CHAPTER V
A STARTLING SUGGESTION
With this ultimatum, the irate manager stalked off to join Robbie,while Iredell, his face like a thunder cloud, returned to the clubhouse.
Nor was his wrath at the "roasting" he had received at the hands ofMcRae lessened by the consciousness that it was deserved. He knew inhis heart that he had neglected his duties, or, at least, had failedto take advantage of his opportunities. The game might have been wonif he had been on the job. To be sure, the team had played like a lotof bushers, but that did not relieve him of his responsibility. It waswhen they were playing badly that it was up to him to step into thebreach. And that was what he had lamentably failed to do.
"Look at the face of him," whispered Larry to Wheeler. "The old man hasbeen giving him the rough edge of his tongue."
"And when that tongue gets going it can certainly flay a man alive,"remarked Wheeler. "I'm sore yet from what he gave the bunch of us.Let's hurry and get out of this. It's too much like a funeral aroundhere to suit me."
McRae in the meantime was unburdening his heart to Robbie. The latterwas his closest friend and adviser. They had been teammates in theearly days on the old Orioles of Baltimore, when that famous team hadbeen burning up the League. Both of them knew baseball from beginningto end. Together they had worked out most of the inside stuff, such asthe delayed steal, the hit and run, and other clever bits of strategythat had now become the common property of all up-to-date major-leagueteams.
Yet, though as close friends as brothers, they were as different intemperament as two men could be. Robbie caught his flies with molasses.McRae relied on vinegar to catch his. Robbie knew how to salve theumpires. McRae was on their backs clawing like a wildcat. McRae ruffledup the feathers of his men, while Robbie smoothed them down. Each hadhis own special qualities and defects. But both were square and justand upright, and commanded the respect of the members of the team.Together they formed an ideal combination, whose worth was attested bythe way they had led the Giants to victory. Into that wonderful teamthey had put the fighting spirit, the indefinable something that madethem the "class" of the League and more than once the champions of theworld. Even when they failed to win the pennant, they were always closeto the top, and it was usually the Giants that the winning team had tobeat.
Just now, however, the Giants were undeniably in the slump that attimes will come to the best of teams, and both McRae and Robbie, whowere hard losers, were at their wits' end to know how to get them outof it.
"We're up against it for fair, Robbie," said McRae, as they walked tothe gate on their way to the hotel at which the Giants were stopping."Think of the way the Chicagos are giving us the merry ha ha! We justgave them that game to-day. Looked as though we had it sewed up forfair. People had started to leave their seats, thinking it was allover. Then we turn around and hand the game over to them."
"It's tough luck, to be sure," Robbie agreed. "If Matson hadn't beenhurt, we'd have copped it sure. They couldn't get within a mile of him.And now as the capsheaf, he's probably out of the game for a week. Butcheer up, Mac. The season's young yet, and we've got out of many aworse hole than this."
"It wasn't so much the boys going to pieces in that one inning thatmakes me so sore," returned the manager. "Any team will get a case ofthe rattles once in a while and play like a lot of dubs. What gets mygoat are the blunders that Iredell made. As a captain, supposed to usehis brains, he did well--I don't think."
"It was rotten judgment," agreed Robbie, thoughtfully. "And what makesit worse is that it isn't the first time it's happened. He's overlookeda lot of things since we started on this trip. Some of them have beentrifling and haven't done much damage. Some of them the spectatorswouldn't notice at all. But you've seen them and I've seen them."
"And what's worse, some of the team have seen them," returned McRae."That's taken some of their confidence away from them and made themshaky. A captain is a good deal like a pitcher. If he's good, the teamplay behind him like thoroughbreds. If he's poor, they play like a lotof selling platers. I shouldn't wonder if that's the whole secret ofthis present slump."
"Perhaps you're right, John," assented Robbie. "We'll have to coachIredell, wise him up on the inside stuff, and see if he doesn't dobetter."
McRae shook his head.
