103CHAPTER XIIA DASTARDLY ATTACK
The tourists’ train was scheduled to leave Denver at eleven-thirty that night, so that there was ample time after the game for a leisurely meal and a few hours for recreation for any of the party that felt so inclined.
Some went to the theater, others played cards, while others sat about the lobby of the leading hotel and discussed the exciting events of the afternoon’s game.
As for Joe and Jim, their recreation took the form of long letters to two charming young ladies whose address, by coincidence, happened to be Riverside. Both seemed to have much to write about, for it was nearly ten o’clock before the bulky letters were ready for mailing.
“Give them to me and I’ll take them down to the hotel lobby and mail them,” said Jim, as they rose from the writing table.
“I don’t know,” replied Joe, as he looked at his watch. “Perhaps the last collection for the104outgoing eastbound mail has already been made. What do you say to going down to the post-office itself and dropping them in there? Then they’ll be sure to go.”
“All right,” Jim acquiesced. “It’s a dandy night anyway for a walk and I’d like to stretch my legs a little. Come along.”
They went out into the brilliantly lighted streets, which at that hour were still full of people, and turned toward the post-office which was about half a mile distant.
As they were passing a corner, Jim suddenly clutched Joe’s arm.
“Did you see that fellow who went into that saloon just now?” he asked, indicating a rather pretentious café.
“No,” said Joe, dryly. “But it isn’t such an unusual thing that I’d pay a nickel to see it.”
“Quit your fooling,” said Jim. “If that fellow wasn’t Bugs Hartley, then my eyes are going back on me.”
“You’re dreaming,” Joe retorted. “What in the world would Bugs be doing in Denver?”
“Panhandling, maybe,” returned Jim. “Drinking, certainly. But it isn’t what he’s doing that interests me. It’s the fact that he’s here.”
“Let’s take a look,” suggested Joe, impressed by his friend’s earnestness.
They went up to the swinging door, pushed it105open and looked in. There were perhaps a dozen men in the place, but Hartley was not among them.
“Barking up the wrong tree, Jim,” chaffed Joe.
“Maybe,” agreed Jim a little perplexed, “but if it wasn’t Bugs it was his double.”
They reached the post-office and after mailing their letters turned back towards the hotel.
“It’s taken us a little longer than I thought,” remarked Jim, looking at his watch. “We won’t have any more than time to get our traps together and get down to the train.”
“This looks like a short cut,” said Joe, indicating a side street which though rather dark and deserted cut into the main thoroughfare, as they could see by the bright lights at the further end. “We’ll save something by going this way.”
They had gone perhaps a couple of blocks when they reached a part of the street which had no dwelling houses on it. On one side was a factory, dark and forbidding, and on the side where the young men were walking was a high board fence enclosing a coal yard.
“Wait a minute, Jim,” said Joe. “It feels as though my shoe lace had come untied.”
He stooped down to fasten the lace, and just as he did so, a jagged piece of rock came whizzing past where his head had been a second before and crashed against the fence.106
Joe straightened up with a jerk.
“Who threw that?” he exclaimed.
Jim’s face was white at the peril his friend had so narrowly escaped.
“Somebody who knew how to throw,” he cried, “and I can make a guess at who it was. There he is now!” he shouted, as he caught sight of a dim figure slinking away in the darkness on the further side of the factory.
They darted across the street in pursuit, but when they turned the corner there was no one to be seen. Several alleys branched off from the street, up any one of which the fugitive might have made his escape. Although they tried them one after the other they could find no trace of the rascal.
Baffled and chagrined, they made their way back to the scene of the attack. Joe picked up the piece of rock and weighed it in his hand.
“About half a pound,” he judged. “And look at those rough edges! It would have been all up with me, if it had landed.”
“Do you notice that that’s about the weight of a baseball?” asked Jim significantly. “And it went for your head as straight as a bullet. It would have caught you square if you hadn’t stooped just as you did. You can thank your lucky stars that your shoelace came untied. That fellow knew just how to throw, as I said before.”107
“You don’t mean,” replied Joe, “that Bugs——”
“Just that,” affirmed Jim grimly. “Now maybe you’ll believe me when I say that I saw him to-night. That skunk thought that I had seen him, and slipped into the saloon to get out of sight. Probably he went out through a rear door and has been following us ever since.”
“But why——” began Joe.
“Why?” repeated Jim. “Why does a crazy man do crazy things? Just because he is crazy. He doesn’t have to have a reason. If he thinks you’ve injured him he’s just as bitter as though you really had. Hughson’s tip was a good one, Joe. The fellow’s deadly dangerous. It’s only luck that he isn’t a murderer this minute.”
“It’s good for him I didn’t lay my hands on him,” replied Joe. “I wouldn’t have hit him, because I don’t think he’s responsible for what he does. But I’d have had him put where he couldn’t do any more mischief for a while.”
“It gives me the creeps to think of what a close call that was,” said Jim, as they walked along.
