CHAPTER IV
FROM BAD TO WORSE
That nightmare inning came to an end without further scoring, as Jimstruck out Lasker on four pitched balls. Then, with a sigh of relief,Jim pulled off his glove and went in to the bench, while a sheepish anddisgruntled lot of Giants followed him in for their last inning. McRaewas white with anger, and had no hesitation in telling the team what hethought of them.
"You bunch of four-flushers!" he stormed. "Throwing the ball all aroundthe lot like a gang of schoolboys. You fellows are Giants--I don'tthink. You're a disgrace to your uniforms. You're drawing your salarieson false pretenses. Letting those fellows get four runs in a singleinning without making a real hit. What do you want the pitcher todo--strike out every man that comes to the bat, while you go to sleepin the field? You make me tired. You ought to join the Ladies' BloomerLeague. And even then Maggie Murphy's team would put it all over you.Go in there now and get those runs back."
With their faces burning from the tongue lashing of their iratemanager, the Giants went in for their last inning.
Larry was first up and cracked out a sharp single to right that lookedat first as though he might stretch it to a double, but it was sosmartly relayed that he found it advisable to scramble back to theinitial bag.
Jim was next up. The first two balls pitched were wide of the plate andhe refused to bite. The next one, however, he caught right on the seamfor a liner that went whistling into right for a double.
Larry had started at the crack of the bat, and had rounded second bythe time Jim got to first. He kept on to third, where Iredell was onthe coaching line. There he should have been retained, for Burton, whowas renowned for his throwing arm, had by this time got the ball andwas setting himself for the throw. Iredell, however, urged Larry on,with the consequence that when he slid into the plate the ball wasthere waiting for him. Jim, in the meantime, had reached second.
Larry picked himself up, brushed himself off and went to the bench,muttering growls against Iredell for having egged him on. Had two menbeen out there might have been some excuse for taking the chance.But with none out, it was almost certain that, either by a hit or asacrifice, he could have been brought in with the run that would havetied the score.
Mylert tried to kill the ball, but hit it on the under side and it wentup in a high fly that was easily gobbled up by the Cubs' first baseman.
Curry, the last hope of the Giants, came to the bat. He was in a frenzyof eagerness to redeem himself, as it was his inglorious muff that hadstarted the Cubs on their way to those four unearned runs.
Axander himself was beginning to feel the strain, and was a bit wild.Curry looked them over carefully and let the bad ones go by. A coupleof good ones were sandwiched in, at which he swung and missed.
With three balls and two strikes, both pitcher and batter were "in thehole." Axander had to put the next one over under penalty of passingthe batter. And if Curry missed the next good one, the game was over.
Axander wound up and let one go straight for the plate. Curry caught itfull and fair and the ball soared off toward left.
Weston, the Cub leftfielder, was off with the crack of the ball,running in the direction the latter was taking. It seemed like ahopeless quest, but he kept on, and just as the ball was going overhis head he made a tremendous leap and caught it with one hand. He wasoff balance and turned a complete somersault, but when he came up hestill had hold of the ball. It was a catch such as is seldom seen morethan two or three times in a season.
The game was over, and the Cubs had triumphed by a score of 4 runs to3. The crowd swarmed down on the diamond to surround and applaud theirfavorites, who had plucked victory from the very jaws of defeat, or,to put it more correctly, had accepted the game which the Giants hadgenerously handed over to them.
It was a sore and dejected band of Giants that made their way tothe clubhouse. The end had come so suddenly that they could hardlyrealize what had happened. Some were inclined to blame the "jinx,"but the more intelligent knew that their own errors and those of someof their comrades had alone brought about their downfall. The defeatwas all the more exasperating, because they had had superb pitchingthroughout--pitching that would have won nine games out of ten andwould certainly have won that one if their twirlers had been givenhalf-way decent support.
"Hard luck, Jim," was Joe's greeting to his comrade, as the latter camein and made ready for the showers. "You pitched a dandy game. It'stough when four runs come in without one of them being earned."
"All in a day's work," replied Jim, affecting a cheerfulness that hewas far from feeling. "But you're the one I'm worrying about. How'sthat leg and foot?"
"Dougherty says it will be all right in a week," replied Joe. "He'srubbed most of the soreness out of them, but I'll have to favor themfor a while."
"Glory be!" exclaimed Jim with fervor. "If you were out of the gamefor a long time it would be all up with the Giants. Then they'd go topieces for fair."
"Not a bit of it," disclaimed Joe. "It's too great a team to bedependent on any one man. I'm only just one cog in a fine machine."
"Looked like a rather wobbly machine this afternoon," said Jim,ruefully.
"Sure," agreed Joe. "The boys did play like a bunch of hams. But everyteam does that once in a while. The boys will shake off this slump, andthen they'll begin to climb. Remember that time when we won twenty-sixstraight? What we've done once, we can do again. I'm not a seventh sonof a seventh son, but I have a hunch that we're just about due to dothat very thing."
"I hope you're as good a prophet as you are a pitcher," replied Jim,grinning. He was beginning to find Joe's optimism contagious.
