CHAPTER XI
GOING DOWN SOUTH
"Well, are you going to help us win the pennant, Matson?" asked ManagerWatson, when he had introduced Joe to a number of the other St. Louisplayers, who were lounging about the billiard room. It was a cold andblustery day outside, and the hotel, where the team had lately taken upquarters, ready for the trip to the South, offered more comfort than theweather without.
"I'm going to do my best," replied Joe modestly, and he blushed, formost of the other players were older than he, many of them seasonedveterans, and the heroes of hard-fought contests.
"Well, we sure do need help, if we're to get anywhere," murmured HalDoolin, the snappy little first baseman. "We sure do!"
"You needn't look at me!" fired back Slim Cooney. "I did my share of thework last season, and if I'd had decent support----"
"Easy now, boys!" broke in Mr. Watson. "You know what the papers saidabout last year--that there were too many internal dissensions among theCardinals to allow them to play good ball. You've got to cut that out ifI'm going to manage you."
I might add that Sidney Watson, who had made a reputation as aleft-fielder, and a hard hitter on the Brooklyn team, had lately beenoffered the position as manager of the Cardinals, and had taken it. Thiswould be his first season, and, recognizing the faults of the team, hehad set about correcting them in an endeavor to get it out of the"cellar" class. Quarrels, bickerings and disputes among the players hadbeen too frequent, he learned, and he was trying to eliminate them.
"Have a heart for each other, boys," he said to the men who gatheredabout him, incidentally to covertly inspect Joe, the recruit. "It wasn'tanybody's fault, in particular, that you didn't finish in the firstdivision last season. But we're going to make a hard try for it thisyear. That's why I've let some of your older players go, and signed upnew ones. I'm expecting some more boys on in a few days, and then we'llhike for the Southland and see what sort of shape I can pound you into."
"Don't let me keep you from your game," said Joe to the manager. "Oh,I'll let Campbell finish it for me, he's better at the ivories than Iam," and Watson motioned for the centre fielder to take the cue. "I'llsee what sort of a room we can give you," the manager went on. "Nothinglike being comfortable. Did you have a good trip?"
"Yes, indeed."
"Contract satisfactory, and all that?"
"Oh, yes. And, by the way, Mr. Watson, if it isn't asking too much I'dlike to know how you came to hear of me and sign me up?"
"Oh, I had scouts all over last fall," said the manager with a smile."One of them happened to see you early in the season, and then he sawthe game you pitched against Clevefield, winning the pennant. You lookedto him like the proper stuff, so I had you drafted to our club."
"I hope you won't repent of your bargain," observed Joe, soberly.
"Well, I don't think I will, and yet baseball is pretty much of a chancegame after all. I've often been fooled, I don't mind admitting. But,Matson, let me tell you one thing," and he spoke more earnestly, as theywalked along a corridor to the lobby of the hotel. "You mustn't imaginethat you're going in right off the reel and clean things up. You'll haveto go a bit slow. I want to watch you, and I'll give you all theopportunity I can.
"But you must remember that I have several pitchers, and some of themare very good. They've been playing in the big leagues for years. You'rea newcomer, and, unless I'm much mistaken, you'll have a bit of stagefright at first. That's to be expected, and I'm looking for it. I won'tbe disappointed if you fall down hard first along. But whatever else youdo, don't get discouraged and--don't lose your nerve, above all else."
"I'll try not to," promised Joe. But he made up his mind that he wouldsurprise the manager and make a brilliant showing as soon as possible.Joe had several things to learn about baseball as it is played in thebig leagues.
"I guess I'll put you in with Rad Chase," said Manager Watson, as helooked over the page of the register, on which were the names of theteam. "His room is a good one, and you'll like him. He's a young chapabout your age."
"Was he in there?" asked Joe, nodding toward the billiard room, where hehad met several of the players.
"No. I don't know where he is," went on the manager. "Is Rad out?" heasked of the clerk.
That official, stroking his small blonde mustache, turned to look at therack. From the peg of room 413 hung the key.
"He's out," the clerk announced.
"Well, you might as well go up and make yourself at home," advised themanager. "I'll tell Rad you're quartered with him. Have his grip takenup," went on Mr. Watson to the clerk.
"Front!" called the young man behind the desk, and when the samefreckle-faced lad, who had pointed out to Joe the manager, cameshuffling up, the lad took our hero's satchel, and did a little one-stepglide with it toward the elevator.
"Tanks," mumbled the same lad, as Joe slipped a dime into his palm, whenthe bellboy had opened the room door and set the grip on the floor bythe bed. "Say, where do youse play?" he asked with the democraticfreedom of the American youth.
"Well, I'm supposed to be a pitcher," said Joe.
"Left?"
"No, right."
"Huh! It's about time the Cardinals got a guy with a right-handdelivery!" snorted the boy. "They've been tryin' southpaws and beenbeaten all over the lots. Got any speed?"
