Baseball Joe on the Giants; or, Making Good as a Ball Twirler in the Metropolis
Page 18
CHAPTER XVIII
IN HARNESS
Hughson got up and relinquished his seat to McRae.
"Sit down here," he said. "I've been chinning with Matson until he'sblack in the face and he'll be glad to get rid of me."
He grinned at Joe's laughing disclaimer and made his way up the carwhile McRae slipped into the vacant seat.
"There goes one of the finest men that ever stepped in shoe leather," heremarked, as his eye followed Hughson's tall form up the aisle.
"Isn't he a prince?" said Joe, eagerly. "You don't know whether toadmire him most as man or player."
"He's just about a hundred per cent. in both," agreed McRae. "He's beenthe mainstay of my team for the last ten years. There isn't enough moneyin the league to buy him from the Giants. He's the only man on the teamwho doesn't have to go through the regular schedule in the trainingcamp. I let him come along just as he likes, for I know he'll be fitas a fiddle when the season opens. I don't mind telling you that Iconsulted him as to getting you from St. Louis, and it was largely onhis advice that I put through the deal."
"Even his opponents like and respect him," said Joe. "In swinging roundthe circuit last year I never heard any one say a word against him. Theyall agree that he's a credit to the game."
"Well, now, how about yourself?" asked McRae, as his keen eye swept overJoe's athletic form. "You look as though you had been taking care ofyourself this winter. Some of my players are hog fat when they report inthe spring, but I should judge that you wouldn't have to lose more thanfive pounds or so to get down to your best playing weight."
"Just about that, I guess," replied Joe. "I'm weighing about one hundredand seventy now, and I always feel most fit when I tip the scales at onehundred and sixty-five."
"Been doing anything outside the rings and dumb-bells?" McRae inquired.
"I've done just enough pitching to keep my arm supple," answered Joe."We have a good gymnasium in our town and there have always been enoughof the boys around to catch me when I felt like doing a little twirling."
"How about that bonus clause in the contract?" asked the manager, with atwinkle in his eye. "Are you going to do us out of that extra thousand?"
"Am I going to get a chance to pitch thirty games?" laughed Joe.
McRae grinned.
"I can see that you've been figuring on it," he rejoined. "It's tooearly in the season to make any promises. A good deal will depend uponhow my veterans come along. But I don't mind telling you that I'mgoing to figure you as one of my first-string pitchers and give youyour regular turn in the box. The rest will depend on you. I play nofavorites. I'm out to win from the first crack of the bat, and it's theman who wins his games that makes a hit with me. Whether you've been tenyears in the league or one doesn't cut any ice.
"I don't need to ask you whether you drink or not," he added. "I foundout all about that before I put through the deal. Besides, I can tellfrom looking at you that you're no booze fighter. I won't stand fordissipation on my team. I'm pretty lucky this year as far as that goes.A couple of the boys are a little wobbly in the matter of the wet goods,but I think I can make them walk the chalk line until the playing seasonis over. If they don't, I'll trade or sell them. But the rest of the mendon't give me any trouble in that way."
"You won't have to worry about me on that score," Joe assured him. "If Ifall down, it will only be because I haven't it in me to win, it won'tbe because I've been wrestling with the demon Rum."
"That's good," laughed McRae. "Stick to that and I'll bet you win yourbonus. I'm going to send over one of my rookies to talk to you. I thinkhe has the stuff in him to make a good pitcher and I want you to helpand encourage him all you can. He played last year on the Princeton teamand made such a good showing that one of our scouts recommended that wegive him a trial. But he's only an amateur and of course he's got anawful lot to learn. Boost him along all you can.
"By the way," said McRae, as he rose to leave, "I want to congratulateyou on the job you did with that crazy man. It was a nifty bit of work."
"That thing keeps chasing me everywhere," laughed Joe. "I can't get awayfrom it."
"It'll make good advertising," laughed McRae. "There'll be a big crowdout when you pitch your first game to see the man who can throw asnowball as well as he can a baseball. But what tickled me when I readabout it was the quick thinking it showed. That's what I want on myteam. I want a player to be quick in the head as well as in the feet. Ihaven't any use for ivory domes."
It was the first time that Joe had ever had a chance to have a realtalk with the famous manager. They had known each other, of course, bysight, and had exchanged occasional nods when they met. And, as Joe hadwhimsically told his folks, there had been an interchange of chaff inthe heat of battle. But now for the first time Joe had a chance to judgeof the man on whom his fate would so largely depend during the comingseason, and his impression had been a favorable one.
He was familiar with McRae's record as a player before he had become amanager. He was an intensely aggressive man. Aggressiveness stood outall over him like "the quills on the fretful porcupine." On the fieldhe was scrappy and fearless and fought like a tiger for every bit ofadvantage that might help his team to win. He was a terror to umpiresand had probably been ordered off the field more times than any managerin the league.
But though he carried his zeal too far at times, and had made manyenemies, he had many good qualities that offset his defects. He wasgenerous and fair to his men and protected them against public clamor,when they had incurred the rage of the fickle fans. He kept Burkett,after that ghastly error at second that had lost a championship. Twicehe had lost the World's Series, owing to a muff by the center fielderat the crucial point in the game. But he knew that the man had triedto do his best and he had refused to release him. He was a hard man buthe tried to be a just one, and Joe felt sure that he would have everychance to make good under his management.
A tall young fellow came down the car and paused beside the seat.
"Mr. Matson?" he asked.
Joe nodded pleasantly.
"My name is Barclay," went on the newcomer. "Mr. McRae suggested that Icome over and have a talk with you."
"Oh, yes," said Joe, as he rose and grasped his hand. "You're fromPrinceton, aren't you?"
"Yes," said Barclay. "And you're from Yale, I understand."
"That's right," replied Joe. "How's the tiger?"
"Fine," returned Barclay. "How's the bulldog?"
They laughed and sat down together. The ice was broken and they weresoon talking like old friends. The traditional rivalries of their twocolleges gave them an endless number of things to talk about. Joefound him very congenial and intelligent, and Barclay on his part wasdelighted to find himself on a friendly footing with a college man, whohad broken into the big league and "made good." He had been feelingrather shaky and forlorn, as is the usual custom of "rookies," and Joe,remembering his own experience, did his best to help him shake off thatfeeling. So chummy did they become that Joe proposed that they roomtogether during their stay in the training camp. Barclay jumped eagerlyat the chance and on a word to the manager the matter was so arranged.
In due time the train rolled into Marlin Springs and the pilgrimsdisembarked, glad to stretch their legs after the long journey. A bigcrowd of citizens and officials of the town were on hand to give them aboisterous greeting, and the village band struck up a triumphal march asthe band of athletes moved on to the hotel. They made a splendid pictureof physical manhood. After the long winter they were eager for the fray.They were like so many greyhounds straining at the leash.
"Look pretty good, don't they?" remarked McRae to Hughson. "But it isn'ta circumstance to the way they'll look when I get through with theirtraining and have them ready to take the field."