CHAPTER VII
GREAT EXPECTATIONS
If a thunderbolt had fallen it could hardly have created moreastonishment.
"What's that?" cried Clara, who had come into the room just in time tosee the last of the mad dance and hear a fragment of what Joe was saying.
"The Giants, Sis!" exclaimed Joe. "The class of the National League!I'm getting right to the top of the ladder! I'm going to play with thefinest team in the biggest city on the most famous grounds in the UnitedStates! How's that for a jump?"
"Oh, Joe, that's splendid!" exclaimed his sister, throwing her armsaround his neck. "I'm so proud of this big brother of mine!"
"Will it mean such an awful lot to you, Joe?" asked his delightedmother, who could never get quite clearly in her mind the working of thegreat national game.
"I should say it would," returned Joe. "It's a big advance in a hundredways. It's the thing that every player in the country dreams about.There are men who would almost give their eyes to have my chance. It'sgetting into the blue-ribbon class. It's like riding in an automobileafter you've had to put up with a buggy. It's like getting a speakingpart in a play after you've carried a spear as one of the Romanpopulace. It's like----"
What heights of eloquence Joe would have reached in his enthusiasm waschecked at this moment by the entrance of his father.
"What seems to be the special thing that's turning all you sensiblepeople into lunatics?" he laughed.
Clara flew to him.
"Oh, Dad!" she exclaimed, "it's the greatest thing that ever happened.Joe is going to be a member of the New York Giants. He's just got atelegram telling him about it. Isn't it glorious?"
Mr. Matson's face lighted up. More than the women folks he couldunderstand all it was likely to mean to his son.
He wrung Joe's hand jubilantly.
"I congratulate you with all my heart, my boy," he said. "It's a greatstep forward in your profession and I know you'll make good on your newteam. But how did the matter come about? Didn't you have any idea thatit was in the wind?"
"Not the least in the world," answered Joe. "The thing's been carriedon so quietly that I haven't seen it even hinted or whispered in thepapers. Of course, they don't usually go about those things with a brassband, because they're afraid some other manager may hear about it andtry to butt in on his own account. McRae, the manager of the New Yorks,is as foxy as they make them, and he doesn't let the newspapers get holdof anything till he's ready to have them. To think that he's pickedme out for his pitching staff!" and Joe again displayed such alarmingsymptoms of seizing his mother for another whirl that she retreatedbehind the table.
"Come and eat your dinner, you silly boy," she smiled fondly. "I supposeyou'll have to do such a simple thing as eating, even if you are goingto play on your wonderful New Yorks."
"Just watch me if you have any doubt about it," replied Joe, as thehappy family seated itself at the table.
As can be imagined, there was only one topic discussed and that was thestriking change in Joe's fortunes and the new vista that was opening upbefore him.
"Did you ever have any talk with McRae that made you think he might liketo have you on his team?" asked his father, as Joe passed his plate fora second helping.
"Not at all," was the reply. "In the first place I was just a 'rookie'last year, and the older men in the league rather stand aloof from theraw beginners. They don't encourage any familiarity. Not but what McRaehas spoken to me though," he grinned.
"Is that so?" asked his mother with interest. "What did he say?"
"Oh, he stood on the side lines while I was pitching against his teamand tried to rattle me," laughed Joe. "He told me that I was rotten,that I never could pitch, that I ought to go back to the bushes, that Iwas going up in the air, that I couldn't see the plate with a telescope,and other little things like that."
"I think he was just horrid!" exclaimed Mrs. Matson, bristling at thethought of the taunts hurled at her offspring.
"Oh, I didn't mind it a bit," chuckled Joe. "It was all in the game. Hewas simply trying to ride me, to get my goat----"
"Ride you? Get your goat?" repeated his mystified mother.
"You blessed Momsey," cried Joe. "What I mean to say is that he wastrying to get me so excited that I couldn't pitch well and then his teamwould win the game. But it didn't work," he ended grimly, as he thoughtof that memorable day when he had pitched the St. Louis team to victoryand dragged the Giants' colors in the dust.
"Now that I come to think of it though," Joe went on, "I remember thatthe last time I was in New York, I caught him eyeing me pretty sharplywhile I was sitting on the bench. I didn't think anything of it at thetime, as I was all wrapped up in the game, but it may have been that hewas sizing me up with just this deal in mind."
"Does the telegram tell you just whom or what you've been traded for?"asked his father.
"No, that's the exasperating thing about it," replied Joe. "It just saysthat I've been traded to the Giants but it doesn't give any details.I don't even know who sent it except that it comes from some officialof the club. I'm anxious to know, not only from curiosity, but becausethere may have been some money passed in addition to a player, and inthat case I may get a little slice of it for myself."
"Somehow, I don't exactly like the use of the word 'traded,'" said Mrs.Matson, reflectively. "It seems to leave your own wishes out of thematter altogether. Of course, in this case you're pleased, but even ifyou weren't you'd have to submit to it just the same."
"I feel a little the same way," agreed Clara. "It's almost as though youwere so much merchandise, a sack of wheat, a ton of coal, or somethingof that kind."