“Don’t say anything about it to the boys,” cautioned Joe. “The thing would get out, and before we knew it the folks at home would have heard of it. And they wouldn’t have an easy minute for all the rest of the trip.”
They made quick time to the hotel, and as108most of their luggage had remained on the train, they had only to gather a few things together in a small hand bag and start out for the station.
Their special train had been standing on a side track a few hundred yards east of the main platform. They were picking their way toward it across a network of tracks, when, just as they rounded the corner of a freight car, they came face to face with Hartley.
They almost dropped their handbags at the unexpectedness of the meeting. But if they were startled, Bugs was frightened and turned on his heel to run. In an instant Joe had him by the collar in a grip of iron, while Jim stood on the alert to stop him should he break away.
“Let me go!” cried Hartley in stifled tones, for Joe’s grip was almost choking him.
“Not until you tell me why you tried to murder me to-night,” said Joe, grimly.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” snarled Bugs, trying to wrench himself loose from Joe’s hold on his collar.
“You know well enough,” replied his captor. “Own up.”
“You might as well, Bugs,” put in Jim. “We’ve got the goods on you.”
“You fellows are crazy,” replied Bugs. “I’ve never laid eyes on you since I saw you in Chicago. And you can’t prove that I did either.”109
“You’re the only enemy I have in the world,” declared Joe. “And the man who threw that rock at me to-night was a practiced thrower. Besides, you’re all in a sweat—that’s from running away when we chased you.”
“Swell proof that is,” sneered Hartley. “Tell that to a judge and see what good it will do you.”
The point was well taken, and Joe and Jim knew in their hearts that they had no legal proof, although they were morally certain Bugs was guilty. Besides, they had no time to have him arrested, for their train was scheduled to start in ten minutes.
“Now listen, Bugs,” said Joe, at the same time shaking him so that his teeth rattled. “I know perfectly well that you’re lying, and I’m giving you warning for the last time. You’ve had it in for me from the time you doped my coffee and nearly put me out of the game altogether. Ever since that you’ve bothered me, and to-night you’ve tried to kill me. I tell you straight, I’ve had enough of it. If I didn’t think that your brain was twisted, I’d thrash you now within an inch of your life. But I’m telling you now, and you let it sink in, that the next time you try to do me, I’m going to put you where the dogs won’t bite you.”
He dug his knuckles into Bugs’ neck and gave110him a fling that sent him several yards away. The fellow kept his feet with an effort, and then with a muttered threat slunk away into the darkness.
They watched him for a minute, and then picked up their handbags and started toward the train.
“Hope that’s the last we see of him,” remarked Joe.
“So do I,” Jim replied. “But we felt that way before and he’s turned up just the same. I won’t feel easy till I know that he’s behind the bars.”
“He’s usually in front of the bars,” joked Joe. “But I’m glad anyway that we had a chance to throw a scare into him. He knows now that we’ll be on our guard and perhaps even he will have sense enough to let us alone.”
Jim consulted his watch.
“Great Scott!” he ejaculated.
“What’s the matter, Jim?”
“We haven’t any time to spare if we want to catch that train.”
“All right, let’s run for it.”
As best they could, they began sprinting in the direction of the railroad station, but their handbags were somewhat heavy, and this impeded their progress. Then, turning a corner, they suddenly found themselves confronted by a long sewer trench, lit up here and there by red lanterns.111
“We’ve got to get over that trench somehow!” cried Joe.
“Can you jump it?” questioned Jim anxiously.
“I’m going to try,” returned the crack pitcher.
He threw his handbag to the other side of the sewer trench, and then, backing up a few steps, ran forward and took the leap in good shape. His chum followed him, but Jim might have slipped back into the sewer trench had not Joe been watching, and grabbed him by one hand.
“Gosh, that was a close shave!” panted Jim, when he felt himself safe.
“Don’t waste time thinking about it. We have still a couple of blocks to go,” Joe returned, and set off once more on the run, with Jim at his heels.
Soon they rounded another corner, and came in sight of the railroad station. There stood their train, and the conductor was signaling to start.
“Wait! Wait!” yelled Joe. But in the general confusion around the railroad station nobody seemed to notice him.
“We’ve got to make that train—we’ve just got to!” cried Joe, and dashed forward faster than ever, with Jim beside him.
They scrambled up the steps just as a warning whistle sounded; and a few moments later the train drew out on its climb over the Rockies.
112CHAPTER XIIIDANGER SIGNALS
The travelers were now in the most picturesque part of their journey, and the magnificent views that spread before them as they topped the ridges of the continent and dropped down on the other side into the land of flowers and eternal summer were a source of unending interest and pleasure.
“I’ll tell you what, Joe,” remarked Jim: “I never had an idea that this section of our country was so truly grand.”
“It certainly is magnificent scenery,” was Joe’s answer. “Just look at those mountain tops, will you? Some height there, believe me!”
