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[Illustration: JOE WAS DOING GOOD WORK.]
Baseball Joe of
the Silver Stars
OR
_The_ Rivals _of_ Riverside
_By_ LESTER CHADWICK
AUTHOR OF
"THE RIVAL PITCHERS," "A QUARTERBACK'S
PLUCK," "BATTING TO WIN," ETC.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
BASEBALL JOE OF THE SILVER STARS
Copyright, 1912, by
Cupples & Leon Company
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I A Hot Game 1
II Tieing the Score 11
III Mrs. Matson is Worried 23
IV A Row with Sam 31
V Joe Helps the Manager 41
VI Joe Has Hopes 50
VII Laughed at 58
VIII A Mean Protest 66
IX Joe in the Game 73
X A Tight Contest 80
XI Joe's Run 89
XII Discontent 96
XIII Scientific Practice 103
XIV A Kettle of Apple Sauce 110
XV Joe Overhears Something 119
XVI Mr. Matson is Alarmed 129
XVII A Throwing Contest 136
XVIII Another Defeat 143
XIX Joe is Watched 151
XX "Would You Like to Pitch?" 161
XXI To the Rescue 167
XXII A Delayed Pitcher 174
XXIII Joe in the Box 185
XXIV Sam Arrives 191
XXV Joe Foils the Plotters 197
XXVI Sam Resigns 208
XXVII Bad News 215
XXVIII The Fight 221
XXIX The Challenge 228
XXX The Winning Throw--Conclusion 233
BASEBALL JOE
CHAPTER I
A HOT GAME
"Come on, Sam, get a move on. I thought you'd be out on the diamond long
ago. What's the matter?"
"Oh, I had to help dad put in some fence posts. I'm through now,
Darrell, and I'll be right with you."
"Setting fence posts; eh?" and Darrell Blackney, the young manager of
the Silver Star baseball nine of Riverside looked critically at Sam
Morton, the team's pitcher. "Well, Sam, I hope it didn't make you stiff
so that you can't put some good balls over the plate. It's going to be a
hot game all right."
"Oh, forget it!" cried Sam, as he finished buttoning his jacket while he
joined his chum. "We'll beat 'em to a frazzle all right. I'm going to
pitch my head off to-day."
"You may--if you don't go to pieces the way you once did."
"Say, what you talking about?" demanded Sam, with some warmth. "I can
pitch all right, and don't you forget it." He seemed unnecessarily
aroused.
"Oh, I know you can pitch," spoke Darrell easily, "only I don't want you
to be too sure about it. You know the Resolutes of Rocky Ford have a
strong team this season, and their pitcher is----"
"Oh, I know what Hen Littell is as well as you," broke in Sam. "He
thinks he's a whole lot, but you wait. I've got a new drop ball,
and----"
"Well, then, you'd ought to have been out on the diamond this morning,
practicing with Bart Ferguson. He's got a new catching glove, and if you
and he can connect on the curves we may do some good work. But I wish
you'd had some practice this morning."
"So do I, but dad made me help him, and I couldn't very well get off. I
tried to sneak away, but he got on to my game and put a stop to it."
"Oh, well, of course if you had to help your father that's different,"
spoke Darrell, who was a manly young chap, somewhat in contrast to Sam,
who was not as upright as he might have been. Sam had a boastful and
confident air that caused many to dislike him, but as he was the best
pitcher the Silver Stars had had in some seasons his short-comings were
overlooked.
And certainly Sam had been pitching pretty good ball thus far. True, at
times, he "went up in the air," but all pitchers are likely to do this
on occasions. Sam had great belief in his own ability.
There was considerable baseball feeling in the little town of Riverside,
located on the Appelby River, in one of our New England States. Though
the nine was an amateur one, and composed of lads ranging from fourteen
to nineteen years of age, yet many fast games had been seen on the
village diamond, which was kept in good shape by volunteers. A small
admission sum was charged to view the contests and from this the boys
were able to buy their uniforms, balls, bats, and other things. With
some of the money the grounds were renovated from time to time, and the
fences, bleachers and grandstand kept in order.
There was a sort of informal county league existing among several nines
in the towns surrounding Riverside, and perhaps the bitterest rivals of
the Silver Stars were the Resolutes of Rocky Ford, a place about five
miles farther up the stream than Riverside. To-day one of the games in
the series was to take place, and the occasion, being Saturday, was a
gala one in the home town of the Silver Stars, on whose grounds the
contest was to take place.
"Well, you'll have a little time for practice before the game begins,"
remarked Darrell as he and Sam walked toward the diamond. "We've got
about an hour yet."
"Are the Resolutes here?"
"They hadn't come when I passed the grounds a little while ago on my way
to see you. I couldn't imagine what kept you."
"Well, it was all dad's fault. Hang it all----"
"Never mind," broke in Darrell quickly. "Dads are all right as a rule."
He had lost his own father not long since, and his heart was still sore.
He could not bear to have any one speak disrespectfully of parents. "I
guess we'll make out all right," he added.
"Oh, sure we will!" exclaimed Sam, full of confidence. "They won't have
a look in."
"Well, hurry up and get in some practice with Bart," advised the
manager.
"Who's going to cover first to-day?" inquired Sam, as they hurried along
the streets, which were already beginning to fill with the crowds making
their way to the game.
"I think I am for most of the time," answered Darrell. "George Rankin
and I talked it over and decided that would be a good way to lead off.
Later, if I find I'm needed on the coaching line, I'll let Tom Davis
take my place."
"Tom isn't much good."
"Oh, I think he is."
"Didn't he miss two hot throws to first base in the game last Saturday?"
