CHAPTER XXX
THE CHAMPIONSHIP
Such a crowd as filled the big Polo Grounds! The grandstands seemedfull, and the bleachers too, but the elevated and surface roads broughtmore constantly, and the honking autos added to the clamor. It was aperfect day, and the ball field--one of the best in the world--whereprofessionals meet professionals--was laid out with mathematicalprecision.
From their lairs near the press boxes the tigers trotted to be welcomedwith shouts and yells from their supporters and the songs of theirfellows.
"They beat us once--as we did them," said Joe in a low voice. "They maybeat us again."
"Not much!" cried Spike. "A Yale victory is in the air. I can feel it!Look at that blue," and he pointed to the sky, "and then at that," andhe waved toward the azure-hued Yale stand, "and say we're going to lose!I guess not!"
"A cheer for every man!" yelled the leader of the Princeton cheermasters, who were armed with big megaphones as were their New Havenrivals, except that the ribbons were of the tiger's stripes. "A cheerfor every man!"
And then, as the Jersey cheer was howled there followed each time thename of some player--sweet music to their ears, no doubt.
"They're signalling to us," said Spike a little later. "I guess theywant us inside to come out all in a bunch, as Princeton did."
This was the import of the message delivered to them a little later asthey filed into the dressing rooms, where the team and substitutes nowwere.
"Remember, boys," said the captain solemnly, "we've got to win. It'sYale's luck against Princeton's maybe, but even with that it's got to bebulldog pluck against the tiger's fierceness. They can play ball."
"And so can we!" declared several, in low voices.
"Prove it--by beating 'em!" was the quick retort. "Pile out now, andhave some snap to you!"
If Yale had gone wild, so now did the students from her rival college.The orange and black, which had been in evidence on the opposite standto that which showed the blue, now burst forth in a frenzy of color.Hats were tossed in the air, canes too, and one excited man dashed histall silk head covering about with such energy that he split it on thewalking stick of a gentleman seated near him.
"I beg your pardon," said the one with the stick.
"Don't mention it! My fault entirely--I'm too excited, I guess, but Iused to play on the Princeton team years ago, and I came to-day to seeher win. I don't care for a hat--I can buy lots more. But Princeton isgoing to win! Wow!"
"I'm sorry for you," said the other with a smile. "But Yale has thebulge to-day."
"Never!"
"I tell you she has!"
And then the argument began, good-natured enough, but only one of manylike it going on all about the grounds.
"Hark!" said Joe to Spike, as they were walking back toward the diamond."Isn't that great?"
There had come a momentary hush, and the sweet strains of the Princetonsong--"Orange and Black," floated over the big diamond. Many of thespectators--former college men--joined in, Yale ceased her cheeringwhile this was rendered, and then came a burst of applause, for themelody was exceptionally well rendered.
"Well, they may sing, but they can't play ball," said Spike.
Out came the bulldogs, and at once it seemed as if a bit of blue sky hadsuddenly descended on the stands, so solid was the mass of ultramarinecolor displayed, in contrast to the orange and black.
"Joe, old man, isn't it great!" cried Spike, capering about. "To thinkthat I'm really going to play in this big championship game!"
"It's fine!" exclaimed Joe, yet he himself was thinking how glorious itwould be if he was only a professional, and could occupy the mound ofthe Polo Grounds regularly instead of on this rare occasion. "And Iwill, too, some day!" he murmured.
"Play ball!"
The practice was over, the last conference between coaches, pitchers,catchers and captains had been held. The championship was now to becontested for. Yale had won the toss and taken last chance at bat.
"Play ball!"
Joe walked to the mound, a trifle nervous, as anyone would have beenunder the circumstances, but, with it all, holding himself well in hand.As he got ready to deliver the customary five balls before attending tothe batter a quiet-appearing man, sitting in one of the press boxes,moved so as to get a better view of the young pitcher.
"What's the matter, Mack?" asked one of the reporters. "Think you seesome bushleaguers in this bunch of college boys?"
"You never can tell," was the quiet answer. "I'm always on the lookoutfor recruits, and I'm particularly in need of a good pitcher."
"Well, both teams have some good ones I hear," went on the newspaperman, and then he devoted himself to sending out an account of the gameto his paper.
With the first ball that he delivered Joe knew that he was in shapeto pitch the game of his career. He was sure of his control, and herealized that with a little care he could place the horsehide just wherehe wanted it to go.
"If we can only bat a few we've got this cinched," decided Joe, alwaysaware, though, of the fatal element of luck.
The early results seemed to justify his confidence. For four innings nota Princeton man got farther than first base, and the crowd was wildlycheering him.
"If it will only last," he thought, and the memory of his sore arm cameto him as a shock. But he had not suffered from it since, and he hopedhe would not.
On her part Yale had managed to get one run across, and thus the gamestood at the beginning of the fifth inning. In that, for one fearfulmoment, Joe had fears. He had been signalled to walk the heaviestbatter, but something went wrong, and the man plugged a three baggerthat got past Spike. The next man up was a good hitter, and Kendall, infear and trembling, signalled for another pass. But Joe shook his head.He was going to try to strike him out. And he did.