“Yes. And just see the depth of some of those canyons, will you? Say! if a fellow ever fell over into one of those, he’d never know what happened to him.”
“I’ve been watching this particular bit of scenery for some time,” remarked Joe. “It somehow had a familiar look to it, and now I know why.”
“And why is it, Joe?”113
“I’ll tell you. Some time ago I saw a moving picture with the scene laid in the Rocky Mountains, and, unless I’m greatly mistaken, some of the scenes were taken right in this locality.”
“Was that a photo-play called ‘The Girl From Mountain Pass?’” questioned another player who was present.
“It was.”
“Then you’re right, Matson; because I was speaking about that film to the conductor of this train, and he said that some of the pictures were taken right around here. His train was used in one of the scenes.”
This matter was talked over for several minutes, but then the conversation changed; and, presently, the chums went off to talk about other matters.
Joe and Jim were lounging in the rear of the observation car, talking over the stirring events of the night before, when McRae happened along and dropped into a seat beside them.
“Some game that was yesterday, boys,” he remarked genially. “Those Denver fellows were curly bears, but we trimmed them just the same.”
“Yes,” grinned Jim. “But we weren’t comfortable while we were doing it.”
“They sure did worry us,” acquiesced Joe. “They made us know at least that we’d been in a fight.”114
“It was that ninth-inning work of yours that pulled us through, Joe,” declared McRae. “That stunt you pulled of whirling on your heel and shooting it over to third was a pretty bit of inside stuff. And there wasn’t anything slow either about spearing that ball that Thompson hit.”
“I’d have let the fielders take care of that,” admitted Joe, “if there hadn’t been so much at stake. My hand stung for an hour afterward. But I’d have hated to let those fellows crow over us.”
“That fellow, Alvarez, that Thorpe rang in on us was a sure-enough pitcher,” observed McRae. “I’d sign him up in a minute if it weren’t for that dark skin of his. But it wouldn’t work. We had a second baseman like that one time, and although he was a rattling good player it nearly broke up the team. It’s too bad that color should stand in the way of a man’s advancement, but it can’t be helped.
“By the way,” he continued, drawing a paper from his pocket, “here’s something that may interest you. It’s the official record of the National League of the pitching averages for this season. It made me feel good when I read it and you’ll see the reason why.”
He handed them the paper, which they opened eagerly to the sporting page.
Joe’s heart felt a thrill of satisfaction as he saw that his name stood at the head of the list, and115Jim, too, was elated, as he noted that although this was his first year in a major league his name was among the first fifteen—a rare distinction for a “rookie.”
“Some class to the Giants, eh?” grinned McRae. “There’s sixty names in that list and no single team has as many in the first twelve as we have. That average of yours, Joe, of 1.53 earned runs per game is a hummer. Hughson is close on your heels with 1.56. The Rube, you see, is eighth in the list with 1.95, and Jim’s eleventh with 2.09. I tell you, boys, that’s class, and to cap it all we won the pennant.”
“Two pennants, you mean,” corrected Jim with a smile.
“And neither one to be sneezed at,” grinned Joe.
“We sure had a great season,” observed McRae. “If we start next year with the same team we ought to go through the league like a prairie fire. I have every reason to think that Hughson will be in tip-top shape when the season opens, and if he is, there won’t be any pitching staff that can hold a candle to ours. But——”
He paused uncertainly and looked at Joe as though he wanted to speak to him privately. Jim saw the look and took the hint.
“I guess I’ll go into the smoker and see what116the rest of the fellows are doing, if you’ll excuse me,” he said, rising and strolling back.
McRae greeted his departure with evident satisfaction.
“I’m glad to have a chance to talk to you alone, Joe,” he said. “You’re my right bower and I can talk to you more freely than to anyone else, except Hughson. I don’t mind telling you that this new league is worrying me a lot.”
“What is it?” asked Joe with quick interest. “Anything happened lately?”
“Plenty,” replied McRae. “I’ve kidded myself with the idea that the thing was going to peter out of its own accord. Every few seasons something of the kind crops up, but it usually comes to nothing. Usually the men who put up the coin get scared when they see what a big proposition it is they’ve tackled and back out. Sometimes, too, they go about it in such a blundering way that it’s bound to fail from the start.
“But this time it’s different. They’ve got barrels of money behind them, and they’re spending it like water. There’s one of them named Fleming, whose father is a millionaire many times over, and he seems to have money to burn. They certainly are making big offers to star players all over the country. You saw the way they came at you, and they’re doing the same in other places. There isn’t a paper that I pick up that doesn’t117give the name of some big player that they’re tampering with. The last one I saw was Altman of the Chicago White Sox. I guess though, that is a wrong steer, for Altman has come out flat for his old team and denies any intention of jumping his contract.”
“Bully for Nick!” exclaimed Joe. “I guess I helped to queer that deal. I saw Westland talking to him, and he seemed to have him going, but I put a few things straight to Nick and he seems to have come to his senses before it’s too late.”
