JOE IS WATCHED
There was an uproar in an instant. Players started for Sam and the
unoffending lad whom he had struck. There were savage yells, calling for
vengeance. Even Sam's mates, used as they were to his fits of temper,
were not prepared for this. The Whizzer players were wild to get at him,
but, instinctively Darrell, Joe, Rankin, and some of the others of the
Silver Stars formed a protecting cordon about their pitcher.
"Are you crazy, Sam? What in the world did you do that for?" demanded
the manager.
"He made a rank decision, an unfair one!" cried Sam, "and when I called
him down he was going to hit me. I got in ahead of him--that's all."
"That's not so!" cried the Whizzer captain. "I saw it all."
"That's right!" chimed in some of his mates.
"Farson never raised his hand to him!" declared another lad, who had
been standing near the umpire. "You're a big coward to hit a chap
smaller than you are!" he called tauntingly to Sam.
"Well, I'm not afraid to hit you!" cried the pitcher, who seemed to have
lost control of himself. "And if you want anything you know how to get
it."
"Yes, and I'm willing to take it right now," yelled the other, stepping
up to Sam.
There might have been another fight then and there, for both lads were
unreasonable with anger, but Darrell quickly stepped in between them.
"Look here!" burst out the Stars' manager, in what he tried to make a
good-natured and reasoning voice, "this has got to stop. We didn't come
here to fight, we came to play baseball and you trimmed us properly."
"Then why don't you fellows take your medicine?" demanded the home
captain. "What right has he got to tackle our umpire?"
"No right at all," admitted Darrell. "Sam was in the wrong and he'll
apologize. He probably thought the man was out."
"And he _was_ out!" exploded the unreasonable pitcher. "I'll not
apologize, either."
"Wipe up the field with 'em!" came in murmurs from the home players.
Several of the lads had grasped their bats.
It was a critical moment and Darrell felt it. He pulled Sam to one side
and whispered rapidly and tensely in his ear:
"Sam, you've got to apologize, and you've got to admit that the runner
was safe. There's no other way out of it."
"Suppose I won't?"
There was defiance in Sam's air. Darrell took a quick decision.
"Then I'll put you out of the team!" was his instant rejoinder, and it
came so promptly that Sam winced.
Now it is one thing to resign, but quite another to be read out of an
organization, whether it be a baseball team or a political society. Sam
realized this. He might have, in his anger, refused to belong to the
Silver Stars and, later on he could boast of having gotten out of his
own accord. But to be "fired" carried no glory with it, and Sam was ever
on the lookout for glory.
"Do you mean that?" he asked of Darrell. "Won't you fellows stick up for
me?"
He looked a vain appeal to his mates.
"I mean every word of it," replied the manager firmly. "We fellows would
stick up for you if you were in the right, but you're dead wrong this
time. It's apologize or get out of the team!"
Once more Sam paused. He could hear the angry murmurs of the home
players as they watched him, waiting for his decision. Even some of his
own mates were regarding him with unfriendly eyes. He must make a virtue
of necessity.
"All right--I--I apologize," said Sam in a low voice. "The runner was
safe I guess."
"You'd better be sure about it," said the captain of the Whizzers, in a
peculiar tone as he looked at Sam.
"Oh, I'm sure all right."
"And you're sorry you hit our umpire?" persisted the captain, for Sam's
apology had not been very satisfactory.
"Yes. You needn't rub it in," growled the pitcher.
"Then why don't you shake hands with him, and tell him so like a man?"
went on the home captain.
"I won't shake hands with him!" exclaimed the small umpire. "I don't
shake hands with cowards!"
There was another murmur, and the trouble that had been so nearly
adjusted threatened to break out again. But Darrell was wise in his
day.
"That's all right!" he called, more cheerily than he felt. "You fellows
beat us fairly and on the level. We haven't a kick coming, but we may
treat you to a dose of the same medicine when we have a return game; eh,
old man?" and he made his way to the opposing captain and the manager
and cordially shook hands with them. There was a half cheer from the
Whizzers. They liked a good loser.
"Yes, maybe you can turn the tables on us," admitted the other manager,
"but I hope when we do come to Riverside you'll have a different
pitcher," and he glanced significantly at Sam.
"No telling," replied Darrell with a laugh. "Come on, fellows. We'll
give three cheers for the team that beat us and then we'll beat it for
home."
It was rather a silent crowd of the Silver Stars that rode in the
special trolley. Following them was another car containing some of the
"rooters." They made up in liveliness what the team members lacked in
spirits, for there were a number of girls with the lads, Joe's sister
and Tom's being among them, and they started some school songs.
And the gloom that seemed to hang over the Stars was not altogether
because of their defeat. It was the remembrance of Sam's unsportsmanlike
act, and it rankled deep.
