JOE IN THE GAME
There was a period of silence following Sam's unfair protest. Then could
be heard a low murmur from some of his mates.
"Oh, what's eating him, anyhow?"
"What's he got against Matson?"
"Something has Sam by the ear all right."
"Yes, guess he didn't like the way the scrub batted him around."
These were some of the comments made, not loud enough for Sam to hear,
for he was a power in the nine, and none of the lads wanted to get on
bad terms with him.
For a moment all eyes were turned on Sam and then toward Joe who, it can
easily be imagined, was much embarrassed.
"I don't think your protest is a fair one," said Darrell at length.
"I don't think so either," added Captain George Rankin. "Just because
Matson is a newcomer in town is no reason why he can't play with us."
"Sure, that's right!" put in Seth Potter. "You weren't born here
yourself, Sam, and neither were lots of us. We moved here."
"I've lived in Riverside nearly all my life," snapped the pitcher, "and
I like to see a representative team. If we need a new member why not
pick one who has been living here longer than a couple of weeks?"
"Look here!" exclaimed Darrell. "I don't think this is fair to me."
"How do you mean?" asked Sam, for the manager had spoken with some
warmth.
"Just this much. You elected me manager and the captain and I were to
select the players. Now, when we make our choice, there comes a kick. It
isn't right. Rankin and I decided to give Matson a chance, and he gets
it. That goes, too!" and the manager looked straight at Sam.
"Oh, well, if you put it that way I suppose I might as well keep still
about it," and Sam, shrugging his shoulders, turned away. He had not yet
shaken hands with Joe.
"As for there being other players just as good and who have lived here
longer, that may be true," went on Darrell. "I'm not saying Matson is
the only fellow I could pick for centre field, and I'm not saying
anything against any of the fellows on the scrub when I don't take them.
We want the best team we can get to represent the Silver Stars and
Matson is my choice for the place. If you want to go over my head----"
"No! No!" came a chorus of objections. "It's all right!"
"Then Matson plays Saturday," concluded the manager. "All of you be out
for practice to-morrow afternoon again. Matson, report in uniform."
"All right," and Joe's heart was fairly thumping under his coat. The
chance he had longed for had come at last.
As Sam was walking away Joe resolved on a bold stroke, rather a
grandstand play as he confessed to himself afterward, but he could not
forego it. Striding up to the disgruntled pitcher Joe held out his hand
and asked:
"Won't you shake?"
Sam turned and faced him. For several seconds he stood staring Joe
straight in the eyes while the crowd of boys looked on. Then with a
sneer, and ignoring the proffered hand, Sam said:
"I prefer to pick my own friends. I don't want them made for me."
He turned on his heel and walked off.
There was another period of silence like that following his protest.
Then some one said:
"Well, I'm glad I haven't got _his_ disposition."
"What's that?" cried Sam angrily, and turning back he seemed about to
rush at the throng he faced.
"There now, that'll do!" exclaimed Darrell, who was anxious to avoid a
scene. "Forget it, fellows. Sam, you get your arm good and limber for
Saturday. We want to beat the Red Stockings by a big score to make up
for what the Resolutes did to us last Saturday. I'm going to arrange for
another game with them soon, and maybe we can turn the tables."
"Sure we can!" cried several.
"So limber up, Sam," the manager went on, "and have your arm in good
shape."
"It will be in bad shape if I get run down by any more amateur
cyclists," sneered Sam as he looked meaningly at Joe, but no one made
any further reference to the recent collision.
At practice the next day Joe took his place with the regular Silver Star
team, and he showed up well in the impromptu contest against the scrubs.
He made several good catches, and though his stick work might have been
improved, still it was pretty good, for the scrub pitcher was not to be
despised.
"I guess you'll do," complimented Darrell, at the close of the contest.
"Keep it up, don't get rattled, and you'll be all right. I can see
you've played before."
"I guess I've got lots to learn yet," admitted Joe cheerfully.
"Oh, we all have," assented the manager with a laugh.
On the Saturday of the game with the Red Stockings, Joe was up early. He
had overhauled his old uniform and gotten Clara to put a few needed
stitches in it. He had it out on the clothes line in the back yard,
beating some of the dust and dirt from it to freshen it up, when Tom
hailed him from over the fence.
"I say, Joe, what sort of a shirt have you got?"
"Same one I used on the Bentville Boosters; that was the name of our
nine."
"I see. A good name all right, but it will look funny to see that in
among the uniforms of the Silver Stars. Your stockings and pants will
do, but the shirt----" and Tom paused suggestively.
"That's so," admitted Joe. "I didn't think about that. It's a different
color from yours, and I haven't time to get another."
"Never mind!" called Tom. "I tell you what you can do. Use my shirt.
It's the regular Star one, with the name on."
"Won't you want it?"
"No, I don't think I'm going to get a chance to play. Darrell will
probably hold down first all through the game. If I have to go in I can
borrow some other fellow's. But I want you to look right from the
start."
"Thanks," called Joe as Tom disappeared in the house to get his shirt.
It fitted Joe well, and he arranged to get his own in time for the next
game.
"Say, there's a big crowd here all right!" exclaimed Joe, as he and Tom
neared the enclosed diamond that afternoon, and saw the stands well
filled.
"Yes, so much the better. The Red Stockings always draw well. I hope we
beat. Do your prettiest."
"Sure I will. There's Sam warming up."
"Yes, I hope he doesn't go up in the air. Better hurry up and get in
practice."
Joe ran out on the diamond, which was thronged with the home team and
visiting players. Balls were being caught and batted about, and the new
player was soon doing his share.
"Now keep cool," Darrell advised him, "and above all don't have a row
with Sam. I can't understand why he has such a grudge against you, but
he has and there's no use letting it be known any more than it is."
"I won't do or say anything if he doesn't," promised Joe. "But I'm not
going to let him knock me down and then wipe his feet on me."
"Of course not. I'll see that he's decent, anyhow. Well, I guess it's
time we started. I see they have some new players. Maybe we won't beat
them as easily as I hoped."
The practice balls were called in, players were selecting their sticks,
the batting order had been decided on, and the final arrangements made.
"Play ball!" called the umpire, and the Silver Stars took the field. Joe
walked out to centre. His heart was beating high. It was his first
chance to show what he could do in a match game with his new team and he
wanted to make good. But oh! how he longed to be in the pitching box
occupied by Sam Morton!
"Play ball!" called the umpire again, and Sam, "winding up," let fly a
swift white ball toward the expectant batter.