Baseball Joe, Captain of the Team; or, Bitter Struggles on the Diamond

by Lester Chadwick

  CHAPTER XXI

  DROPPING BACK

  "I suppose you are right, Joe," assented Jim, regretfully. "But itmakes me boil not to be able to put the scoundrels behind prison bars.Those human snakes ought to have some punishment meted out to them."

  "They surely ought," agreed Baseball Joe. "But we'll have to postponetheir punishment. Everything will have to wait till the end of theseason. Apart from anything else, if we found them out now and had themarrested, see how it would break into our work. We'd have to leave theteam to come here to testify at the trial and perhaps stay away forweeks, and that would cost the Giants the pennant. But speaking of thisfellow here in the box, what are we going to do with him? We can'tleave him here."

  "It's rather awkward," remarked Jim. "I suppose we could take him downto the cellar and have him burned in the furnace."

  "Not without arousing the curiosity of the furnace man and leadingto talk," objected Joe. "I'll tell you what we'll do. We leave townto-morrow night. We'll wrap the snake up in a compact package and carryit along in a suitcase. Then at night while the train is speedingalong, we'll open a window and drop him out."

  They agreed on this as the best solution.

  "I suppose there's no question that the snake is dead," remarked Jim,with an inflection of uncertainty in his voice. "It would be mightyawkward to have him come to life again in the suitcase."

  "I guess he's drowned all right," returned Joe. "He was a long timeunder water. But just to make assurance doubly sure, I'll cut off hishead."

  He took out his heavy jackknife and severed the reptile's head from hisbody. Handling the grisly creature was a repugnant task, and they wereglad when it was finished.

  "Guess I'll keep this head," remarked Joe, as a thought came tohim. "I'll slip it into a jar of alcohol and that will preserve itindefinitely."

  "What on earth do you want it for?" queried Jim. "I shouldn't thinkyou'd care for that kind of souvenir."

  "I have a hunch it may come in handy some time," answered Joe. "Nowlet's wrap up this body and get it out of our sight."

  Their dreams that night were featured by wriggling, writhing forms.

  "I'm glad I'm not scheduled to pitch to-day," remarked Jim, atbreakfast. "I'm afraid the Pirates would bat me all over the lot. Inever felt less fit."

  "Such an experience isn't exactly the best kind of preparation for boxwork," replied Joe, with a ghost of a smile. "I guess Bradley willstart, while I'll stand ready to relieve him if he gets in a jam. I'mhoping, though, that he'll pull through all right."

  After lunch they took a taxicab to the grounds, but the vehicle got ina traffic jam, and it was later than they expected when they finallyreached Forbes Field.

  They hurried over to the clubhouse and were entering the door when theymet Iredell, who was coming out.

  Iredell gave a sharp ejaculation and started back, while his face wentas white as chalk.

  "Why, what's the matter, Iredell?" asked Joe.

  "N--nothing," stammered Iredell, by a mighty effort regaining controlof himself and walking away.

  Their wondering glances followed him, and they noticed that his gaitwas wavering.

  "What do you suppose was the reason for that?" asked Jim.

  "I'm afraid he's been drinking again," conjectured Joe, regretfully."His nerves seem to be all unstrung. When he looked at me, you mightthink that he saw a ghost."

  "Perhaps he did," said Jim, slowly but significantly.

  "What do you mean?" asked Joe, quickly.

  "Just what I say," answered Jim. "Perhaps he thought that youwere--well, in the doctor's hands, and that what he saw must be aghost."

  "You don't mean----"

  "You know what I mean."

  "No, no!" exclaimed Joe, in horror. "Lemblow, Hupft, McCarney? Yes! ButIredell! A man on our own team! A man we've played with for years! No,Jim, I can't believe it possible."

  "Perhaps not," admitted Jim. "I hate even to think of it. I hope I'mwrong. But drink, you know, will weaken a man's moral fiber until he'scapable of anything. Iredell's been steadily going to the dogs of late.Perhaps he's fallen in with McCarney's gang. He knows all of them, anda drinking man isn't particular about his company. Let a man hate youand then let him drink, and you have a mighty bad combination. Justsuppose Iredell was in the plot. Suppose he knew that rattler was sentto you yesterday. Wouldn't he act just as he did when he saw you turnup safe and sound to-day?"

  "It certainly was queer," admitted Joe, half-convinced. "I can onlyhope you're wrong. At any rate, it won't hurt to keep our eyes on himand be doubly on our guard."

  Bradley showed more form that afternoon than he had before thatseason, and took the Pirates into camp in first class fashion by ascore of 5 to 3. Apart from victory itself, it was gratifying to McRaeand Robbie to note that Bradley was improving rapidly and furnishinga reinforcement to Joe and Jim, who, in a pitching sense, had beencarrying the team on their backs.

  Three out of four from so strong a team as the Pittsburghs was a goodbeginning for the swing around the Western circuit, and the Giants werein high feather when they arrived in Cincinnati.

  "Hate to do it, old boy," declared the grinning McRae, as he shookhands with Hughson, "but we'll have to take the whole four from youthis time."

  "Threatened men live long, Mac," retorted Hughson. "Just for beingso sassy about it, I don't think we'll give you one. Just rememberthe walloping we gave you the last time you were here. That wasn't acircumstance compared to what's coming to you now."

  As it turned out, both were false prophets, for each team took twogames.

  "Five out of eight aren't so bad for a team away from home," Jimremarked.

  "Better than a black eye," admitted Joe. "But still not good enough. Wewant twelve games out of the sixteen before we start back home."

  It was an ambitious goal, but the Giants reached it, taking three outof four from the Chicagos and making a clean sweep in St. Louis. It wasthe best road record that the Giants had made for a long time past, andit was a jubilant crowd of athletes that swung on board the train forNew York.

  "I'm already spending my World Series money," crowed Larry, theirrepressible, to his comrades gathered about him in the smoker.

  "Better go slow, Larry," laughed Joe. "There's many a slip between thecup and the lip. We haven't got the pennant clinched yet, by any means.And even if we win the pennant, there's the World Series, and that'ssomething else again. It looks as though the Yankees would repeat inthe American, and you know what tough customers they proved last time.And when Kid Rose gets going with that old wagon-tongue of his----"

  "Kid Rose!" interrupted Larry, with infinite scorn. "Who gives a hootfor Kid Rose? What's Kid Rose compared with Baseball Joe?"

  Joe's caution was justified by what followed after the Giants' returnhome. Suddenly, without warning, came one of the mysterious slumps thatno baseball man can explain. If they had gone up like a rocket, theycame down like the stick. They fielded raggedly, batted weakly, andfell off in all departments of the game. Perhaps it was the reactionafter the strain of the Western trip. Whatever the cause, the slump wasthere.

  McRae raged, Joe pleaded. They shook up the batting order, theybenched some of the regulars temporarily, and put the reserve men intheir places. Nothing seemed to avail. The "jinx" was on the job. ThePhillies and Boston trampled them underfoot. In three weeks they hadlost the lead, and the Chicagos and Pittsburghs had crowded in ahead ofthem.

  Still Joe kept his nerve and struggled desperately to turn the tide.He himself had never pitched or batted better, and what occasionalvictories were turned in were chiefly due to him. But he was only oneman--not nine--and the Giants kept on steadily losing.

  Only one ray of light illumined the darkness for Baseball Joe. Mabelhad come to him.