CHAPTER IX
THE UNDER DOG
"Talking of angels!" exclaimed Jim, giving Joe a sharp nudge in the ribs.
Joe looked up quickly and saw Hartley coming down the corridor.
"It's 'Bugs,' sure enough," he said. "And, for a wonder, he's walkingstraight."
"Guess he's on his good behavior," remarked Hughson. "There's a bigmeeting of the American League here just now, winding up the affairs ofthe league, now that the playing season is over. Maybe Hartley thinks hehas a chance to catch on somewhere. Like everybody else that's played inthe big leagues, he hates to go back to the bushes. He'd be a find, too,if he'd only cut out the booze--there's lots of good baseball in himyet."
"He's a natural player," said Joe, generously. "And one of the bestpitchers I ever saw. You know how Mac tried to hold on to him."
"I don't think he has a Chinaman's chance, though, of staying in bigleague company," observed Jim. "After the way he tried to give away oursignals in that game at Boston, the Nationals wouldn't touch him with aten-foot pole, and I don't think the American has any use for him either.You might forgive him for being a drunkard, but not for being a traitor."
Hartley had caught sight of the group, and at first seemed ratherundecided whether to go on or stop. The bitter feeling he had for Joe,however, was too strong to resist, and he came over to where they were. Hepaid no attention to Jim, and gave a curt nod to Hughson and fixed amalignant stare on Joe.
"All dolled up," he said, with a sneer, as he noted the quiet but handsomesuit that Joe was wearing. "I could have glad rags, too, if you hadn'tbilked me out of four thousand dollars."
"Cut out that talk, Bugs," said Joe, though not unkindly. "I never did youout of anything and you know it."
"Yes, you did," snarled Hartley. "You got me fired from the Giants and didme out of my share of the World's Series money."
"You did yourself out of it, Bugs," said Joe, patiently. "I did my best tohave Mac hold on to you. I never was anything but your friend. Do youremember how Jim and I put you to bed that night in St. Louis when youwere drunk? We took you up the back way so Mac wouldn't get next. Take afool's advice, Bugs--cut out the liquor and play the game."
"I don't want any advice from you!" sneered Hartley. "And take it from me,I'll get you yet."
"Beat it, Bugs!" Jim broke in sternly, "while the going's good. Roll yourhoop now, or I'll help you."
Hartley hesitated a moment, but took Jim's advice and with a mutteredthreat went on his way.
"Mad as a March hare," murmured Jim, as they watched the retreatingfigure.
"Do a man a favor and he'll never forgive you," quoted Joe.
"Where did he get his grouch against you?" asked Hughson, curiously.
"Search me," replied Joe. "I think it dates from the time when he wasbatted out of the box and Mac sent me in to take his place. I won the gameand Bugs has been sore at me ever since. He figured that I tried to showhim up."
"I wonder how he got here?" mused Hughson. "The last time I saw him was inNew York, and the money I lent him wasn't enough to bring him on."
"Perhaps Mac gave him transportation," suggested Jim.
"Not on your life," rejoined Hughson. "Mac's got a heart as big as ahouse, but he hates a traitor. You see, though, Joe, I was right in givingyou the tip. Keep your eyes open, old man."
Joe was about to make a laughing reply, but just at that moment Larry andDenton came along with broad smiles of welcome on their faces, and theunpleasant episode was forgotten.
It was a jolly party that left Chicago the next morning for the triparound the world. The managers had chartered a special train which wasmade up wholly of Pullman sleepers, a dining car and a smoker.
It was travel _de luxe_, and the sumptuous train was to be their home forthe full month that would elapse before they reached the coast.
"Rather soft, eh, for the poor baseball slaves," grinned Jim, as hestretched out his long legs luxuriously and gazed out of the window at theflying telegraph poles.
"This is the life," chanted Larry Barrett.
"Nothing to do till to-morrow," chimed in Denton. "And not much eventhen."
"Don't you boys go patting yourselves on the back," smiled Robbie, lookingmore like a cherub than ever, as he stopped beside their seats on his wayalong the aisle. "These games, remember, are to be the real thing--there'sgoing to be no sloppy or careless work just because you're not playingfor the championship. They're going to be fights from the time the gongrings till the last man is out in the ninth inning."
If Robbie wanted action, he got it, and the first games had a snap and vimabout them that augured well for the success of the trip. It is true thatthe players had not the stimulus that comes from a fight for the pennant,but other motives were not lacking.
There was one game which was a nip-and-tuck affair from start to finish.At the end of the fourth inning the score stood 1 to 1, and at the end ofthe sixth inning the score had advanced so that it stood 2 to 2.
"Say, we don't seem to be getting anywhere in this game," remarked Jim toJoe.