"That won't do the trick," he replied. "A good captain is born, notmade. He's got to have the gray matter in his noddle to start with. Ifhe hasn't got it, all the coaching in the world won't put it into him.It's a matter of brains, first, last and all the time. I've come tothe conclusion that Iredell hasn't got them. He's got a ball player'sbrains. But he hasn't got a captain's brains, and that's all there isto it."
"Well, admitting that that's so, we seem to be up against it," musedRobbie, ruefully. "Who else on the team is any better in that respect?Run over the list. Mylert, Burkett, Barrett, Jackwell, Curry, Bowen,Wheeler. I don't know that any one of them has anything on Iredell inthe matter of sense and judgment."
"Haven't you overlooked some one?" asked McRae, significantly.
Robbie looked at him in wonderment.
"Nobody except the substitutes," he said. "And of course they're out ofthe question."
"How about the box?" asked McRae.
"Oh, the pitchers!" returned Robbie. "I didn't take them intoconsideration. But of course a pitcher can't be captain. That goeswithout saying."
"Not with me it doesn't go without saying," said McRae. "Why can't apitcher act as captain?"
"Why--why," stammered Robbie, "just because it isn't done. I don'tremember a case where it ever was done."
"That cuts no ice with me at all," declared McRae, incisively."Whatever success I've had in the world has been got by doing thingsthat aren't done. How was it that we made the old Orioles the class ofthe League and the wonder of the baseball world? By doing the thingsthat aren't done--that no other team had thought of. They went along inthe old groove, playing cut and dried baseball. We went after them likea whirlwind with a raft of new ideas, and before they knew where theywere at, we had their shirts."
"Wriggling snakes!" exclaimed Robbie, his face lighting up, as he gavehis friend a resounding slap on the back. "Mac, you've got me going.You're the same old Mac, always getting up something new. Matson, ofcourse! Joe Matson, not only the greatest pitcher, but the brainiestman in all baseball! Matson, who thinks like lightning. Matson, thatthe whole team worships. Matson, who can give any one cards and spadesand beat him out. Mac, you old rascal, you take my breath away. You'vehit the bull's-eye."
McRae smiled his gratification.
"That's all right, Robbie, but you needn't go knocking me down withthat ham of a hand of yours," he grumbled.
"Have you mentioned the matter to Joe yet?" asked Robbie, eagerly.
"Not yet," replied the manager. "I wouldn't do that anyway until I hadtalked the matter over with you and learned what you thought of it.And then, too, with that bruised leg and ankle of his, he won't be inthe game for a week or so, anyway. So you really cotton to the idea, doyou?"
"I fall for it like a load of bricks," was the response. "Of course,Matson's yet to be heard from. It's a pretty heavy responsibility tobe placed on a man that's already carrying the team along with hiswonderful pitching. Perhaps he'll think it's a little too much to askof him."
"I'll take a chance on that," replied McRae, confidently. "He's gota marvelous physique, and he always keeps himself in the best ofcondition. He's strong enough to carry any load that he's asked tobear. Then, too, you know how he's wrapt up in the success of theteam. He's never balked yet at anything I've asked him to do. He'splaying baseball not only for money, but because he loves it. He talksbaseball, thinks baseball, eats baseball, dreams baseball. He's hep toevery fine point in the game and he's on the job every second. And whenit comes to thinking fast and acting quickly--well, you know as well asI do that nobody can touch him."
"He's a wizard, all right," agreed Robbie. "But here's a point to bethought over, John. A captain's got
to be in every game. Joe pitchesperhaps two games a week."
"I've thought of that, too," McRae replied. "On the days he's not inthe box, he can play in the outfield. And think of the batting strengththat will add to the team. He's liable to break up any game with one ofthe same kind of homers he knocked out to-day. He's as much of a wonderwith the bat as he is in the box, and that's going some."
"Better and better," declared Robbie, exultantly. "Mac, I take offmy hat to you. You've hit on an idea that's going to win the pennantof the League this season, with the World Series thrown in for goodmeasure. Who cares for to-day's game? Who cares if the Giants are in aslump? Just make Joe Matson captain of the team and then see the Giantsclimb!"
Baseball Joe, Captain of the Team; or, Bitter Struggles on the Diamond Page 5