“There’s Munsey of the Cincinnatis, he’s left his reservation,” continued McRae. “He’s the crack shortstop of the country. They’ve got a line out, too, for Wilson of the Bostons, and you know they don’t make any better outfielders than he is. In fact, they’re biting into the teams everywhere, and none of them know where they’re at. If I’d known they were going at it so seriously, and hadn’t got so far in my preparations for this trip, I think I wouldn’t have gone on this world’s tour. It looks to me as though the major leagues would be backed up against the wall and fighting for their lives before this winter’s over.”
“It may not be as bad as you think,” said Joe consolingly. “Even if they get a lot of the stars, there will be a great many left. And, besides, they may have trouble in finding suitable grounds to play on.”118
“But they will,” declared McRae. “They’ve got the refusal of first-class locations in every big city of the major league. I tell you, there’s brains behind this new league and that’s what’s worrying me. I don’t know whether it’s Fleming——”
“No,” interrupted Joe, smiling contemptuously, as he thought of the dissipated young fellow whom he had thrashed so soundly. “It isn’t Fleming. He’s got money enough, but there’s a vacuum where his brains ought to be.”
“Then it’s his partners,” deduced McRae. “And their brains with his money make a strong combination.”
“Well,” comforted Joe, “there’s one good thing about this trip, anyway. You’ve got the Giants out of reach of their schemes.”
McRae looked around to see if anyone were within earshot, and then leaned over toward Joe.
“Don’t fool yourself,” he said earnestly. “I’m afraid right now there are traitors in the camp!”
119CHAPTER XIVA WEIRD GAME
Baseball Joe was startled and showed it plainly.
“What do you mean?” he asked, as his mind ran over the names of his team-mates.
“Just what I say,” replied McRae. “I tell you, Joe, somebody’s getting in his fine work with our boys and I know it.”
“Where’s your proof?” asked Joe. “I hate to think that any of our fellows would welch on their contracts.”
“So do I,” returned McRae. “We’ve been like one big family, and I’ve always tried to treat the boys right. I’ve got a rough tongue, as everybody knows, and in a hot game I’ve called them down many a time when they’ve made bonehead plays. But at the same time I’ve tried to be just, and I’ve never given any of them the worst end of the deal. They’ve been paid good money, and I’ve carried them along sometimes when other managers would have let them go.”120
“You’ve been white all right,” assented Joe warmly. He recalled an occasion when a muff by a luckless center-fielder had lost a World Series and fifty thousand dollars for the team, and yet McRae had “stood the gaff” and never said a word, because he knew the man was trying to do his best.
“I’m telling this to you, Joe,” went on McRae, “because I want you to help me out. You’ve proved yourself true blue when you were put to the test. I know you’ll do all you can to hold the boys in the traces. They all like you and feel that they owe you a lot because it was your pitching that pulled us through the World’s Series. Besides, they’ll be more impressed by what you say than by the talk I’d give them. They figure that I’m the manager and am only looking after my own interests, and for that reason what I say has less effect.”
“I’ll stand by you, Mac,” returned Joe, “and help you in any way I can. Who are the boys that you think are trying to break loose?”
“There are three of them,” replied McRae. “Iredell, Curry and Burkett, and all three of them are stars, as you know as well as I do.”
“They’re cracks, every one of them,” agreed Joe. “And they’re among the last men that I’d suspect of doing anything of the kind. What makes you think they’ve been approached?”121
“A lot of things,” replied McRae. “In the first place, I have noticed that they are stiff and offish in their manner when I speak to them. Then, too, I’ve come across them several times lately with their heads together, and when they saw me coming they’d break apart and start talking of something else, as if I had interrupted them. Beside that, all three have struck me lately for a raise in salary next season.”
“That’s nothing new for ball players,” said Joe, with a smile.
“No,” admitted McRae, an answering smile relieving the gravity of his face for the moment. “And I stand ready of my own accord to give the boys a substantial increase on last year’s pay because of their winning the pennant. But what these three asked for was beyond all reason, and made me think there was a nigger in the woodpile. They either had had a big offer from somebody else and were using that as a club to hold me up with, or else they were just trying to give themselves a better excuse for jumping.”
“How long do their contracts have to run?” asked Joe.
“Iredell has one year more and Curry and Burkett are signed up for two years yet,” replied the Giants’ manager. “Of course I could try to hold them to their contracts, but you know as well122as I do that baseball contracts are more a matter of honesty than of legal obligation. If a man is straight, he’ll keep it, if he’s crooked, he’ll break it. And you know what a hole it would leave in the Giant team if those three men went over the fence. There isn’t a heavier slugger in the team than Burkett, except Larry. His batting average this year was .332, and as a fielding first baseman he’s the class of the league.”
“You’re right there,” acquiesced Joe, as he recalled the ease and precision with which Burkett took them on either side and dug them out of the dirt. “He’s saved a game for me many and many a time.”
