. When he got to me he grasped me
with his great fence-rail splitting hands and I cried out with pain.
"Say! Whit, let up! Mac's not here.... What's wrong?"
"I'll show you when I find him." And the Rube stalked on down the
aisle, a tragically comic figure in his pajamas. In his search for Mac
he pried into several upper berths that contained occupants who were
not ball players, and these protested in affright. Then the Rube began
to investigate the lower berths. A row of heads protruded in a bobbing
line from between the curtains of the upper berths.
"Here, you Indian! Don't you look in there! That's my wife's berth!"
yelled Stringer.
Bogart, too, evinced great excitement.
"Hurtle, keep out of lower eight or I'll kill you," he shouted.
What the Rube might have done there was no telling, but as he grasped a
curtain, he was interrupted by a shriek from some woman assuredly not
of our party.
"Get out! you horrid wretch! Help! Porter! Help! Conductor!"
Instantly there was a deafening tumult in the car. When it had
subsided somewhat, and I considered I would be safe, I descended from
my berth and made my way to the dressing room. Sprawled over the
leather seat was the Rube pommelling McCall with hearty good will. I
would have interfered, had it not been for Mac's demeanor. He was half
frightened, half angry, and utterly unable to defend himself or even
resist, because he was laughing, too.
"Dog-gone it! Whit--I didn't--do it! I swear it was Spears! Stop
thumpin' me now--or I'll get sore.... You hear me! It wasn't me, I
tell you. Cheese it!"
For all his protesting Mac received a good thumping, and I doubted not
in the least that he deserved it. The wonder of the affair, however,
was the fact that no one appeared to know what had made the Rube so
furious. The porter would not tell, and Mac was strangely reticent,
though his smile was one to make a fellow exceedingly sure something
out of the ordinary had befallen. It was not until I was having
breakfast in Providence that I learned the true cause of Rube's
conduct, and Milly confided it to me, insisting on strict confidence.
"I promised not to tell," she said. "Now you promise you'll never
tell."
"Well, Connie," went on Milly, when I had promised, "it was the
funniest thing yet, but it was horrid of McCall. You see, the Rube had
upper seven and Nan had lower seven. Early this morning, about
daylight, Nan awoke very thirsty and got up to get a drink. During her
absence, probably, but any way some time last night, McCall changed the
number on her curtain, and when Nan came back to number seven of course
she almost got in the wrong berth."
"No wonder the Rube punched him!" I declared. "I wish we were safe
home. Something'll happen yet on this trip."
I was faithful to my promise to Milly, but the secret leaked out
somewhere; perhaps Mac told it, and before the game that day all the
players knew it. The Rube, having recovered his good humor, minded it
not in the least. He could not have felt ill-will for any length of
time. Everything seemed to get back into smooth running order, and the
Honeymoon Trip bade fair to wind up beautifully.
But, somehow or other, and about something unknown to the rest of us,
the Rube and Nan quarreled. It was their first quarrel. Milly and I
tried to patch it up but failed.
We lost the first game to Providence and won the second. The next day,
a Saturday, was the last game of the trip, and it was Rube's turn to
pitch. Several times during the first two days the Rube and Nan about
half made up their quarrel, only in the end to fall deeper into it.
Then the last straw came in a foolish move on the part of wilful Nan.
She happened to meet Henderson, her former admirer, and in a flash she
took up her flirtation with him where she had left off.
"Don't go to the game with him, Nan," I pleaded. "It's a silly thing
for you to do. Of course you don't mean anything, except to torment
Whit. But cut it out. The gang will make him miserable and we'll lose
the game. There's no telling what might happen."
"I'm supremely indifferent to what happens," she replied, with a
rebellious toss of her black head. "I hope Whit gets beaten."
She went to the game with Henderson and sat in the grand stand, and the
boys spied them out and told the Rube. He did not believe it at first,
but finally saw them, looked deeply hurt and offended, and then grew
angry. But the gong, sounding at that moment, drew his attention to
his business of the day, to pitch.
His work that day reminded me of the first game he ever pitched for me,
upon which occasion Captain Spears got the best out of him by making
him angry. For several innings Providence was helpless before his
delivery. Then something happened that showed me a crisis was near. A
wag of a fan yelled from the bleachers.
"Honeymoon Rube!"
This cry was taken up by the delighted fans and it rolled around the
field. But the Rube pitched on, harder than ever. Then the knowing
bleacherite who had started the cry changed it somewhat.
"Nanny's Rube!" he yelled.
This, too, went the rounds, and still the Rube, though red in the face,
preserved his temper and his pitching control. All would have been
well if Bud Wiler, comedian of the Providence team, had not hit upon a
way to rattle Rube.
"Nanny's Goat!" he shouted from the coaching lines. Every Providence
player took it up.
The Rube was not proof against that. He yelled so fiercely at them,
and glared so furiously, and towered so formidably, that they ceased
for the moment. Then he let drive with his fast straight ball and hit
the first Providence batter in the ribs. His comrades had to help him
to the bench. The Rube hit the next batter on the leg, and judging
from the crack of the ball, I fancied that player would walk lame for
several days. The Rube tried to hit the next batter and sent him to
first on balls. Thereafter it became a dodging contest with honors
about equal between pitcher and batters. The Providence players
stormed and the bleachers roared. But I would not take the Rube out
and the game went on with the Rube forcing in runs.
With the score a tie, and three men on bases one of the players on the
bench again yelled "Nanny's Goat!"
Straight as a string the Rube shot the ball at this fellow and bounded
after it. The crowd rose in an uproar. The base runners began to
score. I left my bench and ran across the space, but not in time to
catch the Rube. I saw him hit two or three of the Providence men.
Then the policemen got to him, and a real fight brought the big
audience into the stamping melee. Before the Rube was collared I saw
at least four blue-coats on the grass.
The game broke up, and the crowd spilled itself in streams over the
field. Excitement ran high. I tried to force my way into the mass to
get at the Rube and the officers, but this was impossible. I feared
the Rube would be taken from the officers and treated with violence, so
I waited with the surging crowd, endeavoring to get nearer. Soon we
were in the street, and it seemed as if all the stands had emptied
their yelling occupants.
A trolley car came along down the street, splitting the mass of people
and driving them back. A dozen policemen summarily bundled the Rube
upon the rear end of the car. Some of these officers boarded the car,
and some remained in the street to beat off the vengeful fans.
I saw some one thrust forward a frantic young woman. The officers
stopped her, then suddenly helped her on the car, just as I started. I
recognized Nan. She gripped the Rube with both hands and turned a
white, fearful face upon the angry crowd.
The Rube stood in the grasp of his wife and the policemen, and he
looked like a ruffled lion. He shook his big fist and bawled in
far-reaching voice:
"I can lick you all!"
To my infinite relief, the trolley gathered momentum and safely passed
out of danger. The last thing I made out was Nan pressing close to the
Rube's side. That moment saw their reconciliation and my joy that it
was the end of the Rube's Honeymoon.