“There’s something right off the bat for a starter,” exulted Robbie. “Now, how about the rest of the team?”
“I think they’re just about as good as they come,” remarked Joe. “Jackwell and Bowen are a big improvement on Hupft and McCarney both in fielding and batting. Burkett is digging them out of the dirt at first all right, and Larry takes everything that comes into his territory. Our outfield is one of the heaviest hitting in the League——”
“And it will hit harder yet when you’re playing out there the days you’re not in the box,” chuckled Robbie. “They’ll have to move back the fences in the ball parks for your homers. You’ll break up many a game with that old wagon spoke of yours.”
“Oh, the days I play in the outfield, one of the men will have to be benched,” mused Joe. “Which one shall it be?”
“We’ll let that depend on the way they keep up with the stick,” said McRae. “That will be a spur to them. Neither Curry nor Wheeler nor Bowen will want to sit on the bench, and they’ll work their heads off to keep on the batting order. There again it will be a good thing for the team. Every man will be fighting to make the best showing possible.”
“Talking about Jackwell and Bowen,” remarked Robbie. “Have you ever noticed anything queer about those birds?”
“They don’t seem to be as husky as they might be,” observed McRae. “Just the other day they begged to be let off because they said they were sick. Over eating, perhaps. That’s a common fault with young players when they first come into the big League and eat at the swell hotels.”
“It wasn’t that I meant,” explained Robbie. “They seem to be nervous and jumpy. Looking around as though they expected every minute to feel somebody’s hand on their shoulder.”
“I’ve noticed that,” said Joe. “It was only the other day I was speaking to Jim about it. Probably it will wear off when they get a little better used to big-league company. I’ll have a quiet little talk with them about it.”
For another hour they discussed matters bearing on the welfare of the club, and then Joe went back to Mabel.
“I thought you’d forgotten all about poor little me,” she said, with an adorable pout of her pretty lips.
Joe looked around to see that no one was observing them, and straightened out the pout in a manner perfectly satisfactory to both.
“Well, did McRae fire you, as you call it?” asked Mabel.
“Hardly,” answered Joe, as he settled himself beside her. “In fact, instead of kicking me downstairs he kicked me up.”
“Meaning?” said Mabel, with a questioning intonation.
“Meaning,” repeated Joe, “that he made me captain of the Giant team.”
“What!” exclaimed Mabel, as though she could not believe her ears.
“Just that,” was the reply.
“Oh, Joe, what an honor!” exclaimed Mabel, with pride and delight. “I’m so proud! That’s another proof of what they think of you.”
“I suppose it is an honor,” agreed Joe, “and it will mean a nice little addition to my salary. I’ll clean up over twenty thousand this year altogether. And, if we get into the World Series, there will be a few thousands more. But it means a great addition of work and responsibility.”
“You mustn’t overtax yourself, dear,” saidMabel, anxiously. “Remember that your health and strength are above everything.”
“If I felt any healthier or stronger than I am now, I’d be afraid of myself,” replied Joe, grinning. “Don’t worry, honey. All I care for is to make good in my new job.”
“You’ll do that,” said Mabel, proudly, as she patted his hand. “You’d make good in anything. You’d make a good president of the United States.”
“I’d be sure of one vote, anyhow, if I ran for the presidency,” laughed Joe. “In fact, I’m afraid they’d have you pinched for repeating. You’d try to stuff the ballot boxes.”
The long journey ended at last, with all the players glad to be back in what they fondly referred to as “little old New York.” There was no brass band to meet them at the station, nor had the fans turned out in any great numbers, as they did when the Giants returned from a triumphant trip. It was an unusual experience for the Giants, who had the reputation of a great road team and commonly arrived with scalps at their belt. At present, however, they were distinctly out of favor. Nor did they derive any comfort from the brief and sarcastic references to their return in the columns of the city press.
Joe and Mabel took a taxicab to the hotel where they usually made their headquarters.Reggie, to his regret, had not been able to accompany them, though he promised to come on later.
“Beastly shame,” he had said, in parting, “that I could only see the Giants when they were coming a cropper. But I’ll get to the big city soon and see them get even with those rotters. My word! It’s been simply disgustin’!”
The perfect rest during the journey had been of immense benefit to Joe’s injured leg and foot, and he was overjoyed to find that he was now as fit as ever. The perfect physical condition in which he kept himself had contributed toward a quick recovery.
The relief and satisfaction of McRae and Robbie over his condition were unbounded, for with Joe out of the game the Giants were a different and far inferior team.
Mabel had plenty of shopping and sightseeing to keep her spare time employed through the day, and at night she and Joe had a delightful time taking in the best shows on Broadway.
The first morning that the team turned out for practice on the Polo Grounds, Joe sought an opportunity for a quiet talk with Iredell.
The fact that McRae had made a generous interpretation of the clause in Iredell’s contract regarding his salary as captain had not abated the resentment of that individual. He had beenmoody and grouchy ever since his displacement, and had nursed his supposed grievance until his heart was fairly festering with bitterness. He was sore at McRae, but even more so at Joe, as his successor. The latter, he persuaded himself, had intrigued to get his place.
“I’m going to have a talk with all the boys together, Iredell,” Joe greeted him pleasantly, in a secluded corner of the grounds. “But first I wanted to see you personally. I just want to say that we’ve always got along together all right, that I value you as one of the best players on the team, and that I hope our pleasant relations will continue.”
But Iredell was in no mood to take the olive branch that Joe held out to him.
“I suppose I’ll have to do what you tell me to,” he muttered sourly. “You’re the boss now.”
“I don’t like that word ‘boss,’” returned Joe. “I don’t have any of the feeling that that word implies. If I have to exercise the authority that has been given me, it will be simply because that’s my job, and not because I have a swelled head. McRae’s the boss of all of us. You say you’ll have to do what I tell you to. But I’m hoping you’ll do your best, not because I tell you to, but because you want to do whatever is for the best interests of the team. How about it, Iredell? Does that go?”
“Oh, what’s the use of talking about it,” snapped Iredell. “I’ll do my work as shortstop. You’ve got the job you’ve been working for. Let it go at that.”