“As for Iredell,” went on McRae, “he hasn’t his equal in playing short and in covering second as the pivot for a double play. And nobody has played the infield as Curry does since I’ve been manager of the team.”
“It would certainly break the Giants all up to lose the three of them,” agreed Joe. “But we haven’t lost them yet. Remember that the game isn’t over till the last man is out in the ninth inning.”
“I know that. You’ve helped me win two fights this year, Joe, one for the championship of the league and the other for the championship of the world. Now I’m counting on you to help me win a third, perhaps the hardest of them all.”123
“Put ’er there, Mac,” said Joe, extending his hand. “Shake—I’m with you till the cows come home.”
“Of course, they’ll be willing to put up big money, Joe. You know that already.”
“It doesn’t make a particle of difference, Mac, how much money they put up,” returned the crack pitcher warmly. “There isn’t enough cash in the U. S. treasury to tempt me.”
“I know that, Joe. And I only wish that I could be as certain of the rest of the players.”
“Well, of course, I can’t speak for the others. But you can be sure that I’ll use my influence on the right side every time. Some of them may weaken and break away, but I doubt very much if they’ll be any of your main-stays. If I were you, Mac, I wouldn’t let this worry me too much.”
“Yes, I know it’s getting on my nerves, Joe, because, you see, it means so much to me. But having you on my side has braced me up a good deal,” went on the manager.
They shook hands warmly, and McRae, evidently encouraged and braced by the talk with his star pitcher, made his way back to his own immediate party.
The teams were slated to play in Salt Lake City and in Ogden. In both places they “cleaned up” easily, and it was not until a few days later when they reached the slope that they encountered124opposition that made them exert themselves to win.
At Bakersfield, with Jim in the box, the game went to eleven innings before it was finally placed to the credit of the Giants by a score of three to two. The ’Frisco team also put up a stiff fight for eight innings, but were overwhelmed by a storm of hits which rained from Giant bats in the ninth.
The game with Oakland was the last on the schedule before the teams left for the Orient, and an enormous crowd was in attendance.
Joe was in the box for the All-American team. He was in fine form, and held the home team down easily until the fifth inning, but the Oaklands also, undaunted by the reputation of their adversaries, and under the guidance of a manager who had formerly been a famous first baseman of the Chicago team, were also out to win if possible, and with first-class pitching and supported by errorless fielding, they held their redoubtable opponents on even terms.
At the end of the fifth, neither team had scored, although the Giants had threatened to do so on two separate occasions. A singular condition developed in the sixth. It was the Giants’ turn at bat and Curry had reached first on a clean single to right. A neat sacrifice by Joe advanced him to second. A minute later he stole third, sliding feet first into the bag and narrowly escaping the ball in the third baseman’s hand.125
With only one out and Larry coming to the bat, the prospects for a run were bright.
Larry let the first go by, but swung at the second, which was coming straight to the plate. His savage lunge caught the ball on the underside, and it went soaring through the air to a tremendous height.
Both the second and third baseman started for the ball. It looked as though neither would be able to reach it, and Curry ran half-way down the line between third and home, awaiting the result. If the ball were caught he figured that he would easily have time to get back to third. If it were dropped, he could make home and score.
The third baseman got under the descending ball, but it was coming from such a height that it was difficult to judge. It slipped through his fingers, but instead of falling to the ground, went plump into the pocket of his baseball shirt.
He tugged desperately to get it out, at the same time running toward Curry, who danced about on the line between third and home in an agony of indecision. Was the ball caught or not? If it were, he would have to return to third. If it were not, he must make a break for home.
The teams were all shouting now, while the crowd went into convulsions. The third baseman reached Curry and grabbed him with one hand, while with the other he frantically tried to126get the ball from his pocket and clap it on him. But the ball stuck, and in the mixup both players fell to the ground and rolled over and over.
Larry, in the meanwhile, was tearing round the bases, but he himself wasn’t sure whether he was really out or whether he ought to strike for home. He reached third and pulled up there, still in the throes of doubt. He could have easily gone on past the struggling combatants, but in that case, if Curry were finally declared not out, Larry would also be out for having passed him and got home first.
On the other hand, if Curry should finally escape and get back to third, one of them would still be out because he was occupying the bag to which his comrade was entitled. He did not really know whether he was running for exercise or to score a run.
It was the funniest mixup that even the veteran players had ever seen on a ball field, and as for the crowd they were wild with joy.
The third baseman, finding that Curry was about to get away from him and unable to get the ball out of his pocket, finally threw his arms about him and hugged him close in the wild hope that some part of the protruding ball would touch his prisoner’s person and thus put him out.
The sight of those burly gladiators, locked in a fond embrace, threatened the sanity of the127onlookers, but the farce was ended when Curry finally wriggled out from the anaconda grasp of his opponent and took a chance for the plate.
