CHAPTER VIII
A BASEBALL IDOL
"Put her there, Matson!" cried Hughson, his face beaming with pleasure."I never saw better pitching than you showed us to-day."
Joe's face flushed. He shook Hughson's hand heartily.
"Oh, it's nothing compared with lots of games you've pitched, Hughson,"he said. "I'm only in the infant class yet."
"A mighty husky infant," laughed Hughson. "At least that's what theBostons think. It was a hard game for them to lose, just when theythought they had it tucked away in their bat bag."
"I feel rather sorry for Albaugh," said Joe. "He pitched a peach of agame and deserved to win."
"He sure did," conceded Hughson. "And nine times out of ten that kindof pitching would have won. But to-day he had the hard luck to bepitted against a better man. They got only one clean hit off of you.The other was a scratch. A little more and you'd have pitched a no-hitgame. And that's going some for the first game of the season, I'll tellthe world.
"Another thing that tickled me," he went on, "was to see him passyou to first rather than give you a chance to hit the ball. That's acompliment to all the boxmen of the country. As a rule we're easy meat.The other pitchers are glad to see us come up to the plate. It has gotto be a proverb that pitchers can't hit. But you gave the lie to thatproverb to-day. Those two hits of yours were ticketed for the fence.And that steal home was the classiest thing I've seen for a blue moon.That's the kind of thinking that wins ball games. Do the thing theother fellow doesn't expect you to do."
"It was a case of touch and go," replied Joe. "I knew that I hadtouched the plate before Menken put the ball on me, but I wasn't surethe umpire would see it the same way. But he did, and that's all thatmatters. By the way, Hughson, how is that arm of yours coming along?"
"Not as well as I should like," responded Hughson, while a touch ofgloom came into his face. "There are days when it feels all right, andother days when I can't lift it without pain. I've been down to seeReese again about it, and he can't see anything radically wrong withit. Says I'll have to be patient and give it time. But it's mightyhard to have to sit on the bench when I'm fairly aching to get in thebox again."
"I know just how you must feel," returned Joe sympathetically. "Theboys are all rooting for you to get back into harness again. It doesn'tseem the same old team with you out of the running."
"I'll be back with bells on before long," answered Hughson with asmile, as he moved on to have a chat with Robbie.
"Isn't he a prince?" Joe remarked admiringly to Jim, as they watchedthe back of the tall figure.
"He sure is an honor to the game," returned Jim. "Here's hoping thathe'll soon be on deck again."
The next day the New York papers were full of the story of the game.There was a general feeling of jubilation over the auspicious startby the Giants, a feeling that was the more pronounced, because ofthe feeling that had previously prevailed that Hughson's continueddisability would be a serious handicap to the chances of again winningthe pennant.
One great subject dwelt upon in all the accounts was the marvelouspitching that Joe had shown. The sporting reporters "spread themselves"on the way he had held the Bostons in the hollow of his hand. To allowonly two hits in the opening game, and one of them a scratch, was afeat that they dwelt upon at length.
But scarcely less space was devoted to his batting. Although it wasrecalled that in the previous year he had had a creditable average atthe bat, considering that he was a pitcher, his power as a twirler hadkept his other qualities in the shade. Comment was made on the perfectway he had timed the ball and of the fact that his homer had gonenearly to the end of the grounds almost on a straight line, a fact thatattested the tremendous power behind the hit. One of the papers headedits article: "Is There to Be a New Batting King?" and went on to sayamong other things:
"It is an extraordinary thing to pitch a two-hit game at the beginning of the season. But it is still more extraordinary that, despite the strain on the muscles and nerves of the pitcher who achieves that distinction, he should also have a perfect batting average for the day. That is what occurred yesterday. In four times at the bat he was passed twice and the other times poled out a triple and a home run. And this was done against heady and effective pitching, for Albaugh has seldom showed better form than in yesterday's game.
"One might have thought that with this record Matson would have called it a day and let it go at that. But he was still not satisfied. In the ninth, with two men out and two strikes called on Mylert, he put the game on ice by stealing home from third--as unexpected and dazzling a play as we shall probably be fortunate enough to see this year. It was the climax of a wonderful game.
"McRae never made a shrewder deal than when he secured this phenomenal pitcher from St. Louis. We said this last year, when Matson's great pitching disposed of Chicago's chances for the pennant. We said it again when in the World Series he bore the heft of the pitcher's burden and made his team champions of the world. But a true thing will bear repeating twice or even thrice, and so we say it now with added emphasis."
All of the comment was in the same laudatory strain, although inreference to his batting, one paper cautioned its readers that not toomuch importance was to be attached to that. It was probably one ofMatson's good days, and one swallow did not make a summer. But whetherhe kept up his remarkable batting or not, the New York public would asknothing more of him than to keep up his magnificent work in the box.
Joe would not have been human if he had not enjoyed the praise that wasshowered upon him in the columns that he and Jim read with interest thenext morning. It was pleasant to know that his work was appreciated.But he was far too sensible to be unduly elated or to get a "swelledhead" in consequence. He knew how quickly a popular idol could bedethroned, and he did not want the public to set up an ideal that hecould not live up to.
It was for that reason that he read with especial approval the articlethat warned against expecting him to be a batting phenomenon because ofhis performance of yesterday.
"That fellow's got it right," he remarked to Jim, as he pointed to theparagraph in question. "I just had luck yesterday in straightening outAlbaugh's slants. Another time and I might be as helpless as a baby."
"Luck, nothing!" replied Jim, who had no patience with Joe's depreciationof himself. "There was nothing fluky about those hits. You timed themperfectly and soaked the ball right on the nose. And look at the wayyou've been lining them out in training this spring. Wake up, man.You're not only the king of pitchers, but you've got it in you tobecome the king of sluggers."
"Oh, quit your kidding," protested Joe.
"I'm not kidding," Jim affirmed earnestly. "It's the solemn truth.You'll win many a game this year not only by your pitching but by yourbatting too. Just put a pin in that."
At this moment a bellboy tapped at the door, and being told to come in,handed Joe two telegrams. He tore them open in haste. The first wasfrom Reggie and read:
"Keep it up, old top. Simply ripping, don't you know."
Joe laughed and passed it on to Jim.
"Sounds just like the old boy, doesn't it?" he commented.
The second one was from Mabel:
"So proud of you, Joe. Not surprised though. Best love. Am writing."
Jim did not see this one, but it went promptly into that one of Joe'spockets that was nearest his heart, the same one that carried thelittle glove of Mabel's that had been his inspiration in all hisvictorious baseball campaigns.
After a hearty breakfast, the chums went out for a stroll. Neitherwas slated to pitch for that day, and they had no immediate weight ofresponsibility on their minds. Markwith, the left-handed twirler of theGiants, would do the box work that day unless McRae altered his plans.
"Hope Red puts it over the Braves to-day the way you did yesterday,"remarked Jim, as they sauntered along.
"I hope so," echoed Joe. "The old boy seems to be in
good shape, andthey've usually had trouble in hitting him. They'll be out for bloodthough, and if they put in Belden against him it ought to be a prettybattle. Markwith beat him the last time he was pitted against him, butonly by a hair."
It was a glorious spring morning, and as they had plenty of time theyprolonged their walk far up on the west side of the city. As they wereapproaching a corner, they saw a rather shabbily dressed man slouchingtoward them.
Jim gave him a casual glance, and then clutched Joe by the arm.
"Look who's coming, Joe!" he exclaimed. "It's Bugs Hartley!"