Baseball Joe, Home Run King; or, The Greatest Pitcher and Batter on Record

by Lester Chadwick

  CHAPTER XIV

  A DELIGHTFUL SURPRISE

  "Well, we wound up the trip in a blaze of glory, anyway," remarked Jimto Baseball Joe, as they sat in the Pullman coach that was carryingthem and the rest of the team back to New York.

  "Yes, and we just saved our bacon by doing it," replied Joe. "Thoselast four games gave us eight out of fifteen for the trip. Not soawfully bad for a team on a trip, and yet not good enough to win thechampionship. But even at that I guess McRae won't supplant us with ateam from the old ladies' home," he added, with a laugh.

  "We've got a long series of games on the home grounds now," put inLarry, the optimist. "We'll show these other fellows how the game oughtto be played. Just watch us climb."

  "Here's hoping you're right," chimed in Burkett. "A slice of the WorldSeries money this year would look mighty good to me."

  "That's looking pretty far ahead," said Curry. "Still, if Joe keeps upthe batting he's been showing us in Pittsburgh, I'll bet we cop theflag."

  "That may be just a flash in the pan," cautioned Joe. "I may have hadjust a few good days when everything broke just right for me. I'm apitcher, not a batter."

  "Not a batter, eh?" remarked Larry, in feigned surprise. "How surprisedDawley and Hooper and the other Pittsburgh pitchers will be to hearthat. They seemed to think you could pickle the pill all right."

  The players found the baseball circles of New York in a ferment ofinterest and excitement over the team. There had been considerabledespondency over the poor showing of the Giants in the first threeseries they had played on the trip. But the four rattling victoriesthey had gained over Pittsburgh had redeemed them in the minds of theirfollowers, and hopes for the pennant had revived.

  But the one thing that obscured everything else was the tremendousbatting that Joe had done in that last series. The sporting columns ofthe newspapers had headlines like: "The New Batting Star;" "A Rivalto Kid Rose;" "Is There to Be a New Home-Run King?" and "The Colossusof Swat." Joe found his footsteps dogged by reporters eager to getinterviews telling how he did it. Moving picture operators begged theprivilege of taking him in all positions--as he gripped his bat--theway he stood at the plate--as he drew back for his swing. Illustratedweekly papers had full page pictures of him. Magazines offered himlarge sums for articles signed with his name. He found himself in thecalcium light, holding the center of the stage, the focus of sportinginterest and attention.

  Joe was, of course, pleased at the distinction he had won, and yetat the same time he was somewhat uneasy and bewildered. He was notespecially irked at the attention he was attracting. That had alreadybecome an old story as to his pitching. He was hardened to reporters,to being pointed out in the streets, to having a table at which hehappened to be dining in a restaurant or hotel become the magnet forall eyes while whispers went about as to who he was. That was one ofthe penalties of fame, and he had become used to it.

  But hitherto his reputation had been that of a great pitcher, and inhis own heart he knew he could sustain it. The pitching box was histhrone, and he knew he could make good. But he was somewhat nervousabout the acclamations which greeted his batting feats. He was not atall sure that he could keep it up. He had never thought of himself asany more than an ordinary batter. He knew that as a pitcher he was notexpected to do much batting, and so he had devoted most of his trainingto perfecting himself in the pitching art. Now he found himselfsuddenly placed on a pedestal as a Batting King. Suppose it were, as hehimself had suggested, merely a flash in the pan. It would be ratherhumiliating after all this excitement to have the public find out thattheir new batting idol was only an idol of clay after all.

  He confided some of his apprehension to Jim, but his chum only laughedat him.

  "Don't worry a bit over that, old man," Jim reassured him. "I only wishI were as sure of getting a million dollars as I am that you've got thebatting stuff in you. You've got the eye, you've got the shoulders,you've got the knack of putting all your weight into your blow. You'rea natural born batter, and you've just waked up to it."

  "But this is only the beginning of the season," argued Joe. "Thepitchers haven't yet got into their stride. By midsummer they'll beburning them over, and then more than likely I'll come a cropper."

  "Not a bit of it," Jim affirmed confidently. "You won't face betterpitching anywhere than we stacked up against in Pittsburgh, and youmade all those birds look like thirty cents. They had chills and feverevery time you came to the bat."

