CHAPTER XVII
AWAY DOWN SOUTH
There were perhaps thirty men or thereabouts in the car. Some wereplaying cards, others telling stories, still others skylarking, whilea few were quietly reading or looking out of the windows at the crowdgathered on the station platform. There was an utter absence offormality and restraint, and the prevailing atmosphere was one of goodfellowship. Most of the men were well but quietly dressed, although afew were conspicuous by reason of loud ties and silken hose and flashingdiamonds. And as Joe looked at the latter he grinned as he thought ofhis old friend Campbell, the third baseman of the Cardinals, with hislove of gaudy raiment and neckwear that could be "heard a mile."
The light of recognition flashed in many eyes as they lighted on thenewcomer, and the next instant Joe was shaking hands warmly with half adozen who crowded around him.
"Joe Matson, as I live!" cried Hughson, the most famous pitcher in thegame. "The man who made me take water last year in New York. I sure amglad to see you, Matson. Our boys are counting on you to get us into theWorld's Series this year."
"I'll try to do my share," laughed Joe, "that is, if McRae doesn't keepme warming the bench. By the way, where is he? I suppose it's up to meto report to him right away."
"He's talking to one of the big muckamucks in the next car," chimed inBarrett, the Giant second baseman. "How are you, Matson, old man? Youlook as fine as silk."
"Been keeping himself in condition by knocking crazy men off lumberpiles," laughed "Red" Curry, the right fielder. "Oh, we're onto yourcurves all right. Read all about it in this morning's paper. Was thatstraight goods or was it just a reporter's yarn?"
"The reporter hasn't let the story lose anything in the telling," saidJoe. "I did bean the fellow, but it was an easy enough shot. But for thelove of Pete, boys, don't hold it against me!"
There was a general laugh, and then Hughson pushed Joe into a seatand sat down beside him. In a few minutes they were in an animatedconversation as to the prospects of the team for the coming season.
Joe could not help contrasting his present reception with that he hadreceived when he first broke into the professional ranks. Then he wasjust a "busher," a "rookie," a nobody who had his reputation yet to win.The "old hands" had looked on him patronizingly or contemptuously andflocked by themselves. He had been made to feel that he was outside thepale, and some of the meaner spirits, fearing that he might supplantthem later on, had done everything in their power to keep him down. Onlya young fellow in his "first season" can know how utterly friendless andforlorn he is sometimes made to feel.
But in baseball, as in everything else, "nothing succeeds like success."Joe had "arrived." He had stood the gaff and won his spurs by the hardordeal of actual battle. He had faced the best batters of the countryand outguessed them. He had won his right to a place in the innercircle. And here he was on a plane of equality and talking as a friendand comrade with Hughson, the king of them all.
It was in no spirit of vainglory that Joe recalled these things. Hishead was not swelled in the slightest degree. He knew how precarious isbaseball fame. He knew that the pitcher who one day had to doff his capto the applause of the crowd might, the next time he appeared, be hootedfrom the box. But he was profoundly pleased and gratified that he had sofar advanced in his profession that he had a recognized standing. Heneed not now fear that he would not even have a chance to make good. Hewould have every opportunity and his success or failure would depend onhimself alone.
"Yes," Hughson was saying, "I've been looking at the thing from everyangle, and I don't see how any team has a license to beat us out. We'restrong in every position except perhaps one. I won't say what that isbut leave you to find it out for yourself. We've got rid of some troublemakers that knocked us out of the pennant last year and just now we'relike some big happy family."
"How do you dope out the Chicagos?" asked Joe. "Don't you think they'llgive us a harder fight than any of the other teams?"
"They may," admitted Hughson, thoughtfully. "They've got a terrificbatting combination. They led the league in that respect last year. ButI think some of their pitchers show signs of slowing up. I hear thatBlaney had to go to Bonesetter Reese this winter for some trouble in hissalary wing. He's the most dependable southpaw they have on the staffand if he goes back on them they'll be in a pretty serious pickle.
"They may have picked up some port side flinger in the draft thiswinter, but I haven't heard of any that are likely to set the riverafire. Brennan, their manager, though, is as foxy as they make them,and he may have something good under cover."
"How do you figure Pittsburgh?" asked Joe.
"Pittsburgh doesn't scare me much," was the answer. "Of course oldWagner is a team in himself. Isn't it wonderful how that old sluggerkeeps on year in and year out? He's about the only man in the wholeleague that I'm really afraid of. When he comes up to the plate withthat big wagon tongue of his I always feel that he's more likely to getmy number than I am to get his. But he can't do the work of a wholeball team after all, and the rest of the nine don't figure out so verystrong, to my way of thinking. They're sure to be in the first division,but I think that lets them out. To tell the truth, I'm more sweet onBoston's chances than any one else's, outside of our own."
"Boston!" ejaculated Joe in surprise. "I didn't think they had a look infor the flag."
"Don't fool yourself," returned Hughson. "Believe me, that team willbear a lot of watching. They've got Rawlings for a manager and he's oneof the most cagey men in the game. He can take a 'busher' and develophim into a star quicker than any man I ever saw outside of McRae. Iknow they say he has a team of cast-offs, but he's welding them into awinning combination. His weakest spot was the keystone bag, but he'smade a deal with Chicago this winter and got Ebers, the most brainy manwho ever played second base. I'll bet he has the star infield of theleague before the year is out."
"The Giants have good cause to remember Ebers," laughed Joe.
"You bet we have," returned Hughson, grimly. "It was his quick thinkingthat knocked us out of the championship the year that Burkett forgotto touch second. Oh, maybe we weren't sore that day when we saw ourchance to get into the World's Series go glimmering. We lost at leastfifty thousand dollars that afternoon by that one misplay. Poor Burketthimself felt so bad about it that the boys were afraid he was going tolose his mind. The gloom was so thick about the clubhouse that day thatyou couldn't cut it with a knife."
Just then a thick-set man of medium height came through the car andstopped at their seat.
"How are you, Matson?" he asked, pleasantly.
Joe was on his feet in an instant and his hand, outstretched ingreeting, grasped that of McRae, the far-famed leader of the Giants.
Baseball Joe on the Giants; or, Making Good as a Ball Twirler in the Metropolis Page 17