"Of course, that is one of the unpleasant features of the game,"admitted Joe. "But as a matter of fact, it can't be helped. If everyone were left free to act entirely for himself, the big leagues wouldgo to pieces in less than no time. Players would be jumping from oneteam to another every week, and no manager would know what he had todepend on. There's such a tremendous amount of money invested--youcouldn't buy out the Giant club at this minute for less than two milliondollars--that the men at the head have to take some means to protectthemselves. Some of their methods wouldn't stand the test, perhaps, ifthey were taken to court, but it would be a very foolish player whowould seek a court action. If the baseball players are 'slaves,' as theysometimes like to call themselves, they're the most happy and well paidslaves in the world, and there are lots that would like to change placeswith them and wear their chains."
"Do you suppose you will get a bigger salary than you had in St. Louis?"asked his father.
"It's almost a sure thing that I shall," replied Joe, hopefully. "If Iwas worth three thousand dollars a year to the Cardinals, even before Ihad made good, I ought to get at least four thousand or a little more tostart with on the Giants."
"Four thousand dollars!" exclaimed Mrs. Matson, who was so used to themodest figures that prevail in a small town that the amount seemedalmost a fortune.
"Not many ministers get as much as that, eh Momsey?" joked Joe.
"And that isn't all," he went on without waiting for an answer. "I'vegot a much better chance to get into the World's Series on the Giantsthan I would have on the Cardinals. McRae has won several pennantsalready and it's getting to be a habit with him."
"Is that because he is a so much better manager than those of the otherteams?" asked Clara.
"Maybe not altogether," answered Joe reflectively, "though there's nodoubt he's one of the very best. He gets a salary of thirty thousanddollars a year"--here Mrs. Matson gasped--"and I guess he's worth it.But he has some advantages that other managers don't have. In the firstplace, there's unlimited money behind him and if he wants anything thatcan be bought he goes after it regardless of price. Then too, New Yorkis the best paying town in the whole league, and it's to the interestof the other clubs to see that the New York team is a good one so asto draw the crowds. So that McRae's attempt to strengthen his teamdoesn't meet with such stiff opposition
as some other manager's might.But the chief thing is that he's allowed to run the team without anyinterference by the owners of the club. He hires or discharges justwhom he likes, and they never make a peep. In that way he can maintaindiscipline over his players, because they know that whatever he saysgoes. Oh, he's a great manager all right, and I'm mighty glad to have achance of playing under him."
"Suppose you do happen to get into the World's Series, will it mean muchextra money?" asked Clara.
"I should say it would," answered her brother. "After taking out tenper cent. of the receipts for the first four games for the NationalCommission, sixty per cent. of the balance goes to the winning club andforty per cent. to the losers. That makes anything from three to fourthousand apiece for every member of the winning team, and from two tothree thousand apiece for each member of the losing team. It's almostlike getting another year's salary just for an extra week's work."
"Just that World's Series money alone would be enough to start a nicelittle home with and settle down to housekeeping," remarked Clara, witha sly glance at her brother.
Joe laughed, a little sheepishly, and again a flood of color swept overhis neck and face.
"Never you mind about that," he said loftily. "Plenty of time tothink what I'll do with the money after I get it, if I ever do. Butat least I've got a great deal better chance than I would have had onthe Cardinals. Not but what I hate to leave the old bunch," he addeda little soberly. "I've had a mighty good time this last year, andWatson has treated me white. Most of the others, too, were good fellows,especially Rad Chase. I wish he were going along with me."
"The change is going to be a mighty good thing financially," said Mr.Matson. "But leaving out the money end altogether, how do you figurethat it's going to be such an advantage to change from the St. Louis tothe New Yorks?"
"Oh, in a heap of ways," replied Joe. "For one thing, I'll be playingbefore bigger crowds, and that's always an inspiration to a pitcher.Then, too, we're pretty sure to be well up in the race and fightingfor the lead, instead of being down in the ruck. You don't know howmuch difference that makes to a player. Instead of being in the dolefuldumps, he's feeling as frisky and gay as a two year old. But the mostimportant thing of all is that with a good club he has smart, snappyfielding behind him, and that makes him feel that he'd pitch his headoff to win. With the Giants' brilliant infield behind me, many ahard-hit ball will be turned into an out where with a poorer club itwould go as a hit. That helps my percentage. Oh, it will make all thedifference in the world. Just watch my record from now on," and Joeswelled out his chest, while Clara mockingly knocked her head on thetable to do him reverence.
"Hail to the Giant!" she exclaimed. "Although I don't see that you'reany more gigantic than you were before, except that perhaps your headhas swelled a little," she added mischievously.
Joe laughed. Laughter came very easily to him today. The world had neverseemed so bright to him. Life was decked out in rainbow colors. To beyoung, to be healthy, to be successful in his chosen calling--what elsedid he have to ask for?
Just one thing, perhaps. And again he flushed, as he recalled what hissister had said about "settling down to housekeeping."
Baseball Joe on the Giants; or, Making Good as a Ball Twirler in the Metropolis Page 7