Their conversation was interrupted by the coming of McRae. A suddensilence fell over the occupants of the clubhouse, for they knew thedanger signals, and a glance at the manager's face told them that astorm was brewing.
"Giants!" exclaimed McRae, and they winced at the bitter sarcasm in histone. "Where have I heard that word before? A fine bunch of pennantwinners! Why, you couldn't win the pennant in the Podunk League. Putyou up against a gang of bushers, and they'd laugh themselves to death.Any high school nine would make you look foolish. Giants? Dwarfs,pigmies, runts! Easy meat for any team you come across! Champions ofthe world? Cellar champions! Sub-cellar champions! Just keep on thisway, and the other teams will bury you so deep you'll be coming outin China. I'm going to change my name. I'm ashamed to be known as themanager of such a bunch of dubs."
Nobody ventured to interrupt the tirade, partly because they felt thathe was justified in his anger and partly because no one cared to playthe part of lightning rod. When McRae was in that mood, it was best tolet him talk himself out.
From the general roast he came down to particulars. He glared aroundand singled out Curry. That hapless individual evaded his glance andpretended to be very busy in tying his shoe.
"You're the one that started that bunch of errors in the eighthinning," McRae shouted, pointing an accusing finger at him.
"Aw," muttered Curry, "any one can make a muff once in a while."
"It isn't for the muff I'm calling you down," retorted McRae. "I knowthat can happen to any man, and I never roast any one for it. Why, welost the World's championship one year in Boston when Rodgrass madethat muff in centerfield. I never said a word to him about it, and inthe next year's contract I raised his salary. What I'm panning you foris that rotten throw that followed the muff. That's when you lost yourhead. You could easily have caught Burton at second and stopped therally.
"And you, Burkett," he went on, turning to the first baseman. "For aman who calls himself a major leaguer, you certainly went the limitthis afternoon. Don't you get sleep enough at night that you haveto go to sleep on first? And those wild throws, one over Renton'shead and the other over Mylert's. Oh, what's the use," he continued,throwing his hands in the air. "I've got a doctor on this club that cantake care of any bone in the leg or bone in the arm, but he can't doanything with bones in the head."
If they thou
ght he had worn himself out, they were greatly mistaken. Heturned to Iredell.
"Come outside, Iredell," he said, "I want to have a word with you."
Once outside the clubhouse, he turned a grim face on the captain.
"I didn't want to call you down before your men, Iredell," he snapped,"because I didn't care to weaken the discipline of the team--that is,if there's any discipline left in the club. But I want to tell you thatif your work to-day is a sample of the way you captain the team, why,the sooner there's a change in captains the better."
"I don't know just what you mean," muttered Iredell, an angry redsuffusing his face.
"You know perfectly well what I mean," declared McRae. "How about thatball that fell to the ground between Larry and Burkett? Either one ofthem could have got it. Why didn't they?"
Iredell remained silent, fingering his cap.
"Because you didn't call out which was to take it," McRae himselfsupplied the answer. "Their eyes were on the ball, and when each saidhe could get it each left it to the other. All you had to do was tocall out the name of one of them, and he'd have got it. That's whatyou're captain for--to use your judgment in a pinch.
"Then there was that rotten coaching at third base," McRae went on withhis indictment. "Why didn't you hold Larry there? You know what aterror Burton is on long throws to the plate and that he'd probably gethim. With nobody out, it was a cinch that one of the next three batsmenwould have brought Larry in. And with him dancing around third, hemight have got Axander's goat. Then, too, the infield would have beendrawn in for a play at the plate, and that would have given a betterchance for a hit to the outfield. Am I right or am I wrong?"
"I suppose you're right," conceded Iredell. "But a fellow can't alwaysthink of everything. If Larry had got to the plate, you'd be patting meon the back."
"No, I wouldn't," snapped McRae, "because it would have been justfool's luck. Why, I fined a man twenty-five dollars once for knockingout a home run when I had ordered him to bunt. That he came acrosswith a home run didn't change the fact that at that point in the gamea bunt was the proper thing, and nine times out of ten would have gonethrough. You've got to use your sense and judgment and do the thingthat seems most likely to bring home the bacon."
"I don't seem to please you these days, no matter what I do," saidIredell sullenly.
"You'll only please me when you do things right," returned McRae. "Youknow as well as any one else that I never ride my men. I've been aball player myself as well as manager, and I can put myself in theplace of both. But what I want are men who are quick in the head aswell as the feet. Give me the choice between a fast thinker and a fastrunner, and I'll take the fast thinker every time. Look at Joe Matson,the way he shot that ball over on Burton to-day before he knew where hewas at. He's always doing something of that kind--outguessing the otherfellow. His think tank is working every minute. He puts out as many menwith his head as he does with his arm. And that's what makes him thegreatest pitcher in this country to-day, bar none.
"Now, take it from me, Iredell, that's the kind of thinking that'sgoing to pull this team out of the mud. I'm paying you a good salary toplay shortstop. There, you're delivering the goods. But I've tacked acouple of thousands onto your salary to act as captain. There, you'renot delivering the goods. And those goods have got to be delivered, or,by ginger, I'll know the reason why!"