His tone was so offensive, to say nothing of the implication of his words, that Joe had to make a mighty effort to restrain his naturally quick temper. But he knew that he could not rule others unless he had first learned to master himself. So that it was with no trace of anger that he replied:
“Listen to me, Iredell. I haven’t worked for this job. I didn’t want it. I hadn’t even thought of it. I was struck all in a heap when McRae asked me to take it. And at that time, you’d already resigned. That’s the absolute truth.”
Iredell made no answer, but his sniff of unbelief spoke volumes. Joe saw that while he was in this mood there was nothing to be gained by talking longer.
“Think it over, old boy,” he said pleasantly. “I’m your friend, and I want to stay your friend. I know how well you can play, and I’m sure you’re going to do your best with the rest of us to bring the pennant once more to New York.”
He moved away, and a little later had gathered the rest of the team in the clubhouse.
“I’m not going to do much talking, fellows,” he said. “McRae has already told you that I’mto be captain of the team. I’m proud to be captain of such a bunch. I feel that all of us are brothers. We’ve been comrades in many a hard fight, and there are lots of such fights ahead of us. But all our fighting will be done against the other fellows and not among ourselves. I’m counting on every one of you to go in and work his head off for the good of the team. That must be the only thing that counts with any of us.
“I don’t want to exercise a single bit of authority that I don’t have to. But I’m not going to fall down on my job if I can help it. If I have to call a man down, I’ll call him down. While we’re out on the field, what I say will have to go. You may think it’s right or you may think it’s rotten, but all the same it will have to go. But you’ll understand that there’s nothing personal and that whatever’s done is for the good of the team. You know I’d rather boost than roast, and that I’ll praise a good play just as readily as I’d blame a bad one. Now how about it, fellows? Are you with me?”
“We’re wid ye till the cows come home!” shouted Larry, enthusiastically. “Three cheers for the new captain!”
Rousing cheers shook the clubhouse and sealed the compact.
Then, with a new spirit, the Giants plunged into the pennant fight. It was a hard fight thatlay before them, and none of them underrated it. But the grim determination that had been in evidence many times previously was now again to the fore, and it boded ill for their rivals.
Mabel, after a tender parting, had returned for a brief while to Goldsboro, and Joe concentrated all the energies of brain and body on his new task. Like the war horse, he “sniffed the battle from afar,” and was eager to plunge into the thick of the fray. Would he emerge the winner?
Baseball Joe, for the time being, gave no more attention to Iredell’s grouchiness. He knew the player felt sore, but never realized how far that soreness might carry the fellow.
“I’ll fix him some day, see if I don’t,” muttered Iredell to himself when on his way to the hotel that night. “I’ll fix him. Just wait and see! I’ll teach him to ride over me!”
“So ’tis your birthday, I do be hearin’, Joe,” remarked Larry Barrett, the jovial second baseman of the team, as the Giants were getting into their uniforms preparatory to going out on the field.
“That’s what,” laughed Joe, as he finished tying his shoe laces.
“I’ll bet you were a ball player from the cradle,” grinned Larry.
“I guess I bawled all right,” Joe replied. “And once, my mother tells me, I pitched headlong from my baby carriage.”
“What would you like for a birthday present?” queried Wheeler.
“Ten runs,” replied Joe, promptly. “Give me those to-day and I won’t ask for anything else.”
“Pretty big order,” remarked Wheeler, dubiously. “Ten runs are a lot to make against those Brooklyn birds. I hear they’re going to put in Dizzy Rance to-day, and he’s a lulu. Won hislast eight games and has started in to make a record. Have a heart, Joe, and make it five.”
“Five’s plenty,” asserted Jim, confidently. “I’m willing to bet that’s more than the Dodgers will get, with Joe in the box.”
“We’ll know more about that when the game’s over,” said Joe, as he moved toward the door.
“Gee! Look at those stands and bleachers,” remarked Jim, as he and his chum came out on the field. “Seems as though all New York and Brooklyn had turned out. And it’s nearly an hour before the game begins. They’ll be turning them away from the gates.”
“Almost like a World Series crowd,” agreed Joe, as they made their way across the green velvet turf of the outfield toward the Giants’ dugout.
It was a phenomenal throng for that stage of the playing season, and was accounted for by the traditional rivalry between the two teams, which, while hailing from different boroughs, were both included within the limits of Greater New York. They fought each other like Kilkenny cats whenever they came together. No matter how indifferently they might have been going with other teams, they always braced when they had each other as opponents. It was not an uncommon thing, even in the seasons when the Giants had taken the series from every other team in the League, to lose the majority of the games withthe Brooklyns, even though the latter might be tagging along in the rear of the second division.
But this year the Brooklyns were going strong, and it was generally admitted that they had a look-in for the pennant. Several trades during the previous winter had strengthened the weak places in the line-up, and their pitching staff was recognized as one of the best in either League.
“Going to pick the feathers off those birds to-day, Joe?” asked McRae, as Joe came up to the Giants’ bench, where the manager was sitting.
“I sure am going to try,” replied Joe. “It’s about time we put a crimp in their winning streak.”
Joe beckoned to Mylert, and they went out to warm up. He was feeling in excellent fettle, and he soon found that he had all his “stuff” with him. His curve had a sharp break, his slow ball floated up so that it seemed to be drifting, and his fast ones whizzed over like a bullet.
“You’ve got the goods to-day, Joe,” pronounced Mylert, and he fairly winced at the way the ball shot into his hands. “You’ve got speed to burn. Those balls just smoke. With that control of yours you could hit a coin. They can’t touch you. They’ll be rolling over and playing dead.”
“That listens good,” laughed Joe. “At that, I’ll need all I’ve got to make those fellows be good.”
The preliminary practice gave evidence that thegame would be for blood. Both teams were on their toes, and the dazzling plays that featured their work brought frequent roars of applause from the Giant and Brooklyn rooters. Then the bell rang, the umpire dusted off the plate and the vast throng settled down with delighted anticipation to watch the game.
The Brooklyns, as the visiting team, went first to bat. A roar went up from the stands as Joe walked out to the mound. The Giant rooters promptly put the game down as won. But the Brooklyns pinned their faith to their phenomenal pitcher, Dizzy Rance, and had different ideas about the outcome of the game.