Amid wild roars the man was retired, and when two more had gone down,and Princeton was still without a run, pandemonium broke loose.
Though Yale tried with all her might to sweeten the score, she couldnot--at least in the next two innings. She batted well, but Princetonseemed to be right on the ball every time. And with only one run as amargin, the game was far from won.
"But we'll do it!" cried Hatfield, fiercely.
"That's what!" echoed Joe.
Yale's chance came in the eighth inning, when, owing to an error by thePrinceton shortstop, a man got to first. None were out, and Joe rappedout a pretty two-bagger that, followed by a wild throw home, enabled aman to score. Then Joe was brought in on a sacrifice hit, and when theinning ended Yale had three more runs, making the score four to nothingin her favor.
Once more the riot of blue shot over the stands, while the orange andblack fluttered listlessly. But the tiger was growling in his lair,while the bulldog was thus barking, and every Yale player knew thatfortune might yet turn against them.
But when Princeton had her last chance to bat, and only managed toget one run, it was all over but the shouting. Joe had pitchedmagnificently, and when the last chance of the Princeton tiger hadvanished there was a rush for the young pitcher, and he was fairlycarried away on the shoulders of his fellows.
And such cheering as there was!
"Yale wins!"
"Yale is champion!"
"Three cheers for Baseball Joe!"
The field swarmed with the spectators, who hardly stayed to hear thevictors and vanquished cheer each other. The quiet man who had sat inthe press box managed to get a word to Joe, though he had to shout to beheard above the din. The young pitcher looked startled, then pleased,and his voice faltered as he answered; after a little more talk:
"But supposing I don't make good, Mr.--er--?"
"Mack is my name, I represent the manager; in fact I'm his assistant."
"But supposing I don't make good?" repeated Joe. "I know I can do prettywell here, but, as you say, I don't seem to take to the college life.Still, I wouldn't want to make a public try as I'd have to, and thengive up. It would bar me from the amateur ranks f
orever."
"Yes, I know that," was the answer, "but you needn't be afraid. Lookhere, Matson. This isn't the first time I've done such a thing as this.It's part of my business, and part of my business to know what I'mdoing. I can size a player up as quick as a horse buyer can a spavinednag. I've sized you up, and I know you're all wool and a yard wide."
"But this is the first time you've seen me play."
"It was enough, I tell you."
"And, as I said," went on Joe, "I don't want to be in the position ofputting myself out of the game. If I go in with you, and fail, Iprobably never could get another chance."
"Oh, yes you could. But look here, Matson, you mustn't think of failure.You're not built that way. Now aren't you sport enough to take achance?"
Joe was silent for a moment. He thought of many things--of hisoverpowering ambition, and then answered falteringly:
"I--I'm willing to try."
"All right, then I'll sign you," was the answer.
Another rush of the delirious students almost carried Joe off his feet.He was cheered and cheered again. Through the mob came pushing andshoving the president of the exclusive Anvil Club.
"I say, Matson," he began, "this is great! Yale has come into her ownagain. We'd like the honor of electing you to our society, and would bepleased to have you make application."
"I'm much obliged to you," spoke Joe slowly, "but I'm afraid I can't."
"You can't! Why not?"
"Because I'm going to leave Yale!"
"Leave Yale!" came the indignant protest. "What for?"
"Because I have just accepted, tentatively, an offer from one of themanagers of a professional league to pitch for him the rest of thisseason, and all of next," replied Joe quietly.
"That's right," confirmed the man who had whispered in our hero'sear. "I know a good pitcher when I see one, and there is no use ofMatson wearing himself out on a college nine. He is cut out for aprofessional!"
And to all the protests of his classmates Joe would not give in. He knewthat college was no place for him, and as the chance had come to getinto the professional ranks, at good pay, he was going to take it;provided, of course, that his folks were willing.
How he did, and what happened, will be told in the next volume of thisseries, to be called, "Baseball Joe in the Central League; Or, MakingGood as a Professional Pitcher."
"Oh, Joe, can't you reconsider, and stay at Yale?" begged Spike, when heand his chum, after the exciting events of the championship game, werein their room once more. "I don't know what I'm going to do withoutyou."
"Spike, old man," said Joe, and his voice broke a little. "I would liketo stay, for your sake, and for some of the other fine fellows I've methere. I'd like to stay in spite of the unpleasant experience I've had. Iknow it's going to break mother all up to hear I've left college, butI'm not cut out for it. I'm a square peg in a round hole. I want to getinto professional baseball, and I've just _got_ to. I shouldn't be happyhere."
"Well, if that's the case," said Spike, with a sigh, "I'm not going tosay anything more. Only it sure is tough luck. Yale will miss you."
"And I'll miss her, too, in a way. But my place isn't here."
There was silence between them for a space, and then Spike said softly:
"Come on down to Glory's--for the last time. Joe."
And they went out together.
THE END