CHAPTER XXVIII
LOCKING HORNS
The Giants were "slipping."
There was no blinking the fact. The New York public admitted it withdismay. The newspapers of all the other league cities proclaimed it withdelight.
Not slipping fast, but slipping surely.
Not that they were quitting. They were game to the core. Everybody wasworking desperately to hold on to the slender lead that they had foughtfor so gallantly in the early part of the season. McRae and Robson,crafty old foxes that they were, worked day and night to bolster upthe weak places. They changed the batting order. They used their pinchhitters. They put the team through morning practice. They perfected the"inside stuff." They worked every trick known to the game.
But still the Giants kept slipping. The batting was far below the usualstandard. The men "fought" the ball instead of fielding it cleanly.The pitching staff was too limited. Hughson and Joe were pitchingmagnificent ball, but they were the only first-string pitchers thatcould be absolutely relied on. Some of the second string men, notablyJim, were doing well, but now that every game was so important, McRaedid not dare to put them in. The strain was apt to be too much for anybut the veterans.
There were times when the Giants seemed to throw off the balefulparalysis that was holding them and play in something of their oldbrilliant form. But too many defeats were mixed in with victories, andall the time those scrappy Chicagos, seldom losing, kept closing up thegap, until when the last week of the season arrived they were right onthe Giants' heels.
By the mere chance of the schedule, the Chicagos were to wind up theseason with the New Yorks on the Polo Grounds. Four games were to beplayed. Before the series commenced, the Giants were just one game inthe lead. If the Chicagos could take three games out of the four, theywould win the championship.
The Giants had the advantage of playing on their own grounds and in thepresence of the home crowds. That was an advantage not to be despised.Moreover, they only had to win two out of the four, while the Chicagoswere required to win three.
But, on the other hand, the men from the Windy City were on theaggressive, while the Giants were on the defensive. And the Chicagos hadbeen climbing while the New Yorks had been slipping. These facts had asignificance all their own, and despite the apparent odds in favor ofthe home team, opinion was about evenly divided as to who would bear offthe victory.
McRae figured on pitching Hughson in the first game of the series.The veteran had always had the "Indian sign" on the Chicagos, and thechances were that he would win his game. If he did, the Giants wouldonly have to take one out of the remaining three. Joe and Markwith wouldtry for the second and third. If by an evil fate they lost both, McRaecould again call on Hughson for the fourth and deciding game.
On the night before the first game, McRae dropped into the uptown hotelwhere the Chicagos were quartered, to have a word of friendly greetingwith Brennan, the manager of the Windy City warriors.
While they were bitter enemies on the ball field, each fighting likea wildcat for every shred of advantage, they were the best of friendswhen once they had discarded their uniforms and gotten into their streetclothes. In this they were not unlike the lawyers who berate each otherbitterly while the case is on, and after the court has adjourned go tolunch together arm in arm.
Brennan saw his opponent enter, and, rising from the group of reporterswho were trying to get from him his views on the series, came forward togreet him with extended hand, a broad grin on his features.
"How are you, John?" he queried. "Have you come in to ask me to let youoff easy tomorrow?"
"Not a bit of it, Roger," laughed McRae as he shook hands. "I simplyheard that there were a lot of dead ones in town and I wanted to knowwhat cemetery you'd prefer to be buried in. I'll make it Woodlawn orGreenwood or any place you say. Or if you like, I'll ship your remainsback to Chicago."
"You always were a good bluffer, John," retorted Roger. "But I can seethat you're just whistling to keep your courage up. When we go back toChicago it won't be in boxes, but in Pullmans; and we're going to takethe pennant along with us."
"Where do you get that stuff?" rejoined McRae. "I'll set the squirrelsafter you if you don't stop your foolishness. I'm only wondering whetherI'll take four straight or let you have just one of the series as a sortof booby prize."
They chaffed each other good-naturedly for a while, to the great delightof the reporters and hotel guests, who had gathered in a dense crowdabout them.
"You've got only a one-man team, John," Brennan wound up. "Hughson'scarried the team along for years. If it hadn't been for him you wouldn'thave won a pennant in the last ten years."
"How about Matson?" parried McRae. "Do you remember the last game hetwirled against you in Chicago?"