The first inning was short and sweet. Leete, the leftfielder of the Dodgers, who, year in and year out, had a batting average of .300 or better, swung savagely at the first ball pitched and raised a skyscraping fly that Jackwell at third promptly gathered in. Mornier, with the count at three balls and two strikes, sent up a foul that Mylert caught close to the stands after a long run. Tonsten lunged at the first ball and missed. The second was a beauty that cut the outer corner of the plate at which he did not offer and which went for a strike. Then Joe shot over a high fast one and struck him out.
“Atta boy, Joe!” and similar shouts of encouragementcame from stands and bleachers, as Joe pulled off his glove and went in to the bench.
Rance, the Brooklyn pitcher, did not lack a generous round of applause as he took up his position in the box. He had already pitched two games against the Giants and won them both. But he had never happened to be pitted against Joe, and despite his air of confidence he knew he had his work cut out for him.
Curry made a good try on the second ball pitched and sent a long fly to center that was caught by Maley after a long run. Iredell sent a sharp single to left. Burkett slammed one off Rance’s shins, and the ball rolled between short and second. Before it could be recovered, Burkett had reached first and Iredell was safe at second. Wheeler tried to wait Rance out, but when the count had reached three and two he sent a single to center that scored Iredell from second and carried Burkett to third. A moment later the latter was caught napping by a snap throw from catcher to third and came in sheepishly to the bench. Rance then put on steam and set Jackwell down on three successive strikes.
“There’s one of the runs we promised you, Joe,” sang out Larry, as the Giants took the field.
“That’s good as far as it goes,” laughed Joe. “But don’t forget I’m looking for more.”
For the Brooklyns, Trench was an easy out ona roller to Joe, who ran over and tagged him on the base line. Naylor dribbled one to Jackwell that rolled so slowly that the batter reached first. But no damage was done, for Joe pitched an outcurve to Maley and made him hit into a fast double play, Iredell to Barrett to Burkett.
It was snappy pitching, backed up by good support, and that it was appreciated was shown by the shouts that came from the Giant rooters, who cheered until Joe had to remove his cap.
But Rance, although the Giants had got to him for three hits in the first inning, showed strength in the second that delighted his supporters. He mowed the Giants down as fast as they came to the bat.
The best that Larry could do was to lift a towering fly to center that was taken care of by Maley. Bowen lifted a twisting foul that the Brooklyn catcher did not have to stir out of his tracks to get. Joe hit a smoking liner that was superbly caught by Tonsten, who had to go up in the air for it, but held on.
In the Brooklyns’ third, Joe made a great play on a well-placed bunt by Reis that rolled between the box and third base. Joe slipped and fell as he grasped it, but while in a sitting position he shot it over to first in time to nail the runner. Rance hit a sharp bounder to the box that Joefielded in plenty of time. Tighe went out on a Texas leaguer that was gathered in by Larry.
“That boy’s got ’em eating out of his hand,” exulted Robbie, his red face beaming with satisfaction.
“Yes, now,” agreed the more cautious McRae. “But at any time they may turn and bite the hand that’s feeding them. They’re an ungrateful lot.”
In their half of the inning, the Giants failed to score. Rance was pitching like a house afire. Mylert went back to the bench after three futile offers at the elusive sphere. Curry popped a weak fly to Trench, and, Iredell, after fouling the ball off half a dozen times, grounded to Mornier at first, who only had to step on the bag to register an out.
It was Larry’s turn to be in the limelight in the Brooklyns’ half of the fourth. Leete raised a fly that seemed destined to fall between second and left. It was certain that Wheeler at left could not get to it in time, though he came in racing like an express train. But Larry had started at the crack of the bat, running in the direction of the ball. He reached it just as it was going over his head, and with a wild leap grasped it with one hand and held on to it.
It was one of the finest catches ever made on the Polo Grounds. For a moment the crowd sat stupefied. Then, when they realized that a baseball“miracle” had occurred, they raised a din that could have been heard a mile away.
“Great stuff, Larry, old boy!” congratulated Joe, as the second baseman resumed his position. “No pitcher could ask for any better support than that.”
“Let that go for my share of your birthday present,” returned the grinning Larry.
The next two went out in jig time, one on a grounder and the other on strikes.
The Giants added one more run in their half of the fourth by a clever combination of bunts and singles. Joe knew that Rance was weak on fielding bunts, and he directed his men to play on that weakness. The Brooklyn pitcher fell all over himself in trying to handle them, and this had a double advantage, for it not only let men get on bases but it shook for a moment the morale of the boxman and made it easier for the succeeding batsman. It was only by virtue of a lucky double play that Rance got by with only one run scored against him in that inning.
With two runs to the good, the Giants went out on the field in a cheerful mood. They were getting onto the redoubtable Rance, not heavily, but still they were hitting him. Joe, on the other hand, seemed to be invincible. He was not trying for strike-outs except when necessary. But his curves were working perfectly, his control was marvelous,and when a third strike was in order he called upon his hop ball or his fadeaway and it did the trick.
And the boys behind him were certainly backing him up in fine style. They were fairly “eating up” everything that came their way, digging them out of the dirt, spearing them out of the air, throwing with the precision of expert riflemen. None of them was playing that day for records. They were playing for the team. Already the new spirit that Joe had infused as captain was beginning to tell.
In the Giant’s half of the fifth, Joe was the first man up. Rance tried him on an outcurve, but Joe refused to bite. The next was a fast, straight one, and Joe caught it fairly for a terrific smash over the centerfielder’s head. The outfield had gone back when he first came to the bat, but they had not gone back far enough. It was a whale of a hit, and Joe trotted home easily, even then reaching the plate before Maley had laid his hand on the ball.
“Frozen hoptoads!” cried Robbie, fairly jumping up and down in exultation. “It’s a murderer he is. He isn’t satisfied with anything less than killing the ball.”
“He’s some killer, all right,” assented McRae. “With one other man like him on the team, therace would be over. The Giants would simply walk in with the flag.”
That mammoth hit should have been the beginning of a rally, but Rance tightened up and the next three went out in order, one on strikes and the other two on infield outs.
