Baseball Joe in the Big League; or, A Young Pitcher's Hardest Struggles

by Lester Chadwick

  CHAPTER XIII

  UNDER SUNNY SKIES

  "That man!" exclaimed Mr. Watson, as he gave the stranger a quickglance. "No, I don't know him, and he certainly isn't a member of myteam. He isn't going to be, either; as far as I know. I'm expecting someother recruits, but no one named Wessel."

  Joe said nothing. He was wondering if the man would recognize him, and,perhaps, renew that strange, baseless quarrel. And, to his surprise, theman did recognize him, but merely to bow. And then, to Joe's furthersurprise, the individual strolled over to where the manager and some ofthe players were standing, and began:

  "Is this Mr. Watson?"

  "That's my name--yes," but there was no cordiality in the tone.

  "Well, I'm Isaac Wessel. I used to play short on the Rockpoint team inthe Independent League. My contract has expired and I was wonderingwhether you couldn't sign me up."

  "Nothing doing," replied Mr. Watson, tersely. "I have all the material Ineed."

  "I spoke to Mr. Johnson about it," naming one of the owners of the St.Louis team, "and he said to see you."

  "Did he tell you to tell me to put you on?"

  "No, I wouldn't go so far as to say that," was the hesitating reply.

  "And did he say I was to give you a try-out?"

  "Well, he--er--said you could if you wanted to."

  "Well, I _don't_ want to," declared the manager with decision. "And Iwant to say that you went too far when you told the clerk here youbelonged to my party. I don't know you, and I don't want anything to dowith a man who acts that way," and Mr. Watson turned aside.

  "Well, I didn't mean any harm," whined Wessel. "The--er--I--er--theclerk must have misunderstood me."

  "All right. Let it go at that," was all the answer he received.

  "Then you won't give me a chance?"

  "No."

  The man evidently realized that this was the end, for he, too, turnedaside. As he did so he looked sneeringly at Joe, and mumbled:

  "I suppose you think you're the whole pitching staff now?"

  Joe did not take the trouble to answer. But, though he ignored the man,he could not help wondering what his plan was in coming to the trainingcamp. Could there be a hidden object in it, partly covered by thefellow's plea that he wanted to get on the team?

  "Do you often have cases like that, Mr. Watson?" Joe asked the managerwhen he had a chance.

  "Like what, Matson?"

  "Like that Wessel."

  "Oh, occasionally. But they don't often get as fresh as he did. The ideaof a bush-leaguer thinking he could break into the majors like that. Hesure had nerve! Well, now I hope we're all settled, and can get to work.We've struck good weather, anyhow."

  And indeed the change from winter to summer was little short ofmarvelous. They had come from the land of ice and snow to the warmbeauty of sunny skies. There was a feeling of spring in the air, and theblood of every player tingled with life.

  "Say, it sure will be great to get out on the diamond and slam the ballabout; won't it?" cried Joe to Rad Chase, as the two were unpacking intheir hotel room.

  "That's what! How are you on stick work?"

  "Oh, no better than the average pitcher," replied Joe, modestly. "I hada record of .172 last season."

  "That's not so worse," observed Rad.

  "What's yours?" asked Joe.

  "Oh, it runs around .250."

  "Good!" cried Joe. "I hope you get it up to .300 this year."

  "Not much chance of that. I was picked because I'm pretty good with thestick--a sort of pinch hitter. But then that's not being a starpitcher," he added, lest Joe feel badly at the contrast in their battingaverages.

  "Oh, I'm far from being a star, but I'd like to be in that class.There's my best bat," and he held out his stick.

  "Oh, you like that kind; eh?" spoke Rad. "Well, I'll show you what Ifavor," and then the two plunged into a talk that lasted until mealtime.

  The arrival of the St. Louis team in the comparatively small town ofReedville was an event of importance. There was quite a crowd about thehotel, made up mostly of small boys, who wanted a chance to see theplayers about whom they had read so much.

  After the meal, as Joe, Rad and some of the others strolled out for awalk about the place, our hero caught murmurs from the crowd of ladsabout the entrance.

  "There's 'Toe' Barter," one lad whispered, nodding toward a veteranpitcher.

  "Yes, and that fellow walking with him is 'Slim' Cooney. He pitched ano-hit, no-run game last year."

  "Sure, I know it. And that fellow with the pipe in his mouth is 'Dots'McCann, the shortstop. He's a peach!"