Brennan winced and the crowd laughed at the memory of that game, whichhad been a Waterloo for the men of the Windy City.
"He caught us off our stride that day," he admitted, "and we're achingto get at him. We're all tuned up to knock him out of the box."
A little more banter, and McRae rose to go.
"Sorry to have to leave you," he remarked, "but I have an appointment tosee a man about setting up a new pennant pole at the Polo Grounds."
"I'm ahead of you there, John," laughed Brennan. "I ordered mine beforeI left Chicago."
"You'll be sending a wire in a day or two to countermand the order," theGiant leader prophesied. "By the way, Roger," he went on, dropping hisscoffing tone, "if you want to use the grounds for morning practice,I'll fix it up so that you can divide the time with my boys."
"That's very white of you, John," replied Brennan warmly, "and Iappreciate it. But I guess I'll stick to the regular rule and let youhave it all to yourself. Thanks, though, just the same."
They shook hands and parted with the mutual respect of hard fighters andgallant sportsmen.
The city was wild with excitement and it was a foregone conclusion thatthe four games would draw bigger crowds than had ever before been packedinto the Polo Grounds.
Mabel, true to her promise, had come to the city, accompanied by Reggie,and Joe had secured seats for them in a box so located that they couldfollow every move of the game. It is needless to say that every spareminute that he could take from his work was spent in the vicinity of theMarlborough Hotel, at which the visitors were again staying.
"You simply must win, Joe," Mabel declared. "You surely wouldn't havethe heart to lose after I've come all the way from Goldsboro."
"I haven't any heart to lose anyway," replied Joe. "I lost that longago."
"I see Hughson is going to pitch the first game," said Mabel, hastilychanging the subject to a safer ground. "Do you think he will win?"
"Sure I do," replied Joe, enthusiastically. "He's the greatest pitcherthat ever threw a ball."
"They say there's a good deal of professional jealousy among artists,"laughed Mabel, "but you don't seem to be troubled that way."
"Not a particle where Hughson is concerned," affirmed Joe, stoutly."He's one of the best friends I have on the team and I root for him forall I'm worth every time he goes into the box."
"You'll pitch the second game, I suppose," she went on.
"I think that's the program just at present, but you never can tell.Something might come up that would make McRae change his mind fiveminutes before the game begins."
"I'll have an advantage over the other pitchers. They'll only have oneglove while I'll have two."
Mabel opened her eyes and was about to ask an explanation, but as Joetapped his pocket, she remembered the glove that she had given him atGoldsboro and blushed in confusion.
She was never lovelier than when she blushed, and there is no knowingwhat would have happened right then and there, if Reggie had not come onthe scene. Joe liked Reggie, but there were times when he certainly wasa nuisance.
"Well, Joe, how are you feeling?" asked Reggie amiably, as they shookhands. "Not suffering from palpitation of the heart or anything likethat, I suppo
se?"
To tell the truth, Joe's heart was palpitating very strongly just atthat moment. But it was not the thought of the big games that causedit. Perhaps Mabel could have guessed the reason more accurately thanReggie.
"I never felt better," Joe replied.
"Going to put it all over the Chicagos, I hope," continued Reggie.
"That's what we're figuring on," answered Joe. "But those fellows aregoing great guns just now and it will be a man's job to beat them. Bythe way," he added, changing the subject, "have you found any trace ofTabbs?"
"Not a thing," replied Reggie gloomily. "I guess I'll have to chargethat ten thousand up to experience. It's coming near time to report tomy father and I'd rather be shot than do it."
The first game justified the choice of McRae. Hughson was never inbetter form. He simply toyed with the opposing batsmen. His famousfadeaway was working to perfection. Twice he mowed down the side inone-two-three order. His control was absolute and not an enemy reachedhis base on balls. Three times there were men on the bags, once throughan error and twice as the result of hits, but Hughson tightened upand they never got farther than second. It was a superb exhibition oftwirling, and amid the frantic applause of the vast crowd the game endedwith the score:
New Yorks 5, Chicagos 0.
First blood for the Giants!
Baseball Joe on the Giants; or, Making Good as a Ball Twirler in the Metropolis Page 28