Joe still had control of the situation, and he seemed to grow more unhittable as the game went on. He simply toyed with his opponents, and their vain attempts to land on the ball made them at times seem ludicrous.
“Sure, Joe, ’tis a shame what you’re doin’ to those poor boobs,” chuckled Larry, as they came in to the bench together.
“But don’t forget that they’re always dangerous,” cautioned Joe. “Do you remember the fourteen runs they made in one of their games against the Phillies? They may stage a comeback any minute.”
“Not while you’re in the box, old boy,” declared Larry. “You’ll have to break a leg to lose this game.”
Burkett thought it was up to him to do something, and lammed out a terrific liner to left for three bases, sliding into third just a fraction of a second before the return of the ball. Wheeler tried to sacrifice, but Tonsten held Burkett at third by a threatening gesture before putting out Wheeler at first. With the infield pulled in fora play at the plate, Jackwell double-crossed them by a single over short that scored Burkett with the fourth run for the Giants. Barrett went out on a grounder to Mornier, Jackwell taking second. Bowen made a determined effort to bring him in, but his long fly to center was gathered in by Maley.
The “lucky seventh” was misnamed as far as the Brooklyns were concerned, for their luck was conspicuous by its absence. Although the heavy end of their batting order was up, they failed to get the ball out of the infield. Leete, their chief slugger, was utterly bewildered by Joe’s offerings and struck out among the jeers of the Giant fans. Mornier popped up a fly that Joe gobbled up, and Larry had no trouble in getting Tonsten’s grounder into the waiting hands of Burkett.
The Giants did a little better, and yet were unable to add to their score. Joe started off with a ripping single to left. Mylert tried to advance him by sacrificing, but after sending up two fouls was struck out by Rance. Curry sent a liner to the box that was too hot to handle, but Rance deflected it to Tonsten who got Curry at first, Joe in the meantime getting to second. Iredell was an easy victim, driving the ball straight into the hands of Mornier at first.
“Well, Joe,” chuckled Jim, as the eighth inning began, “we haven’t given you your present yet, butwe’re in a fair way to put it over. Not to say that you’re not earning most of the present yourself.”
“I don’t care how it comes as long as we get it,” laughed Joe, as he slipped on his glove.
The time was now growing fearfully short in which the men from the other side of the bridge could make their final bid for the game. Those four runs that the Giants had scored were like so many mountains to be scaled, and with the airtight pitching that Joe was handing out, it seemed like an impossible task.
Still, they had pulled many a game out of the fire with even greater odds against them, and they came up to the plate determined to do it again, if it were at all possible.
Trench got a ball just where he liked it, and sent it whistling to left field for a single. Naylor followed with a fierce grasser that Iredell knocked down, but could not field in time to catch the runner. It looked like the beginning of a rally, and the Brooklyn bench was in commotion. Their coaches on the base lines jumped up and down, alternately shouting encouragement to their men and hurling gibes at Joe in the attempt to rattle him.
“We’ve got him going now,” yelled one.
“We’ve just been kidding him along so far,”shouted another. “All together now, boys! Send him to the showers!”
Maley came next, with orders to strike at the first ball pitched. He followed orders and missed. Again he swung several inches under Joe’s throw, which took a most tantalizing hop just before it reached the plate.
He set himself for the third and caught it fairly. The ball started as a screaming liner, going straight for the box. Joe leaped in the air and caught it in his gloved hand. Like a flash he turned and hurled it to Larry at second. Trench, who had started for third at the crack of the ball, tried frantically to scramble back to second, but was too late. Larry wheeled and shot down the ball to first, beating Naylor to the bag by an eyelash. Three men had been put out in the twinkling of an eye!
It was the first triple play that had been made that season, and the third that had been made on the Polo Grounds since that famous park had been opened. It had all occurred so quickly that half the spectators did not for the moment realize what had occurred. But they woke up, and roar after roar rose from the stands as the spectators saw the Giants running in gleefully, while the discomfited Brooklyns, with their rally nipped in the bud, went out gloomily to their positions.
“You’ll send him to the showers, will you?”yelled Larry to the Brooklyn coaches, as he threw his cap hilariously into the air.
Rance’s face was a study as he took his place in the box. He saw his winning streak going glimmering. It was a hard game for him to lose, for he had pitched in a way that would have won most games. But he had drawn a hard assignment in having to face pitching against which his teammates, fence breakers as they usually were, could make no headway.
Still, he was game, and there was still another inning, and nothing was impossible in baseball. If the Giants had expected him to crack, they were quickly undeceived. Burkett grounded out to Trench, who made a rattling stop and got him at first with feet to spare. Wheeler fouled out to Tighe. Jackwell went out on three successive strikes.
It was a plucky exhibition of pitching under discouraging conditions, and Rance well deserved the hand that he received as he went in to the bench.
“I say, Joe,” remarked Jim, as his chum was preparing to go out for the ninth Brooklyn inning. “Celebrate your birthday by showing those birds the three-men-to-a-game stunt. It will be a glorious wind-up.”
“I’ll see,” replied Joe, with a grin that was half a promise.
Thompson, the manager of the Brooklyns, who had been having a little run-in with the umpire, and was standing in a disgruntled mood near the batter’s box, overheard the dialogue and stared in wonderment at Jim.
“What’s that three-men-to-a-game stunt you’re talking about?” he asked.
“Haven’t you ever heard of it?” asked Jim.
“I never have,” replied Thompson. “And I was in the game before you were born.”
“Then you’ve got a treat in store for you,” Jim assured him. “Just you watch this inning, and you’ll see that only three men will be needed to turn your men back without a run, or even the smell of a hit. They’ll be the pitcher, the catcher and the first baseman. The rest of the Giants will have nothing to do and might as well be off the field. In fact, if it wasn’t against the regulations of the game, we would call them into the bench just now.”
Thompson looked at Jim as though he were crazy.
“Trying to kid me?” the Brooklyn manager asked, with a savage inflection in his voice.
“Not at all,” replied Jim, grinning cheerfully. “Just keep your eye on that pitcher of ours.”