Then there was a hot debate, as the umpire, himself laughing until the tears ran down his face, tried to solve the situation. Had Curry been touched by the ball, or had he not? Had the ball been caught or not?
Players on both sides tugged at him as they debated the matterproandcon.
“I don’t know what that umpire’s name is,” grinned Jim to Joe, who was weak with laughter, “but I know what it ought to be.”
“What?” asked Joe.
“Solomon,” chuckled Jim.
128CHAPTER XVTHE BEWILDERED UMPIRE
But whatever the umpire’s name might have been, he only resembled Solomon in one respect. He was inclined to compromise and cut the play in two, giving one part to the major leaguers and the other to the Oakland team.
He was not to blame for being bewildered, for the baseball magnates who had framed the rules had never contemplated the special case of a player catching the ball in his pocket.
Between the opposing claims he pulled out his book and scanned it carefully but with no result.
“It’s easy enough,” rasped McRae. “He tried to catch a ball and muffed it. It goes for a hit and Curry scores.”
“Not on your life,” barked Everett, the manager of the Oakland team. “He got the ball and it never touched the ground.”
“Got it,” sneered McRae. “This is baseball, not pool. He can’t pocket the ball.”129
There was a laugh at this, and Mackay, the third baseman, looked a little sheepish. The baited umpire suggested that the whole play be called off and that Curry go back to third while Larry resumed his place at the bat.
Larry set up a howl at this, as he saw his perfectly good three-baser go glimmering.
“Oh, hire a hall,” snapped Everett. “Even if the umpire decides against the catch it was only an error and you ought to have been out anyway.”
“You can’t crawl out of it that way,” said McRae to the umpire. “A play is a play and you’ve got to settle it one way or the other, even if you settle it wrong.”
The umpire hesitated, wiped his brow and finally decided that the ball was caught. That put Larry out, and he retreated, growling, to the bench, while Everett grinned his satisfaction.
“That’s all right, Ump,” said the latter. “But how about Curry? Mackay put the ball on him all right and that makes three out.”
“Say, what do you want, the earth?” queried McRae. “He didn’t put the ball on him. He didn’t have the ball to put. It was in his pocket all the time.”
“Of course I put the ball on him,” declared Mackay. “I must have. When I fell on him I hit him everywhere at once.”130
The umpire finally decided that Mackay had not put the ball on Curry, and the red-headed right-fielder chuckled at the thought of the run he had scored.
“That makes it horse and horse,” said the umpire. “Get back to your places.”
If he thought he was at the end of his troubles he was mistaken, for Everett suddenly cried out:
“Look here. You said that Mackay caught that ball, didn’t you?”
“That’s what I said,” snorted the umpire.
“Well, then,” crowed Everett triumphantly, “why didn’t Curry go back to third and touch the bag before he lit out for home? He has to do that on a caught fly ball, hasn’t he?”
The umpire looked fairly stumped. Here was something on which the rules were explicit. It was certain that Curry should have returned to the base and it was equally certain that he hadn’t. Mackay had caught him half-way between third and home.
But McRae was equal to the occasion.
“Suppose he did have to,” he cried. “You said that Mackay hadn’t touched him and he’s free to go back yet.”
“And I’m free to touch him with the ball,” Mackay came back at him.
“But the ball isn’t in play,” put in Robbie,131adding his mite to the general confusion. “You called time when you came in to settle this.”
“Who wouldn’t be an umpire?” laughed Jim to Joe, as he saw the look of despair on that worried individual’s face.
“The most glorious mixup I ever saw on the ball field,” answered Joe.
“‘How happy he could be with either were ’tother dear charmer away,’” chuckled Jim, pointing to the two pugnacious disputants on either side of the umpire.
“Curry’s out—Curry isn’t out. Love me—love me not,” responded Joe.
By this time the crowd had got over their laugh and impatiently demanded action. The umpire cut the Gordian knot by sending Curry back to third, where he and Mackay chaffed each other and the game went on.
It was not much of a game after that, however, as the laughable incident had put all the players in a more or less frivolous mood. It finally ended in a score of six to three in favor of the All-Americans, and the teams made a break for the showers.
“The last game we play on American soil for many moons,” remarked Joe, as, having bathed and dressed, the two young athletes strolled toward their hotel.
“And every one of them a victory,” observed132Jim. “Not a single mark on the wrong side of the ledger!”
“That game at Denver was the closest call we had,” said Joe. “The trip so far has been a big money-maker, too. McRae was telling me yesterday that we’d already topped ninety-five thousand, and there was ten thousand in that crowd to-day if there was a penny.”
“I guess Mac won’t have any trouble in buying steamship tickets,” laughed Jim. “By the way, we haven’t had a look at the old boat yet. Let’s go down to-morrow and inspect her.”
“Why not make it the day after to-morrow?” suggested Joe. “The girls will be here by that time and we’ll take them with us.”
“That will suit me, Joe.”