  The matter was not long left in doubt. In the games that followed Joespeedily proved that the Pittsburgh outburst was not a fluke. Home runsrained from his bat in the games with the Brooklyns, the Bostons andthe Phillies. And when the Western teams came on for their invasionof the East, they had to take the same medicine. All pitchers lookedalike to him. Of course he had his off days when all he could get wasa single, and sometimes not that. Once in a long while he went out onstrikes, and the pitcher who was lucky or skilful enough to performthat feat hugged it to his breast as a triumph that would help him thenext season in demanding a rise in salary. But these occasions were fewand far between. The newspapers added a daily slab to their sportingpage devoted to Joe's mounting home run record, giving the dates, theparks and the pitchers off whom they were made. And there was hardlya pitcher in the league whose scalp Joe had not added to his rapidlygrowing collection.

  In the business offices of the city, in restaurants, at all kinds ofgathering places, the daily question changed. Formerly it had been:"Will the Giants win to-day?" Now it became: "Will Baseball Joe knockout another homer?"

  And the fever showed itself in the attendance at the Polo Grounds. Dayby day the crowds grew denser. Soon they were having as many spectatorsat a single game as they had formerly looked for at a double-header.The money rolled into the ticket offices in a steady stream, and theowners and manager of the club wore the "smile that won't come off."The same effect was noted in all the cities of the circuit. The crowdsturned out not so much to see the Giants play as to see if BaseballJoe would knock another home run. Joe Matson had become the greatestdrawing card of the circuit. If this kept up, it would mean the mostprosperous season the League had ever known. For the Giants' ownersalone, it meant an added half million dollars for the season. Already,with not more than a third of the games played, they had taken inenough to pay all expenses for the year, and were "on velvet" for therest of the season.

  Nothing in all this turned Joe's head. He was still the same modest,hardworking player he had always been. First and all the time he workedfor the success of his team. Already the Giants' owners had voluntarilyadded ten thousand dollars to his salary, and he was at present themost highly paid player in his League. He knew that next year even thiswould be doubled, if he kept up his phenomenal work. But he was stillthe same modest youth, and was still the same hail fellow well met, thepal and idol of all his comrades.

  What delighted Baseball Joe far more than any of his triumphs was theinformation contained in a letter he wore close to his heart that Mabelwas coming on to New York with her brother Reggie for a brief stayon her way to her home in Goldsboro. They had been in almost dailycorrespondence, and their affection had deepened with every day thatpassed. Jim also had been equally assiduous and equally happy, and bothplayers were counting the days that must elapse before the weddingmarch would be played at the end of the season.

  Luck was with Joe when, in company with Jim, he drove to the stationto meet Mabel and Reggie. The rain was falling in torrents. Ordinarilythat would have been depressing. But to-day it meant that there wouldbe no game and that he could count on having Mabel to himself withnothing to distract his attention.

  Jim was glad on his friend's account, but nevertheless was unusuallyquiet for him.

  "Come out of your trance, old boy," cried Joe, slapping him jovially onthe knee.

  Jim affected to smile.

  "Oh, I know what you're thinking about," charged Joe. "You're jealousbecause I'm going to see Mabel and you're not going to see Clara. Bu
tcheer up, old man. The next time we strike Chicago we'll both run downto Riverside for a visit. Then you'll have the laugh on me, for you'llhave Clara all to yourself while Mabel will be in Goldsboro."

  Jim tried to find what comfort he could from the prospect, but theChicago trip seemed a long way off.

  They reached the station ahead of time and walked up and downimpatiently. The rain and wet tracks had detained the train a little,but at length its giant bulk drew into the station. They scanned thelong line of Pullmans anxiously. Then Joe rushed forward with anexclamation of delight as he saw Reggie descend holding out his hand toassist Mabel--Mabel, radiant, starry-eyed, a vision of loveliness.

  Jim had followed a little more slowly to give Joe time for the firstgreeting. But his steps quickened and his eyes lighted up with raptureas behind Mabel Joe's sister Clara came down the steps, sweet as arose, and with a look in her eyes as she caught sight of Jim that madethat young man's heart lose a beat.