Thompson, still believing that Jim was trying to get a rise out of him, walked back to his own bench, growling to himself.
Reis was the first to face Joe in the last half of the ninth. Joe measured him carefully, took his time in winding up, and then, with all the signs of delivering a fast high one, sent over a floater that Reis reached for and hit into the dirt in front of the plate. Joe ran on it, picked it up and tossed it to Burkett for an easy out.
Rance, the Brooklyn pitcher, came to the plate. Joe sent over a hop that Rance caught on the under side for a foul high up back of the rubber that Mylert caught without moving from his position.
With two out, Tighe missed the first one that came over so fast that it had settled in Mylert’s glove before the batter had completed his swing. The next he fouled off for strike two. Then Joe whizzed over his old reliable fadeaway.
“You’re out!” cried the umpire.
The game was over and the Giants had beaten their redoubtable foes by a score of four to none. They had whitewashed their opponents and broken their winning streak.
And what was sweeter to Jim at the moment was that Joe had fulfilled his prediction. Only the pitcher, catcher and first baseman had been necessary to turn the Brooklyns back. The other six men of the Giant team had had nothing to do and might as well have been off the field. It was almost magical pitching, the climax of the art.
Joe and Jim grinned at each other in a knowing way as the former came into the bench.
“You pulled it off that time all right, Joe!” exclaimed Jim gleefully, as he threw his arm around his chum’s shoulder. “I piped off Thompson to what you were going to do and he thought I had gone nutty. He’d have given me an awful razz if it had failed to go through.”
“You were taking awful chances,” laughed Joe. “Of course, I might do that once in a while, but only a superman could do it all the time. But in this inning, luck was with us.”
Thompson at this moment came strolling over toward them. He was evidently consumed with curiosity.
“I’ll take the wind out of your sails at the start by admitting that you put one over on me,”he said, addressing himself to Jim. “Though how you knew what was about to happen is beyond me. How did you do it?” he asked, turning to Joe. “Have you got a horseshoe or rabbit’s foot concealed about you?”
“I assure you that I have nothing up my sleeve to deceive you,” Joe said, rolling up his sleeves in the best manner of the professional conjurer. “It simply means that the hand is quicker than the eye.”
“Cut out the funny stuff and tell me just how you did it,” persisted Thompson.
“I’ll tell you,” said McRae, who had been an amused listener to the conversation. “That’s an old trick of Joe’s that he’s tried out when we’ve been playing exhibition games in the spring training practice. More than once, we’ve called in the whole team, except Joe, the catcher, and the first baseman. Then Joe’s done just what he did this afternoon. Of course, it doesn’t always go through, but in many cases he has put it over.”
“There isn’t another pitcher in the League who would dare try it!” exclaimed Thompson.
“There’s only one Matson in the world,” said McRae simply. “On the level, Thompson, what would you give to have him on your team?”
“A quarter of a million dollars,” blurted out Thompson.
“You couldn’t have him for half a million,” said McRae, with a grin, as he turned away.
It was a jubilant crowd of Giants that gathered in the clubhouse after the game.
“How was that for your birthday present, Joe?” sang out Larry. “It wasn’t quite what you asked for, but it was the best we could do.”
“It was plenty,” laughed Joe. “I’d rather have those runs you gave me than a diamond ring. Keep it up, boys, and we’ll soon be up at the top of the League. We’ve been a long time in getting started, but now just watch our smoke. This game pulls us out of the second division. We’re right on the heels of the Brooklyns. Let’s give those fellows to-morrow the same dose they got to-day. Then we’ll get after the Pittsburghs and the Chicagos.”
“That’s the stuff!” cried Larry. “We’ll show ’em where they get off. They’ve been hogging the best seats in this show. Now we’ll send ’em back to the gallery.”
Joe smiled happily at the enthusiasm of the boys. It was what he had been trying to instill ever since he had been made the captain of the team. He knew that the material was there—the batting, the fielding, and the pitching. But all this counted for nothing as long as the spirit was lacking, the will to victory, the confidence that they could win.
There was just one piece of the machinery, however, that was not working smoothly, and that was Iredell. He had been sulky and mutinous ever since he had been displaced by Joe in the captaincy of the team. Joe had been most considerate and had gone out of his way to be kind to him, but all his advances had been rebuffed.
“You’re certainly getting the team into fine shape, Joe,” said Jim, as they made their way out of the grounds. “They played championship ball behind you this afternoon.”
“They sure did,” agreed Joe. “Those plays by Larry, especially, were sparklers. I never saw the old boy in better form. He’s one of the veterans of the game, and you might expect him to be slipping, but to-day he played like a youngster with all a veteran’s skill. If everybody had the same spirit, I’d have nothing more to ask.”
“Meaning Iredell, I suppose,” said Jim.
“Just him,” replied Joe. “It isn’t that there’s anything especially I can lay my hands on. He plays good mechanical ball. His fielding is good and he’s keeping up fairly well with the stick. But the mischief of it is, it’s all mechanical. He’s like a galvanized dead man going through the motions, but a dead man just the same. I wish I could put some life into him. After a while, that dulness of his will begin to affect the rest of theteam. It takes only one drop of ink to darken a whole glass of water.”
“I noticed that in the clubhouse this afternoon,” said Jim thoughtfully, “all the rest of the fellows were bubbling over, while he sat apart with a frown on his face as though we’d lost the game instead of having won it.”
“Well, he’ll have to get over that and get over it quickly,” said Joe with decision. “We can’t have him casting a wet blanket over the rest of the team. The trouble is, we haven’t any one available to put in his place just now, and it’s hard to get one at this stage of the season. Renton’s a likely youngster, but he needs a little more seasoning before I could trust him in such a responsible position as that of shortstop.”
“If that Mornsby deal had only gone through, we’d have had a crackerjack,” said Jim regretfully.
“We sure would!” replied Joe. “But I felt from the beginning that we didn’t have much chance of getting him. If the St. Louis management had let him go, they might as well have shut up shop. The fans would have hooted them out of town. Anyway, I’d rather develop a player than buy him. I’m going to coach young Renton with a possible view to taking Iredell’s place, if it becomes necessary.”
