CHAPTER XXV
FIGHTING FOR THE LEAD
Joe chuckled to himself the next day, as he read the highly-coloredstories in the papers bearing on the happening at the Park. The leopardhad escaped while it was being transferred from one cage to another, andhad afterward been found dead with a broken neck in a side path of thePark. There was a good deal of speculation as to how it had been killed,but apart from the fact that it had been due to a blow nothing waspositively known. It was confidently predicted, however, that the wholetruth would be uncovered in a day or two.
"Not unless I talk in my sleep, it won't," decided Joe.
He had no liking for notoriety, but it was chiefly on Mabel's accountthat he kept silent. He knew how deeply she would dread having hername appear in print. She was one of those who believed that a woman'sname should appear in the papers only three times--when she was born,when she married and when she died. And Joe agreed with her. It wasastonishing how he was growing to agree with her on everything.
The week of Mabel's stay passed all too quickly. Joe grudged every hourof it. They went about everywhere when his duties permitted, and he hadthe satisfaction of winning a game under her approving eyes. When atlast he saw her on the train for Goldsboro, she had promised to come toNew York to see the wind-up of the season at the Polo Grounds.
"I'm looking for you to win the pennant and get into the World'sSeries," she said at parting. "You won't disappoint me, will you?"
"We've simply got to win it," he replied. "I need that World's Seriesmoney badly. Why if I had that I could----"
But Reggie blundered along just then, and Joe could not tell what hewanted to do with the money. But perhaps Mabel guessed.
The baseball campaign was waxing hotter and hotter. The teams were soclose together that, as they say of racing horses, "one blanket wouldhave covered them." So far, it was anybody's race. In the East, Brooklynwas making a great spurt and had drawn up close to the front. Chicagowas showing the way to the Western teams, but St. Louis was crowdingclose at her heels. It was a ding-dong, slam-bang race, with first oneand then the other showing in front, and the whole baseball public wasin a state of feverish excitement. Great crowds gathered around thebulletin boards in every large city. All agreed that it was the mosteven race in years. Huge throngs filled the playing grounds and the gamewas on the topmost wave of prosperity.
When the Western teams finished their first visit East, the Chicagoswere leading the league by three full games. Brooklyn was second, andSt. Louis was tied with the Giants for third.
That they were not leading at this stage in the season did not greatlyworry McRae. He knew what a fearful strain was on the team that went outin front and he was content to let it make the pace, as long as he couldtrail along within easy striking distance.
Joe, however, was not so philosophical. He had the instinct of thethoroughbred, and hated to see anyone bowling along in front of him.
"I hate to take anyone's dust," he said one day to Jim. "It makes mewild to have Chicago showing us the way."
"They'll come back to us all right," said Jim, confidently. "The lastfew games they've just won out and that's all. They've fallen down badlyof late in their batting."
And Jim was right, for, two weeks later, Chicago had resigned the leadto Brooklyn and had fallen to the foot of the first division.
The see-saw persisted until the latter part of August. By that time"class" had begun to tell. Three teams had drawn away from all theothers, and it was clear that, barring accidents, the flag would fly inone of three cities, Boston, Chicago or New York.
The Giants on their last trip West had made a runaway campaign of it.They had simply cleaned up everything. They led the league in battingand were third in fielding. But what counted most was that they were outin front ten straight games ahead of the nearest contender. The New Yorkpapers were already beginning to speculate what pitchers McRae would pinhis faith to in the World's Series.
"It's our pitching staff that has carried us through so far," exultedMcRae in one of his talks with Robson. "That is," he corrected, "it'sthe great work of Hughson and Matson. That young Barclay, too, hasrounded to in fine shape. If only Markwith had kept up his great workthis season, we'd be so far ahead that they couldn't see us with atelescope."
"It is too bad the way he's fallen down," mused Robson, "and Hartley toohas been a big disappointment. I tell you, Mac, you never did a betterstroke of work in your life than when you got Matson from St. Louis.That fellow is the biggest sensation of the year. You notice that whenhe's announced to pitch the crowds are almost as big as those who comeout to see Hughson. I'll bet," he chuckled, "that you're going to losethat thousand dollar bonus before the season is over. He's already wonfifteen games, and the way he is going it's a dead cinch that he'll getthe other five."
"I'll be only too glad to lose it," grinned McRae. "He's already broughtit in at the box office ten times over. You're right when you say he'sbeen a mighty good investment. If we fly the flag in New York, he'll beresponsible for it."
"It's lucky you signed him for a three-years' contract," went on Robson."If you hadn't, every club in the league would have been offering himbig money at the end of the season."
"He won't lose anything by it," declared McRae, decidedly. "If hekeeps up the way he has begun, I won't hold him to the figures of hiscontract. He'll get a big slice of World's Series money, and I'll starthim off next season at figures that will make his hair curl."
"Knock wood, Mac," counseled Robson, nervously. "I don't like to hearyou talking yet of the World's Series as though it were a certainty.You're never in more danger than when you feel surest. We're not yetout of the woods, and you know as well as I that baseball is the mostuncertain game in the world."
"You're right, Robbie, old boy," assented his friend. "I know thatthere's always a chance of falling down. I wouldn't talk this way withanyone but you. But on the dead level, I can't for the life of me seehow we're going to lose unless our pitching staff goes to pieces."
Two days later the pitching staff went to pieces.
Baseball Joe on the Giants; or, Making Good as a Ball Twirler in the Metropolis Page 25
