Baseball Joe on the Giants; or, Making Good as a Ball Twirler in the Metropolis

by Lester Chadwick

  CHAPTER XXI

  MAKING GOOD

  "Ladies and gentlemen!" roared the umpire, taking off his cap, "Matsonnow pitching for the New Yorks!"

  There was a yell of applause from the packed stands to greet thenewcomer. There had been a great deal of curiosity stirred up by thenewspaper accounts of Joe's exploit with the madman, and the crowd wasin a friendly mood. Besides, they realized that they ought to encouragehim at this critical time when the game hung in the balance. So theycheered him loyally, though not many thought he could win with such ahandicap.

  Some of them remembered, however, how this same young pitcher had tamedtheir own Giants the last game of the previous season and realized thatthere was still a fighting chance.

  Succeeding the first wild yell, a deathlike silence settled over thestands as Joe wound up for the first ball.

  Straight as an arrow it darted toward the plate, breaking into a wideoutcurve as the batter lunged at it.

  IT DARTED TOWARD THE PLATE, BREAKING INTO A WIDEOUTCURVE.]

  "Strike one!" called the umpire, and a cheer went up.

  The next two were balls at which the batter declined to "bite."

  "Strike two!" called the umpire as the next one cut the plate.

  The next was a ball.

  "He's in the hole now!" yelled the Boston coachers. "He can't get itover. He's going up."

  Joe did his best to get the next one over the rubber, but he had notwarmed up enough yet to get perfect control, and the umpire waved thebatter down to first. He ran down, laughing derisively, while hiscomrades moved up to second and third.

  "All over now but the shouting," was the cry that went up from theenemy's coaching lines. "We don't need to hit the ball. Just leave himalone and he'll win the game for us."

  Larry came in from second, ostensibly to consult with Joe, but really togive him a moment's breathing space.

  "Keep your nerve, old man," he counseled. "We'll get them yet. We're allwith you."

  "I know it, Larry," said Joe, gratefully.

  "Play ball!" yelled the Bostons.

  "Write him a letter!"

  "Hire a hall!"

  But Larry was too old a bird to mind their jeers and he took his time ingetting back to his position.

  Joe knew that the next batsman, depending upon his being wild, wouldnot attempt to strike at the first balls served but would try to "waithim out." So he put two perfect strikes across the plate. The battergrew serious and set himself for the next which he figured would alsobe a strike. But Joe outguessed him and fed him a slow one that hefrantically struck at before it reached the plate.

  "You're out!" called the umpire, and the stands broke into thunderousapplause.

  Still, there were three on bases and a long fly to the outfield, even ifcaught, would probably bring the man in from third with the tying run.At all costs Joe must keep the ball on the ground within the limits ofthe infield where a play could be made for the plate.

  He measured the next Boston man carefully as he came to the plate.He was the heaviest batter on the team, and his mates begged himvociferously to "line it out."

  "It only takes one to do it."

  "Give it a ride!"

  "Hit it on the seam!"

  The batter shook his bat at Joe.

  "Put it over if you know how," he jibed, "and I'll kill it."

  He was a trifle less confident, however, when a speedy one cut the platebreast high, missing his bat by six inches.

  "That's no way to kill a ball," taunted Joe.

  The batter was trying to think up a retort, when Joe, without waiting towind up, slipped one over before he was expecting it.

  "Strike two!" called the umpire.

  "Clever work, Matson!" called out McRae delightedly, while a tempest ofcheering swept the stands.

  The next one was a low outcurve that the batter reached for andconnected with. It shot like a bullet straight at Joe, but above hishead. If his team had had a big lead, Joe would have dodged and left itto his fielders, for it was almost deadly to face it at that distance.But he leaped high in the air and it stuck in his glove. All the menon bases, thinking it was a sure hit, were legging it for home. Likea flash Joe turned and shot it down to third, completing a beautifuldouble play.

  Three men were out, the game was over and the Giants had won by a scoreof two to one!

  The lightning like quickness of the play had dumbfounded spectators andplayers alike. Only for an instant, however. Then a roar went up thatcould have been heard for a mile, and the crowd swept down from thestands. Joe saw them coming and made a break for the clubhouse. He gotaway from the grandstands but the bleachers intercepted him, and forthe last twenty yards he had to force his way through a surging mob whotried to grab his hand or clap him on the shoulder or in a hundred waystried to express their appreciation of his work. It was with a sigh ofrelief that he found himself at last within the welcome shelter of theclub's quarters.

  His comrades were not far behind him and came tumbling in pell-mell,filled with delight at having the game snatched from the fire at thelast moment.

  "Gee!" said Larry. "That was a close call! I never saw a prettierdouble!"

  "You're some pitcher, Joe!" cried Red Curry. "I thought we were gonerssure with those three men on the bags."

  McRae and Robson hurried in, their features one broad grin.

  "You saved the day, Matson!" exclaimed the former. "I admit I was alittle scared when you went in with such odds against you. But you stoodthe gaff all right."

  "We've got the jump on the other fellows by copping the first game,"said Robson. "It's a great thing to get away to a running start. Itputs heart and courage into the team, and that certainly would have beena hard game to lose."

  "It was Hughson's game after all," protested Joe. "It was hismagnificent pitching that held them down to one run up to the ninth. AllI had to do was to hold them there."

  "Of course we know what Hughson is," said McRae, "but we weren't quiteso sure what you would be when brought face to face with a pinch. All Iask you to do is to keep up the way you've started."

  Joe would not have been human if he had not felt jubilant at thesewords of praise from the head of the team. But it did not make him losehis head. He knew that the same tongue that gave him credit now wouldbe quite as ready to "skin him alive" if he failed to do his best. If"eternal vigilance is the price of liberty," Joe knew that it was alsothe price of success in his chosen profession. No baseball player canrely on the great things he did yesterday. He must be prepared to dothem today and tomorrow also. The same public that today had overwhelmedhim with applause might in a few days be demanding that he be taken outof the box. And knowing this, Joe resolved that he would never give lessthan the very best that was in him. He would have his bad days--everypitcher has--but it would never be from lack of trying.

  But whatever the future might have in store for him, today at leastwas his. The honey of success was on his tongue and it was very sweet.He had made good in his first game in the metropolis. In the words ofRobson, he had "got off to a running start."

  He whistled blithely as after his shower and rubdown, he got into hisclothes and, accompanied by Jim, passed out into the street.