The next day Brooklyn again came to the PoloGrounds, determined to regain their lost laurels of the day before. This time they relied on Reuter, while McRae sent Jim into the box.
That Reuter was good, became evident before the game had gone very far. He had a world of speed and his curves were breaking well. Up to the seventh inning, only two hits had been made off of him, one of which was a homer by Joe and another a two-base hit by Burkett. His support was superb, and more than one apparent hit was turned into an out by clever fielding.
Jim, in the early innings, was not up to his usual mark. He had most of the stuff that had given him such high repute as a pitcher, except that he could not handle his wide-breaking curve with his usual skill. The failure of that curve to break over the plate got him several times in the hole. He relied too much also on his slow ball when, with the dull, cloudy weather that prevailed, speed would have been more effective.
But, although he was not in his best form, his courage never faltered. He was game in the pinches. Leete, for instance, in the fifth inning, laced the first ball pitched into leftfield for a clean homer. There was no one out when the mighty clout was made, but Jim refused to be disconcerted. He struck out Mornier, the heavy hitting first baseman of the Dodgers, made Tonsten hit a slow roller to the box that went for aneasy out, and fanned Trench, after the latter had sent up two fouls in his unavailing attempt to hit the ball squarely.
Again in the sixth, after a triple and a single in succession had scored another run, he settled down and mowed the next three down in order.
But though his nerve was with him, the Brooklyn batsmen kept getting to him, picking up one run after the other until at the end of the seventh inning they had four runs to their credit while only one lone score had been made by the Giants. The Brooklyn rooters were jubilant, for it looked as though their pets had just about sewed up the game.
But in the Giants’ half of the eighth Reuter began to crack. He started well enough by making Curry pop to Mornier. Iredell came next and shot a single to left, his first hit of the game and the third that had been made off Reuter up to that time. Then Burkett followed suit with a beauty to right that sent Iredell to third, though a good return throw by Reis held Burkett to the initial bag.
The two hits in succession seemed to affect Reuter’s control, and he gave Wheeler a base on balls. Now the bags were full, with only one man out, and the Giant rooters, who had hitherto been glum, were standing up in their places and shouting like mad.
McRae sent Ledwith, a much faster man than Wheeler, to take the latter’s place on first, while he himself ran out on the coaching line and Robbie scurried in the direction of third.
Jackwell was next at bat, and the chances were good for a double play by Brooklyn. But Reuter’s tired arm had lost its cunning and, try as he would, he could not get the ball over the plate. Amid a pandemonium of yells from the excited fans he passed Jackwell to first, forcing a run over the plate. And still the bases were full.
It was evident that Reuter was “through,” and Thompson signaled him to come in. He took off his glove and walked into the bench to a chorus of sympathetic cheers from the partisans of both sides in recognition of the superb work he had done up to that fateful inning.
Grimm took his place and tossed a few balls to the catcher in order to warm up. It was a hard assignment to take up the pitcher’s burden with the bases full.
The first ball he put over came so near to “beaning” Larry that the latter only saved himself by dropping to the ground. McRae signaled to him to wait the pitcher out. He did so, with the result that he, too, trotted to first on four bad balls, forcing another run home and making the score four to three in favor of the Brooklyns.
Grimm braced for the next man, Bowen, and struck him out, as Bowen let even good balls go by, hoping to profit by the pitcher’s wildness. But this time he reckoned without his host and retired discomfited to the bench.
Joe came next and received a mighty hand as he went to the plate. His three comrades on the bases implored him to bring them home.
Grimm was in a dilemma. Under ordinary circumstances he would have passed Joe and taken a chance on Mylert. But to pass him now meant the forcing home of another run, which would have tied the score. On the other hand, a clean hit would bring at least two men home and put the Giants ahead. There was still, however, the third chance—that Joe might not make a hit. In that case there would be three men out, leaving the Brooklyns ahead.
He took the third alternative and pitched to Joe, putting all the stuff he had on the ball. Joe swung at it and missed. Two balls followed in succession. Then he whizzed over a high, fast one that Joe caught fairly and sent out on a line between left and center for a sizzling triple, clearing the bases and himself coming into third standing up.
The Giants and their partisans went wild with joy as the three men followed each over the plate,making the score six to four in favor of the home team.
And at that figure the score remained, for Jim pitched like a man possessed in the Brooklyn’s half of the ninth and set them down as fast as they came to the bat.
“That’s what you call pulling the game out of the fire,” exulted Larry, as the Giants were holding a jubilee in the clubhouse after the game.
“Yes,” agreed Jim. “But it was a hard game for Reuter to lose. He outpitched me up to that fatal eighth inning. He had a world of stuff on the ball.”
“He’s a crackerjack, all right,” agreed Joe. “And it certainly looked as though he had us going.”
“Didn’t have you going much that I could notice, except going around the bases,” declared Larry, with a wide grin. “That was a corking homer of yours, and the triple was almost as good.”
“Better, as far as the results were concerned,” put in Jim. “For it brought home three men and settled the game. It was a life saver, and no mistake. Talk about Johnny on the spot. Joe on the spot is the salvation of the Giants!”
“Quit your kidding,” laughed Joe. “Let’s just say that the breaks of the game were with us and let it go at that. The main thing is that we’ve put another game on the right side of the ledger. We’ve turned the Brooklyns back, and now it’s up to us to give the same dose to the Bostons and the Phillies.”
“They’ll be easy,” prophesied Curry, as he finished fastening his shoe laces.
“Don’t fool yourself,” cautioned Joe. “They’re playing better now than they were earlier in the season, and they won’t be such cinches as they were in the last series. We’ll have to step lively to beat them, and keep trying every minute. Ginger’s the word from now on.”
“Ginger” had been his watchword ever since he had been made captain of the team. He had tried to inspire them with his own indomitable energy and vim, and was gratified to see that with the exception of Iredell he was succeeding. Itwas doubly necessary in the case of the Giants, for most of the team was composed of veterans. They were superb players, but some of them were letting up on their speed and needed prodding to keep them at the top of their form.
Still there had been an infusion of new blood, and McRae was constantly on the lookout for more. The Giants’ roster contained a number of promising rookies, such as Renton, Ledwith, Merton and others, and Joe was constantly coaching them in the fine points of the game.