"Oh, well, we've got three more innings to play," was the answer.
In the seventh inning a most remarkable happening occurred. TheAll-Americans had three men on bases with nobody out. It looked as if theymight score, but Joe took a sudden brace and pitched the next man at thebat out in one-two-three order.
The next man up knocked a pop fly, which Joe gathered in with ease.
"That's the way to do it, Joe!" sang out one of his companions. "Now gofor the third man!"
The third fellow to the bat was a notable hitter, and nearly every onethought he would lace out at least a two-bagger, bringing in probablythree runs. Instead, however, he knocked two fouls, and then sent a linerdown to first base, which the baseman caught with ease; and that ended thechance for scoring.
"That's pulling it out of the fire!" cried McRae. The showing had been agood one, but what made the inning so remarkable was the fact that inone-two-three order the Giants got the bases filled exactly as they hadbeen filled before. Then, more amazing still, the next man was pitchedout, the second man knocked a pop fly to the pitcher, and it was Joehimself, coming to the bat, hit out a liner to third base, which wasgathered in by the baseman, thus ending the Giants hope of scoring.
"Well, what do you know about that!" cried Brennan. "The inning on eachside was exactly alike, with the exception that our third man out flied tofirst base, while your man flied to third."
But that ended the similarity both in batting and in scoring, for in theeighth inning the Giants added another run to their score, and held thislead to the end, even though the All-Americans fought desperately in theeffort to tie the score.
"Oh, we had to win," said one of the Giants. "Too many of our folkslooking at us to lose."
Many members of the teams had their wives or sisters with them, anddefeat would have been galling under the eyes of the fair spectators.
Then, too, the Giants had their reputation to sustain as the Champions ofthe World. On the other hand, the All-Americans were anxious to show thateven though they had not been in the World's Series, they ought to havebeen--and it was a keen delight to them to make their adversaries bite thedust.
Add to this the fact that there was a strong spirit of rivalry,good-natured but intense, between the scrappy McRae and the equallypugnacious Brennan, whose team had been nosed out by the Giants in thatlast desperate race down the stretch for the pennant, and it is no wonderthat the crowds kept getting larger in every city they played, that thegate receipts made the managers chuckle, that the great city papers gaveextended reports of the games and that the baseball trip around the worldbegan to engross the attention of every lover of sports in the country.
Joe had never been in finer fettle. His fast balls went over the platelike bullets from a gatling gun. His fadeaway was working to a charm. Hewound the ball near the batters' necks and curved it out of reach of theirbats with an ease and precision that explained to the appla
uding crowdswhy he was rated as the foremost pitcher of the day.
Jim, too, showed the effect of his season's work and Joe's helpfulcoaching, and between the two they accounted for three of the games won bythe Giants before they reached Colorado. Two other games had gone to theAll-Americans in slap-dash, ding-dong finishes, and it was an even thingas to which team would have the most games to its credit by the time theyhad reached the Pacific coast.
The tension was relaxed somewhat when they reached Denver, where, for thefirst time, instead of fighting it out between themselves a team pickedfrom both nines was to play the local club.
"Here's where we get a rest," sighed Mylert, the burly catcher of theGiant team.
"It will be no trick at all to wipe up the earth with these bushers,"laughed Larry Barrett.
"What we'll do to them will be a sin and a shame," agreed "Red" Curry, heof the flaming mop, who was accustomed to play the "sun field" at the PoloGrounds.
"It's almost a crime to show them up before their home crowd," chimed inIredell, the Giant shortstop.
But if the local club was in for a beating, they showed no specialtrepidation as they came out on the field for practice. If the haughtymajor leaguers had expected their humble adversaries to roll over and playdead in advance of the game itself, they were certainly doomed todisappointment.
The home team went through its preliminary work in a snappy, finished waythat brought frequent applause from the crowds that thronged the stand.
Before the game, Brennan, of the Chicagos, sauntered over to Thorpe, thelocal manager, who chanced to be an old acquaintance.
"Got a dandy crowd here to-day, Bill," he said. "We ought to give them arun for their money. Suppose I lend you one of our star pitchers, just tomake things more interesting."
"Thank you, Roger," Thorpe replied, with a slow smile, "but I think we'regoing to make it interesting for you fellows, anyway."
"Quit your kidding," grinned Brennan, with a facetious poke in the ribs,and strolled back to the bench.
The gong rang, the field cleared, and the visiting team came to the bat.Larry, who had finished the season in a blaze of glory as the leadingbatsman of the National League came up to the plate, swinging three bats.He threw away two of them, tapped his heels for luck and grinnedcomplacently at the Denver pitcher.
"Trot out the best you've got, kid," he called, "and if you can put itover the plate I'll murder it."