“I’ve been thinking of something, Jim,” went on the crack pitcher, after a pause. “It won’t be long now before we leave America. What do you say if we do a little shopping, and buy some things for ourselves and for the girls?”
“Say, that’s queer! I was thinking the same thing.” Jim paused for a moment. “Won’t it be fine to have the others with us again?”
“Yes; I’ll be very glad to see Mabel, and glad to see Clara, too. I suppose you’ve been getting letters pretty regularly, eh, Jim?”
“I don’t believe I’ve been getting any more letters than you have, Joe,” returned the other.133
“Well, you’re welcome to them, Jim. I wish you luck!” said Joe, and placed a hand on his chum’s shoulder. For a moment they looked into each other’s eyes, and each understood perfectly what was passing in the other’s mind. But Jim just then did not feel he could say too much.
“I’ll be glad to see Reggie again, too,” remarked Joe, after a moment of silence. “He’s something of a queer stick, but pretty good at that.”
“Oh, he’s all right, Joe,” answered Jim. “As he grows older and sees more of the seamy side of life, he’ll get some of that nonsense knocked out of him.”
They ate their supper that night with a sense of relaxation to which they had long been strangers. For the first time since they had gone to the training camp at Texas in the spring, they were out of harness. There had been the fierce, tense race for the pennant that had strained them to the utmost.
Then, with only a few days intervening, had come the still more exciting battle for the championship of the world. They had won and won gloriously, but even then they had not felt wholly free, for the long trip across the continent which they had just finished was then before them, and although this struggle had been less close and important, it had still kept them on edge and in training.134
But now their strenuous year had ended. Before them lay a glorious trip around the world, a voyage over summer seas, a pilgrimage through lands of mystery and romance, the fulfillment of cherished dreams, and with them were to go the two charming girls who represented to them all that was worth while in life and who even now were hurrying toward them as fast as steam could bring them.
“This is the end of a perfect day,” hummed Jim, as he sat back and lighted a cigar.
“You’re wrong there, Jim,” replied Joe, with a smile. “The perfect day will be to-morrow.”
“Right you are!”
Yet little did Baseball Joe and his chum dream of the many adventures and perils which lay ahead of them.
135CHAPTER XVIPUTTING THEM OVER
As the two baseball players sauntered down the corridor after supper they chanced upon Iredell. He was sitting at a reading table, intent upon a letter which had attached to it what looked like an official document of some kind.
It was a chance for which Joe had been looking, and he gave Jim a sign to go on while he himself dropped into a seat beside the famous shortstop.
“How are you, Dell, old boy?” he said, genially.
“Able to sit up and take nourishment,” replied the other, at the same time thrusting the document into his pocket with what seemed like unnecessary haste.
“Most of the boys are that way,” laughed Joe. “There are just two things that every ball player is ready to do, take nourishment and nag the umpire.”
Iredell laughed as he bit off the end of a cigar.
“That poor umpire got his this afternoon,” he136said. “With McRae on one side and Everett on the other I thought he’d be pulled to pieces.”
“He was sure up against a hard proposition,” agreed Joe. “The next hardest was in a play that happened when I was on the Pittston team. A fellow poled out a hit that went down like a shot between left and center. A lot of carriages were parked at the end of the field and a big coach dog ran after the ball, got it in his mouth and skipped down among the carriages where the fielders couldn’t get at him. It would have doubled you up to have seen them coaxing the brute to be a good dog and give the ball up. In the meantime, the batter was tearing around the bases and made home before the ball got back.”
“And how did his Umps decide it?” asked Iredell, with interest.
“He was flabbergasted for a while,” replied Joe, “but he finally called it a two-base hit and let it go at that.”
“An umpire’s life is not a happy one,” laughed Iredell. “He earns every dollar that he gets. I suppose that’s what some of us fellows will be doing, too, when we begin to go back.”
“It will be a good while before you come to that, Dell,” Joe replied. “You’ve played a rattling game at short this year, and you’re a fixture with the Giants.”
“I don’t know about that,” said the shortstop137slowly. “Fixtures sometimes work loose, you know.”
“It won’t be so in this case,” said Joe, purposely misunderstanding him. “McRae wouldn’t let go of you.”
“Not if he could help it,” responded Iredell.
“Well, he doesn’t have to worry about that just yet,” said Joe. “How long does your contract have to run?”
“A year yet,” replied Iredell. “But contracts, you know, are like pie crust, they’re easily broken.”
“What do you mean by that?” demanded Joe sharply.
“Oh, nothing, nothing at all,” said Iredell, a little nervously, as though he had said more than he intended. “But to tell the truth, Joe, I’m sore on this whole question of contracts. It’s like a yoke that galls me.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” responded Joe. “A good many folks would like to be galled that way. A good big salary, traveling on Pullmans, stopping at the best hotels, posing for pictures, and having six months of the year to ourselves. If that’s a yoke, it’s lined with velvet.”