In Merton, especially, he thought he had all the material of a promising pitcher. The youngster had been obtained from the Oakland Seals, and had won a high reputation in the Pacific Coast League. He had speed, a good assortment of curves, and a fair measure of control. But pitching against big leaguers was a very different matter from trying to outguess minor league batters, and Joe had not thought it advisable as yet to send him in for a full game.
One of his chief faults was that opponents could steal bases on him with comparative impunity. It was almost uncanny to note the ease with which a runner on the bases could detect whether Merton was going to pitch to the batter or throw the ball to first. Joe was not long in discovering the reason.
“Here’s your trouble, Merton,” he said. “Youinvariably lift your right heel from the ground when you are about to throw to the plate. You keep it on the ground when you’re planning to throw to first. So, by watching you, those fellows can get a long lead off first and easily make second. Just try now, and see.”
“You’re right,” admitted Merton, after practising a few minutes. “Funny that I never noticed that before. But none of the fellows in the Pacific Coast League noticed it, either. They didn’t steal much on me there.”
“That’s just because they were minor leaguers,” returned Joe. “But you’re in big-league company now, and the wise birds on the other teams get on to you at once.”
Merton was grateful for the tip, and practised assiduously until he had got rid of the mannerism. He was docile and willing to learn, and Joe could see his pitching ability increase from day to day.
Not only in pitching, but in batting, Joe was able to be of incalculable value to the younger members of the team. How to outguess the pitcher, when to wait him out, how to walk into the ball instead of drawing away from it, the best way of laying down bunts—these and a host of other things in which he was a past master were freely imparted to his charges and illustrated by object lessons that were even more effective than the spoken word.
McRae and Robbie were delighted with the results of the change of captains, and more and more they gave him a free hand, knowing that Joe would get out of the Giants all that was in them. And, knowing the power of the Giant machine when going at full speed, that was all that they asked.
The next series on the Giants’ schedule was with the Boston Braves on the latter’s grounds. As Joe had anticipated, the Braves put up a much stiffer fight than they had earlier in the season. They were going well, had already passed the Phillies and the Cardinals and were making a desperate attempt to get into the first division.
Markwith pitched the first game, and did very well until the last two frames. Then a veritable torrent of hits broke from the Bostons’ bats and drove the southpaw from the mound. Joe took his place, and the hitting suddenly ceased. But the damage had already been done, and the game was placed in the Boston column.
Jim pitched in the second game and chalked up a victory. Young Merton was given his chance in the third, and justified Joe’s confidence by also winning, although the score was close.
Joe himself went in for the fourth and won, thus getting three out of four in the series, which, for a team on the road, was not to be complained of.
With the Phillies, on the latter’s grounds, the Giants cleaned up the first three games right off the reel. In the fourth, the Phillies woke up and played like champions. They fielded and batted like demons, so well indeed that when the ninth inning began, the Phillies were ahead by a score of three to two.
In the Giants’ half, with one man on base, Joe cut loose with a homer that put his team a run to the good. Not daunted, however, the Phillies came in for their half. Two men were out, and a couple of Giant fumbles had permitted two to get on the bases.
Mallinson, the heaviest batter of the Phillies, was up. He shook his bat menacingly and glared at Joe. With the team behind him the least bit shaky on account of the fumbles, Joe tried a new stunt on Mallinson.
“I’m going to tell you exactly the kind of a ball I’m going to throw to you,” he remarked, with a disarming grin.
“Yes, you are,” sneered Mallinson, unbelievingly, while even Mylert, the Giant catcher, looked bewildered.
“Honest Injun,” declared Joe. “This first one is going to be a high fast one right over the plate and just below the shoulder.”
“G’wan and stop your kidding,” growled the burly Philadelphia batter.
He set himself for a curve, not believing for a moment that Joe would be crazy enough to tell him in advance what he was going to pitch. It was just on that disbelief that Joe had counted.
Joe wound up and hurled one over exactly as he had promised. Mallinson, all set for a curve, was so flustered that he struck at it hurriedly and missed.
Joe grinned tantalizingly, while Mallinson glowered at him.
“Didn’t believe me, did you?” Joe asked. “Why don’t you have more faith in your fellow men? I ought to be real peeved at you for your lack of confidence. But I’m of a forgiving nature and I’ll overlook it this time.”
“Cut it out,” snapped Mallinson savagely. “Go ahead and play the game.”
“No pleasing some fellows,” mourned Joe plaintively. “Now this time, I’m going to pitch an outcurve. Ready? Let’s go.”
Mallinson, sure that this time he was going to be double-crossed, got ready for a high fast one, and the outcurve that Joe pitched cut the corner of the plate and settled in Mylert’s glove for the second strike.
“You see!” complained Joe. “There you are again. What’s the use of my tipping you off if you don’t take advantage? Don’t you believeme? Doesn’t anybody ever tell the truth in Philadelphia?”
Mallinson tried to say something, but he was so mad that he could only stutter, while his face looked as though he were going to have a fit of apoplexy.
“Now,” said Joe, “this is your last chance. I’m going to give you my hop ball this time, and that’s just because it’s you. I wouldn’t do it for everybody. It’ll take a jump just as it comes to the plate.”
By this time Mallinson was in an almost pitiable state of bewilderment. Would the pitcher again keep his word? Or would Joe figure that now that he had twice tipped him off correctly, Mallinson would really get set for the hop ball and that now was the time to fool him with something else?
He was so up in the air by this time that he could not have hit a balloon, and he struck six inches below the hop ball that Joe sent whistling over the plate for an out. The game was over and the Giants had won.
“What was all that chatter that was going on between you and Mallinson?” asked McRae, as he and Robbie, with their faces all smiles, came up to Joe. “I couldn’t quite get what it was from the bench. But you seemed to get his goat for fair.”
Joe told them, and the pair went into paroxysms of laughter, Robbie choking until they had to pound him on the back.
“For the love of Pete, Mac!” he gurgled, as soon as he could speak, “you’ll have to do something with this fellow or he’ll be the death of me yet. To win a ball game just by telling the batsman what he was going to pitch to him! Did you ever hear anything like it before in your life?”
