CHAPTER XIX
JOE GOES IN
Batonby looked wonderingly, first at Joe, and then at Shalleg. Thelatter's crony did not seem to be with him.
"What's the row, old top?" asked Batonby easily. "Who are you, anyhow,and what's riled you?"
"Never you mind what's riled me! You'll find out soon enough," was thesharp answer. "I heard you two chaps talking about me, and I want itstopped!"
"Guess you're a little off, sport. I wasn't talking about you, for Ihaven't the doubtful honor of your acquaintance."
"None of your impudence!" burst out Shalleg. Joe had not yet spoken.
"And I don't want any of yours," fired back Batonby, slapping his glovefrom one hand to the other. "I say I wasn't talking about you!"
"I say you were. My name is Shalleg!"
Batonby let out a whistle of surprise.
"Is that the one?" he asked of Joe.
The latter nodded.
"Well, all I've got to say," went on Batonby, "is that I hope you don'tget on our team. And, for your information," he went on, as he saw thatShalleg was fairly bursting with passion, "I'll add that all I saidabout you was that I heard you were trying to get on the Cardinals. Asfor Matson, he said even less about you."
"That's all right, but you fellows want to look out," mumbled Shalleg,who seemed nonplused on finding that he had no good grounds for aquarrel.
"And I want to add," broke in Joe, who felt that he had a right to saysomething in his own behalf, "I want to add that I'm about through withhearing threats from you, Mr. Shalleg," and he accented the prefix. "Ihaven't said anything against you, and I don't expect to, unless yougive me cause. You've been following me about, making unjustifiedremarks, and it's got to stop!"
"Hurray!" cried Batonby. "That's the kind of mustard to give him. Heaveat it again, Joe!"
The young pitcher stood facing his enemy fearlessly, but he had saidenough. Shalleg growled out:
"Well, somebody's been talking about me to the manager, giving me a badname, and it's got to stop. If I find out who did it, he'll wish hehadn't," and he glared vindictively at Joe.
"I guess his own actions have given him the bad name," remarked Batonby,as the dismissed player turned aside and walked off to join the throngthat had surged away from the little group.
"That's about it," agreed Joe, as Rad came up and joined them. "Goodwork, old man!" said our hero, for Rad had done well.
"I came mighty near making an error, though, toward the last," Radresponded. "Guess I'm not used to such strenuous life as playing nineinnings in a big game. My heart was in my throat when I saw that flyball coming toward me."
"But you froze on to it," said Batonby.
"Hello, what's up?" asked Rad quickly, for Joe's face still showed theemotion he felt at the encounter with Shalleg. "Had a row?" asked Rad.
"Rather," admitted the young pitcher. "Shalleg was on deck again."
"Say, that fellow, and his side partner, Wessel, ought to be put awayduring the ball season!" burst out Rad. "They're regular pests!"
Joe heartily agreed with him, as he related the circumstances of thelast affair. Then the friends passed on to the clubhouse, where the gamewas played over again, as usual, a "post-mortem" being held on it. Only,in this case the Cardinals, being winners, had no excuses to make forpoor playing. They were jubilant over the auspicious manner in which theseason had opened.
"Boys. I'm proud of you!" exclaimed Manager Watson as he strolledthrough. "Do this often enough, and we'll have that pennant sure."
"Yes, a fat chance we have!" muttered Willard, sulkily.
"That's no way for a member of the team to talk!" snapped "Muggins."
Willard did not reply. It was clear that he was disgruntled because hehad not had a chance to pitch.
Then the splashing of the shower baths drowned other talk, and presentlythe players, fresh and shining from their ablutions, strolled out of theclubhouse.
"Got anything on to-night?" asked Rad of Joe, as they reached the hotel.
"Nothing special--why?"
"Let's go down to the Delaware Garden, and hear the Hungarian orchestra.There's good eating there, too."
"I'm with you. Got to write a letter, though."
"Tell her how the game went, I s'pose?" laughed Rad.
"Something like that," agreed Joe, smiling.
He bought an evening paper, which made a specialty of sporting news. Itcontained an account of the opening game, with a skeletonized outlineof the plays, inning by inning. The Cardinals were properlycongratulated for winning. Joe wished he could have read his name in thestory, but he felt he could bide his time.
Joe and Rad enjoyed their little excursion to the Delaware Garden thatevening, returning to the hotel in good season to get plenty of sleep,for they were to play the Reds again the next day. There were four gamesscheduled, and then the Cardinals would go out on the circuit, remainingaway about three weeks before coming back for a series on Robison Field.