“But it’s a yoke, just the same,” persisted Iredell stubbornly. “Most men in business are free to accept any offer that’s made to them. We can’t. We may be offered twice as much as we’re138getting, but we have to stay where we are just the same.”
“Well, that’s simply because it’s baseball,” argued Joe. “You know just as well as I do that that’s the only way the game can be carried on. It wouldn’t last a month if players started jumping from one team to another, or from one league to another. The public would lose all interest in it, and it’s the public that pays our salaries.”
“Pays our salaries!” snapped Iredell. “Puts money in the hands of the owners, you mean. They get the feast and we get the crumbs. What’s our measly salary compared with what they get? I was just reading in the paper that the Giants cleaned up two hundred thousand dollars this year, net profit, and yet it’s the players that bring this money in at the gate.”
“Yes,” Joe admitted. “But they are the men who put up the capital and take the chances. Suppose they had lost two hundred thousand dollars this year. We’d have had our salaries just the same.”
Just then Burkett and Curry came along and dropped into seats beside the pair.
“Hello, Red,” greeted Joe, at the same time nodding to Burkett. “How are your ribs feeling, after that bear hug you got this afternoon?”
Curry grinned.
“That’s all right,” he said. “But he never139touched me with the ball. And that umpire was a boob not to give me the run.”
“What were you fellows talking about so earnestly?” asked Burkett, with some curiosity.
“Oh, jug-handled things like baseball contracts,” responded Iredell.
“They’re the bunk all right,” declared Burkett, emphatically.
“Bunk is right,” said Curry.
“What’s the use of quarreling with your bread and butter?” asked Joe good-naturedly.
“What’s the use of bread and butter, if you can have cake and ought to have it?” Iredell came back at him.
“Cake is good,” agreed Joe, “but the point is that if a man has agreed to take bread and butter, it’s up to him to stand by his agreement. A man’s word is the best thing he has, and if he is a man he’ll hold to it.”
“You seem to be taking a lot for granted, Joe,” said Burkett, a little stiffly. “Who is talking of breaking his word? We’ve got a right to talk about our contracts, haven’t we, when we think the owners are getting the best end of the deal?”
“Sure thing,” said Joe genially. “It’s every man’s privilege to kick, but the time to kick is before one makes an agreement, not when kicking won’t do any good.”140
“Maybe it can do some good,” said Curry significantly.
“How so?” asked Joe innocently. “No other club in the American or National League would take us if we broke away from the Giants.”
“There are other leagues,” remarked Iredell.
“Surely. The minors,” replied Joe, again purposely misunderstanding. “But who wants to be a busher?”
“There’s the All-Star League that’s just forming,” suggested Burkett, with a swift look at his two companions.
“‘All-Star,’” repeated Joe, a little contemptuously. “That sounds good, but where are they going to get the stars?”
“They’re getting them all right,” said Iredell. “The papers are full of the names of players who have jumped or are going to jump.”
“You don’t mean players,” said Joe. “You mean traitors.”
The others winced a little at this.
“‘Traitors’ is a pretty hard word,” objected Curry.
“It’s the only word,” returned Joe stiffly.
“You can’t call a man a traitor who simply tries to better himself,” remarked Burkett defensively.
“Benedict Arnold tried to better himself,” returned Joe. “But it didn’t get him very far. The141fellows that jumped, in the old Brotherhood days, thought they were going to better themselves, but they simply got in bad with the public and nearly ruined the game. This new league will promise all sorts of things, but how do you know it will keep them? What faith can you put in men who try to induce other men to be crooked?”
“Well, you know, with most men business is business, as they put it.”
“I admit business is business. But so far as I am concerned, it is no business at all if it isn’t on the level,” answered Joe earnestly. “A great many men think they can do something that is shady and get away with it, and sometimes at first it looks as if they were right about it. But sooner or later they get tripped up and are exposed.”
“Well, everybody has got a right to make a living,” grumbled Curry.
“Sure he has—and I’m not denying it.”
“And everybody has got a right to go into baseball if he feels like investing his money that way.”
“Right again. But if he wants to make any headway in the great national game, he has got to play it on the level right from the start. If he doesn’t do that, he may, for a certain length of time, hoodwink the public. But, as I said before, sooner or later he’ll be exposed; and you know as well as I do that the public will not stand for any underhand work in any line of sports. I’ve talked,142not alone to baseball men, but also to football men, runners, skaters, and even prize fighters, and they have all said exactly the same thing—that the great majority of men want their sports kept clean.”
There was no reply to this and Joe rose to his feet.
“But what’s the use of talking?” he added. “Let the new league do as it likes. There’s one bully thing, anyway, that it won’t touch—our Giants. Whatever it does to the other teams, we will all stick together. We’ll stand by Robbie and McRae till the last gun’s fired. So long, fellows, see you later.”
He strode off down the corridor, leaving three silent men to stare after his retreating figure thoughtfully.