“I never did,” replied the grinning McRae.
At the clubhouse later, there were guffaws of laughter as Mylert described the way that Joe had stood Mallinson on his head.
“And me thinking Joe had simply gone nutty!” Mylert said. “When he pitched that first ball just as he said, I didn’t know where I was at. Then the second one got me going still more. But I saw that it had Mallinson going, too, and then I began to catch on. How on earth did you ever come to think of that, Joe?”
“Just a matter of psychology,” Jim answered for him. “And mighty good psychology, if you ask me. Baseball Joe’s a dabster at that.”
“Sike-sike what?” asked Larry, whose vocabulary was not very extensive.
“Psychology,” repeated Jim, with a grin. “No, it isn’t a new kind of breakfast food. Joe simply knew how Mallinson’s mind would work and he took advantage of it. Mallinson coppered everythingJoe said to him. He figured that Joe was there to deceive him. He couldn’t conceive that Joe would tell him the truth. And so it was just by telling the truth that Joe got him.”
“It just got by because it was new,” laughed Joe. “I couldn’t do it often, for if I did they’d begin to take me at my word, and then they’d bat me all over the lot.”
By the time the Eastern inter-city games were over, the Giants had considerably bettered their team standing. They had passed the Brooklyns, who had let down a good deal and were now playing in-and-out ball. The Chicagos were still in the lead, with Pittsburgh three games behind them, but pressing them closely. Then came the Giants, two games in the rear of the men from the Smoky City. The Cincinnati Reds brought up the rear of the first division, but the conviction was strong in the minds of the Giants that it was either the Pirates or the Cubs they had to beat in order to win the pennant.
On the eve of the invasion of the East by the Western teams, McRae called his men together for a heart-to-heart talk in the clubhouse.
“You boys know that I can give you the rough edge of my tongue when you lay down on me,” he said, as he looked around on the group of earnest young athletes, who listened to him with respectful attention. “But you know, too, thatI’m always ready to give a man credit when he deserves it. I’m glad to say that just now I’m proud of the men who wear the Giant uniform. You’ve done good work in cleaning up the Eastern teams. You’ve played ball right up to the end of the ninth inning, and many a game that looked lost you’ve pulled out of the fire.
“Now, that’s all right as far as it goes. But the Western clubs are coming, and they’re out for scalps. You remember what they did to us on our first trip out there. They gave us one of the most disgraceful beatings we’ve had for years. They took everything but our shirts, and they nearly got those. Are you going to let them do it again?”
There was a yell of dissent that warmed McRae’s heart.
“That’s the right spirit,” he declared approvingly. “Now, go in and show the same spirit on the field that you’re showing in the clubhouse. Beat them to a frazzle. Show them that you’re yet the class of the League. Don’t be satisfied with an even break. That won’t get us anywhere. Take three out of four from every one of them. Make a clean sweep if you can. Keep on your toes every minute. You’ve got the pitching, you’ve got the fielding, you’ve got the batting, and you’ve got the best captain that ever wore baseball shoes. What more does any club want?”
“Nothing!” shouted Larry. “We’ll wipe up the earth with them!”
“That’s the stuff,” replied McRae. “Now go out and say it with your bats. I want another championship this year, and I want it so bad that it hurts. You’re the boys that can give it to me, and I’m counting on you to do it. Show them that you’re Giants not only in name, but in fact. That’s about all.”
“What’s the matter with McRae?” cried Curry, as the manager, having said his say, turned to leave.
“He’s all right!” came in a thundering chorus from all except Iredell, who maintained a moody silence.
McRae waved his hand and vanished through the door.
The Cincinnati Reds were the first of the invaders to make their appearance at the Polo Grounds. They always drew large crowds, not only because they usually played good ball against the Giants, but especially because of the popularity of Hughson, their manager, who for many years had been a mainstay of the Giants and the idol of New York fans.
Hughson was one of the straight, clean, upstanding men who are a credit to the national game. McRae had taken him when he was a raw rookie and given him his chance with theGiants to show what he could do. The result had been a sensation. In less than a year Hughson had leaped into fame as the greatest pitcher in the country. He had everything—courage, speed, curves and control—and with them all a baseball head that enabled him to outguess the craftiest of his opponents.
For a dozen years he had been the chief reliance of the Giants and one of the greatest drawing cards in the game. At the time that Joe had joined the Giants, however, Hughson’s arm was beginning to fail. The latter was quick to discover Joe’s phenomenal ability and, instead of showing any mean jealousy, had done his best to develop it. Between him and Joe a friendship had sprung up that had never diminished.
Hughson’s services were in demand as a manager and he was snapped up by the Cincinnati club to take charge of the Reds. With rather indifferent material to start with, he had built up a strong team that had several times given the Giants a hot race for the championship.
On the afternoon of the first game, Hughson, big and genial as ever, shook Joe’s hand warmly when the latter met him near the plate.
“We’re going to give you the same dose that we did when you were on our stamping ground the last time, Joe,” he remarked, with a laugh,after they had interchanged greetings. “I love the Giants, but, oh, you Reds!”
“If you’re so sure of it, why go through the trouble of playing the game?” retorted Joe.
“Oh, we’ll have to do that as a matter of form and to give the crowd their money’s worth,” joked Hughson. “But honestly, Joe, we’re going to put up the stiffest kind of a battle. My men have their fighting clothes on, and they’re going good just now.”
“I’ve noticed that,” replied Joe. “You took the Pirates neatly into camp in that last series. The return of Haskins has plugged up a weak point in your outfield. I see he didn’t lose his batting eye while he was a hold-out.”
“No,” said Hughson, “he’s as good as ever. I began to think we’d never come to terms on the question of salary. You see, after his phenomenal season last year he got a swelled head and demanded a salary that was out of all reason. Said he wouldn’t play this year unless he got it. But we got together on a compromise at last, and now he’s in uniform again and cavorting around like a two-year-old. Wait until you see him knock the ball out of the lot this afternoon.”
“I’ll wait,” retorted Joe with a grin, “and I’ll bet I’ll wait a good long while.”