The tables were turned in the next game. The Cincinnati team, stingingfrom their previous defeat, played strong ball. They sent in a newpitcher, and with a lead of three runs early in the contest it began tolook bad for the Cardinals.
"I'll get no chance to-day," reasoned Joe, as he saw a puzzled frown onMr. Watson's face. Joe knew that only a veteran would be relied on to dobattle now, and he was right.
Mr. Watson used all his ingenuity to save the game. He put in pinchhitters, and urged his three pitchers to do their best.
Willard was allowed to open the game, but was taken out after the firstinning, so fiercely was he pounded. Cooney and Barter had been warmingup, and the latter went in next.
"You go warm up, too, Matson," directed Boswell, "though it's doubtfulif we'll have to use you."
Joe hoped they would, but it was only a faint hope.
Barter did a little better, but the Reds had a batting streak on thatday, and found his most puzzling curves and drops. Then, too, workingthe "hit and run" feature to the limit and stealing bases, which inseveral cases was made possible by errors on the part of the Cardinals,soon gave the Reds a comfortable lead of five runs.
"I'm afraid they've got us," grumbled the manager, as he substituted abatter to enable Cooney to go in the game. "You've got to pull us out,Slim," he added.
Slim grinned easily, not a whit disconcerted, for he was a veteran. Butthough he stopped the winning streak of the Reds, he could not makeruns, and runs are what win ball games.
With his best nine in the field the manager tried hard to overcome theadvantage of his opponents. It looked a little hopeful in the eighthinning, when there were two men on bases, second and third, and only oneout, with "Slugger" Nottingham at the plate.
"Now, then, a home run, old man!" pleaded the crowd.
"Soak it on the nose!"
"Over the fence!"
"A home run means three tallies, old man. Do it now!"
Nottingham stood easily at the plate, swinging his bat. There was aninterchange of signals between catcher and pitcher--a slight differenceof opinion, it seemed. Then the ball was thrown.
There was a resounding crack, and the crowd started to yell.
"Go it, old man, go it!"
"That's the pie!"
"Oh, that's a beaut!"
But it was not. It was a nice little fly, to be sure, but the centrefielder, running in, had it safely before the batter reached first.Then, with Nottingham out, the ball was hurled home to nip the runner atthe plate.
Dugan, who had started in from third, ran desperately, and slid in acloud of dust.
"You're out!" howled the umpire, waving him to the bench.
"He never touched me!" retorted Dugan. "I was safe by a mile!"
"Robber!" shrieked the throng in the bleachers.
"Get a pair of glasses!"
"He was never out!"
The umpire listened indifferently to the tirade. Dugan dusted off hisuniform, and, losing his temper, shook his fist at the umpire, sneeri
ng:
"You big fat----" and the rest of it does not matter.
"That'll cost you just twenty-five dollars, and you can go to theclubhouse," said the umpire, coolly.
Dugan's face fell, and Manager Watson flushed. He bit his lips to keepfrom making a retort. But, after all, the umpire was clearly within hisrights.
In silence Dugan left the field, and the Reds, who were jubilant overthe double play, came in from the diamond.
"The fat's in the fire now, for sure," sighed Rad, "with Dugan out ofthe game. Hang it all, anyhow!"
"Oh, we can't win every time," and Joe tried to speak cheerfully.
And so the Reds won the second of the first series of games. There was arather stormy scene in the clubhouse after it was over, and Mr. Watsondid some plain talking to Dugan. But, after all, it was too common anoccurrence to merit much attention, and, really, nothing very serioushad occurred.
The contest between the Reds and Cardinals was an even break, each teamtaking two. Then came preparations for the Cardinals taking the road. Aseries of four games with the Chicago Cubs was next in order, and there,in the Windy City, St. Louis fared rather better, taking three.
"I wonder if I'm ever going to get a chance," mused Joe, who had beensent to the "bull-pen" many times to warm up, but as yet he had not beencalled on.
After games with the Pittsburg Pirates, in which an even break wasregistered, the Cardinals returned to St. Louis. As they had an opendate, a game was arranged with one of the Central League teams, theWashburgs.
"Say, I would like to pitch against them!" exclaimed Joe.
And he had his chance. When the practice was over Manager Watson, with asmile at our hero, said, with a friendly nod:
"Joe, you go in and see what you can do."
Joe was to have his first big chance.