"Well, maybe a little," admitted Joe, smiling at the lad'singenuousness.
"Curves, of course?"
"Some."
"Dat's th' stuff! Say, I hopes you make good!" and the lad, spinningthe dime in the air, deftly caught it, and slid out of the room.
Joe looked after him. He was entering on a new life, and many emotionswere in conflict within him. True, he had been at hotels before, for hehad traveled much when he was in the Central League. But this time itwas different. It seemed a new world to him--a new and big world--a muchmore important world.
And he was to be a part of it. That was what counted most. He was in aBig League--a place of which he had often dreamed, but to which he hadonly aspired in his dreams. Now it was a reality.
Joe unpacked his grip. His trunk check he had given to the clerk, whosaid he would send to the railroad station for the baggage. Then Joechanged his collar, put on a fresh tie, and went down in the elevator.He wanted to be among the players who were to be his companions for thecoming months.
Joe liked Rad Chase at once. In a way he was like Charlie Hall, butrather older, and with more knowledge of the world.
"Do you play cards?" was Rad's question, after the formalities ofintroduction, Joe's roommate having come in shortly after our hero wentdown.
"Well, I can make a stab at whist, but I'm no wonder," confessed Joe.
"Do you play Canfield solitaire?"
"Never heard of it."
"Shake hands!" cried Rad, and he seemed relieved.
"Why?" asked Joe.
"Well, the fellow I roomed with last year was a fiend at Canfieldsolitaire. He'd sit up until all hours of the morning, trying to makehimself believe he wasn't cheating, and I lost ten pounds from notgetting my proper sleep."
"Well, I'll promise not to keep you awake that way," said Joe with alaugh.
"Do you snore?" Rad wanted next to know.
"I never heard myself."
Rad laughed.
"I guess you'll do," he said. "We'll hit it off all right."
Joe soon fell easily into the life at the big hotel. He met all theother players, and while some regarded him with jealous eyes, most ofthem welcomed him in their midst. Truth to tell, the St. Louis team wasin a bad way, and the players, tired of being so far down on the list,were willing to make any sacrifices of professional feeling in order tobe in line for honors, and a share in the pennant money, providing itcould be brought to pass that they reached the top of the list.
Joe spent a week at the hotel while Manager Watson was arranging mattersfor the trip South. One or two players had not yet arrived, "dickers"being under way for their purchase.
But finally the announcement was made that the start for the trainingcamp, at Reedville, Alabama, would be made in three days.
"And I'm glad of it!" cried Rad Chase, as he and Joe came back oneevening from a moving picture show, and heard the news. "I'm tired ofsitting around here doing nothing. I want to get a bat in my hands."
"So do I," agreed Joe. "It sure will be great to get out on the grassagain. Have you ever been in Reedville?"
"No, but I hear it's a decent place. There's a good local team therethat we brush up against, and two or three other teams in the vicinity.It'll be lively enough."
"Where do you like to play?" asked Joe.
"Third's my choice, but I hear I'm to be soaked in at short. I hate it,too, but Watson seems to think I fill in there pretty well."
"I suppose a fellow has to play where he's considered best, whether hewants to or not," said Joe. "I hope I can pitch, but I may be sent outamong the daisies for all that."
"Well, we've got a pretty good outfield as it is," went on Rad. "Iguess, from what I hear, that you'll be tried out on the mound, anyhow.Whether you stick there or not will be up to you."
"It sure is," agreed Joe.
A box-party was given at the theatre by the manager for the players, tocelebrate their departure for the South. The play was a musical comedy,and some of the better known players were made the butt of jokes by theperformers on the stage.
This delighted Joe, and he longed for the time when he would be thoughtworthy of such notice. The audience entered into the fun of theoccasion, and when the chief comedian came out, and, in a witty address,presented Manager Watson with a diamond pin, and wished him all successfor the coming season, there were cheers for the team.
"Everybody stand up!" called Toe Barter, one of the veteran pitchers."Seventh inning--everybody stretch!"
The players in the two boxes arose to face the audience in the theatre,and there were more cheers. Joe was proud and happy that he was a partof it all.
That night he wrote home, and also to Mabel, telling of his arrival inSt. Louis, and all that had happened since.
"We leave for the South in the morning," he concluded.
The departure of the players on the train was the occasion for anothercelebration and demonstration at the depot. A big crowd collected,several newspaper photographers took snapshots, and there were cheersand floral emblems.
Joe wished his folks could have been present. Compared to the time whenhe had gone South to train for the Pittston team, this was a bigoccasion.
A reporter from the most important St. Louis paper was to accompany theteam as "staff correspondent," for St. Louis was, and always has been, agood "fan" town, and loyal to the ball teams.
"All aboard!" called the conductor.
There were final cheers, final good-byes, final hand-shakes, finalwishes of good luck, and then the train pulled out. Joe and histeammates were on their way South.
It was the start of the training season, and of what would take placebetween that and the closing Joe little dreamed.