"That was because you put them over his head. You want to be careful,
Sam, when there are two on the bags, how you throw to first. Lots of
times I have to jump for your throws, and if I wasn't pretty quick at it
they'd get by me."
"Oh, well, you won't have any complaint to-day. I'll get 'em there all
right. But you'd better stay in the whole game yourself."
"I'll see. Hark, what's that?"
The inspiring notes of a coaching horn echoed down the village street.
"Sounds like a tally-ho," remarked Sam.
Just then there swung into view a large stage, drawn by four horses, the
vehicle filled with a cheering, shouting and laughing crowd of boys.
"That's the Resolute team," said Darrell. "They're coming in style all
right."
Again there came the thrilling notes of the bugle, blown by some one in
the stage. Then followed another large vehicle, filled with a throng of
cheering lads.
"They've brought a crowd along," commented Sam.
"Yes, maybe they're depending on rooters to help them win the game."
"Well, our fellows can root some too," spoke the pitcher. "I'm glad
there's going to be a big crowd. I can pitch better then."
"Well, do your best," urged the manager. "There's Percy Parnell and Fred
Newton over there. I thought they were out on the field long ago."
"Maybe they had to set fence posts too."
"Maybe," assented Darrell with a laugh. "And here comes Tom Davis. Who's
that with him?" and the pitcher and manager glanced at a tall,
well-formed lad who was walking beside the substitute first baseman.
"Evidently a stranger in town," went on Darrell.
"Yes, I've seen him before," remarked Sam. "He lives down on our street.
The family just moved in. His name is Batson, or Hatson, or something
like that. His father works in the harvester factory."
"Hum," mused Darrell. "He looks like a decent sort of chap," and he
gazed critically at the stranger. "Maybe he'd like to join our club,"
for the ball team was a sort of adjunct to a boys' athletic
organization.
"Oh, we've got enough fellows in now," said Sam quickly.
"Always room for one more," commented the manager, who was ever on the
lookout for good material for the nine. Perhaps Sam suspected something
like this, for he glanced quickly at his companion.
"Say, if you think I'm not good enough----" began the pitcher, who was
noted for his quick temper.
"Now, now, drop that kind of talk," said Darrell soothingly. "You know
we're all satisfied with your pitching. Don't get on your ear."
"Well, I won't then," and Sam smiled frankly.
By this time Percy Parnell, the second baseman, and Fred Newton, the
plucky little shortstop, had joined the pitcher and the manager, and
greetings were exchanged.
"Are we going to wallop 'em?" asked Fred.
"Sure thing," assented Sam.
"It's going to be a hot game all right," was Percy's opinion.
"All the better," commented Darrell. "Say the people are turning out in
great shape, though. I'm glad to see it. We need a little money in our
treasury."
They turned in at the players' gate. The Resolute team had preceded
them, and already several of the members of that nine were in their
uniforms and out on the diamond. They were lads of the same age as their
rivals, and had about the same sort of an organization--strictly
amateur, but with desires to do as nearly as possible as the college and
professional teams did.
But there was a great difference, of course, and mainly in the rather
free-and-easy manner in which the rules were interpreted. While it is
true that in the fundamentals they played baseball according to the
general regulations, there were many points on which they were at
variance, and a professional probably would have found much at which to
laugh and be in despair. But what did it matter as long as the boys, and
those who watched them, enjoyed it? Not a bit, in my opinion.
As the Silver Star lads proceeded to the improvised dressing rooms under
the grandstand, several more of the Resolute players hurried out,
buttoning jackets as they ran.
"Oh, we'll get you fellows to-day all right!" shouted Henry (otherwise
known as Hen) Littell, pitcher and captain of the Resolutes.
"All right, the game's yours--if you can take it," called back Darrell,
with a laugh.
The diamond soon presented an animated scene, with many players and a
few substitutes pitching, catching or batting balls about. The crowds
were beginning to arrive and occupy seats in the small grandstand or on
the bleachers. Many preferred to stand along the first and third base
lines, or seat themselves on the grass.
Approaching the grounds about this time were the two lads of whom Sam
and Darrell had spoken briefly. One was Tom Davis, the substitute first
baseman and the other boy whom Sam had referred to as "Batson" or
"Hatson." Sam had it nearly right. The lad was Joe Matson, and as he is
to figure largely in this story I will take just a moment to introduce
him to you.
Joe was the son of Mr. and Mrs. John Matson, and had lately moved to
Riverside with his parents and his sister Clara, who was a year his
junior. The family had come from the town of Bentville, about a hundred
miles away. Mr. Matson had been employed in a machine works there, and
had invented several useful appliances.
Located in Riverside was the Royal Harvester Works, a large concern. In
some manner Mr. Isaac Benjamin, the manager, had heard of the appliances
Mr. Matson had perfected, and, being in need of a capable machinist, he
had made Mr. Matson an offer to come to Riverside. It had been accepted,
and the family had moved in shortly before this story opens.
Joe was a tall, well-built lad, with dark hair and brown eyes, and a way
of walking and swinging his arms that showed he had some athletic
training. He had made the acquaintance of Tom Davis, who lived in the
house back of him, and Tom had asked Joe to go to the game that day.
"For it's going to be a good one," said Tom proudly, since he was a
member of the nine, even though only a substitute.
"Who's going to win?" asked Joe, as they approached the grounds.
"We will, if----" and then Tom stopped suddenly, for there was a yell
from inside the fence and a moment later a ball came sailing over it,
straight toward the two lads.
"Look out!" yelled Tom. "That's a hot one! Duck, Joe, duck!"
But Joe did not dodge. Instead, he spread his legs well apart and stood
ready to catch the swiftly-moving horsehide in his bare hands.