On his part it is doubtful if Sam felt any remorse. He was a
hot-tempered lad, used to having his own way, and probably he thought he
had done just right in chastising the umpire for what he regarded as a
rank decision.
Darrell, Rankin and some of the others tried to be jolly and start a
line of talk that would make the lads forget the unpleasant incident,
but it is doubtful if they succeeded to any great extent.
The manager was seriously considering the future of the team. Was it
wise to go on with such a pitcher as Sam who, though talented, could not
be relied upon and who was likely to make "breaks" at unexpected times?
"Yet what can we do?" asked Darrell of the captain. "Is there another
man we could put in or get from some other team?"
"I don't believe any other team would part with a good pitcher at this
time of the season," replied Rankin. "Surely not if he was a real good
one, and we want one that _is_ good. As for using some of the other
fellows in Sam's place, I don't know of any one that's anywhere near as
good as he is."
"How about Percy Parnell? He's pitched some, hasn't he?"
"Yes, but you know what happened. He was knocked out of the box and we
were whitewashed that game."
"Say!" exclaimed Darrell. "I just happened to think of it. That
new fellow--Joe Matson. He told me he used to pitch in his home
town--Bentville I think it was. I wonder if he'd be any good?"
"Hard telling," replied the captain, somewhat indifferently. "We ought
to do something, anyhow."
"I tell you what I'm going to do," went on Darrell. "I'm going to write
to some one in Bentville. I think I know an old baseball friend there,
and I'll ask him what Matson's record was. If he made good at all we
might give him a tryout."
"And have Sam get on his ear?"
"I don't care whether he does or not. Things can't be much worse; can
they?"
"No, I guess not. Go ahead. I'm with you in anything you do. Three
straight wallops in three weeks have taken the heart out of me."
"Same here. Well, we'll see what we can do."
Joe reached home that night rather tired and discouraged. He felt the
defeat of his team keenly, and the more so as the nine he had played
with in Bentville had had a much better record than that of the Silver
Stars--at least so far, though the Silver Stars were an older and
stronger team.
"I wonder if I'm the hoodoo?" mused Joe. "They lost the first game I saw
them play, and the next one I played in they lost, and here's this one.
I hope I'm not a jinx."
Then he reviewed his own playing in the two games where he had had a
chance to show what he could do, and he had no fault to find with his
efforts. True, he had made errors; but who had not?
"I'm going to keep on practicing," mused Joe. "If I can work up in speed
and accuracy, and keep what curving power I have already, I may get a
chance to pitch. Things are coming to a head with Sam, and, though I
don't wish him any bad luck, if he _does_ get out I hope I get a chance
to go in."
Following this plan, Joe went off by himself one afternoon several days
later to practice throwing in the empty lot. He used a basket to hold
the balls he pitched and he was glad to find that he had not gone back
any from the time when he and Tom, with the other lads, had had their
contest.
"If I can only keep this up," mused the lad, "I'll get there some day.
Jove! If ever I should become one of the big league players! Think of
taking part in the World's series! Cracky! I'd rather be in the box,
facing the champions, than to be almost anything else I can think of.
Forty thousand people watching you as you wind up and send in a swift
one like this!"
And with that Joe let fly a ball with all his speed toward the basket.
He was not so much intent on accuracy then as he was in letting off some
surplus "steam," and he was not a little surprised when the ball not
only went _into_ the basket but _through_ it, ripping out the bottom.
"Wow!" exclaimed Joe. "I'm throwing faster than I thought I was. That
basket is on the fritz. But if I'd been sending a ball over the plate it
would have had some speed back of it, and it would have gone to the
right spot."
As Joe went to pick up the ball and examine the broken basket more
closely a figure peered out from a little clump of trees on the edge of
the field where the lad was practicing. The figure watched the would-be
pitcher closely and then murmured:
"He certainly has _speed_ all right. I'd like to be back of the plate
and watch him throw them in. I wonder if he has anything in him after
all? It's worth taking a chance on. I'll wait a bit longer."
The figure dodged behind the trees again as Joe once more took his
position. He had stuffed some grass in the hole in the peach basket he
was using, and again he threw in it.
He was just as accurate as before, and, now and then, when he cut
loose, he sent the ball with unerring aim and with great force into the
receptacle, several times knocking it down off the stake on which it
was fastened.
"I don't know as there's much use in writing to Bentville to find out
about him," mused the figure hidden by the trees. "If he's got that
speed, and continues to show the control he has to-day, even without any
curves he'd be a help to us. I'm going to speak to Rankin about it," and
with that the figure turned away.
Had Joe looked he would have seen Darrell Blackney, manager of the
Silver Stars, who had been playing the innocent spy on him.