  And so it went on. Joe's name was not mentioned by the admiring throng.

  "Our turn will come later," said Rad, with a smile.

  "I guess so," agreed his chum, somewhat dubiously.

  Reedville was a thriving community, and boasted of a good nine, withwhom the St. Louis team expected to cross bats a number of times duringthe training season. Then, too, in nearby towns, were other teams, someof them semi-professional, who would be called on to sacrificethemselves that the Cardinals might have something to bring out theirown strong and weak points.

  "Let's go over to the grounds," suggested Joe.

  "I'm with you," agreed Rad.

  "Say, you fellows won't be so anxious to head for the diamond a littlelater in the season," remarked "Doc" Mullin, one of the outfielders."You'll be only too glad to give it the pass-up; won't they?" heappealed to Roger Boswell, the trainer and assistant manager.

  "Well, I like to see young fellows enthusiastic," said Boswell, who hadbeen a star catcher in his day. But age, and an increasing deposit offat, had put him out of the game. Now he coached the youngsters, andwhen "Muggins," as Mr. Watson was playfully called, was not on hand hemanaged the games from the bench. He was a star at that sort of thing.

  "Go to it, boys," he advised Joe and Rad, with a friendly nod. "Youcan't get too much baseball when you're young."

  The diamond at Reedville was nothing to boast of, but it would servewell enough for practice. And the grandstand was only a frail, woodenaffair, nothing like the big one at Robison Field, in St. Louis.

  Joe and Rad walked about the field, and longed for the time when theywould be out on it in uniform.

  "Which will be about to-morrow," spoke Rad, as Joe mentioned his desire."We'll start in at light work, batting fungo and the like, limbering upour legs, and then we'll do hard work."

  "I guess so," agreed Joe.

  The weather could not have been better. The sun shone warmly from ablue sky, and there was a balmy spiciness to the southern wind.

  Rad and Joe walked about town, made a few purchases, and were turningback to the hotel when they saw "Cosey" Campbell, the third baseman,standing in front of a men's furnishing store.

  "I say, fellows, come here," he called to the two. They came. "Do youthink that necktie is too bright for a fellow?" went on Campbell,pointing to a decidedly gaudy one in the show window.

  "Well, it depends on who's going to wear it," replied Rad, cautiously.

  "Why, I am, of course," was the surprised answer. "Who'd you s'pose?"

  "I didn't know but what you were buying it to use for a foul line flag,"chuckled Rad, for Campbell's weakness for scarfs was well known. Hebought one or two new ones every day, and, often enough, grewdissatisfied with his purchase before he had worn it. Then he tried tosell it to some other member of the team, usually without success.

  "Huh! Foul flag!" grunted Campbell. "Guess you don't know a swell tiewhen you see it. I'm going to get it," he added rather desperately, asthough afraid he would change his mind.

  "Go ahead. We'll go in and see fair play," suggested Joe, with a smile.

  The tie was purchased, and the clerk, after selling the bright scarf,seeing that Campbell had a package in his hand, inquired:

  "Shall I wrap them both up together for you?"

  "If you don't mind," replied the third baseman. And, in tying up thebundle, the one Campbe
ll had been carrying came open, disclosing threeneckties more gaudy, if possible, than the one he had just purchased.

  "For the love of strikes!" cried Rad. "What are you going to do; start astore?"

  "Oh, I just took a fancy to these in a window down street," repliedCampbell easily. "Rather neat; don't you think?" and he held up a redand green one.

  "Neat! Say, they look like the danger signals in the New York subway!"cried Rad. "Shade your eyes, Joe, or you won't be able to see the ballto-morrow!"

  "That shows how much taste you fellows have," snapped Campbell. "Thoseare swell ties."

  But the next day Joe heard Campbell trying to dispose of some of thenewly purchased scarfs to "Dots" McCann.

  "Go ahead, 'Dots,' take one," pleaded the baseman. "You need a new tie,and I've got more than I want. This red and green one, now; it's realswell."

  "Go on!" cried the other player. "Why I'd hate to look at myself in aglass with that around my neck! And you'd better not wear it, either--atleast, not around town."

  "Why not?" was the wondering answer.

  "Because you might scare some of the mules, and there'd be a runaway.Tie a stone around it, Campbell, and drown it. It makes so much noise Ican't sleep," and with that McCann walked off, leaving behind him a veryindignant teammate.

  That night notice was given that all the players would assemble at thebaseball diamond in uniform next morning.

  "That's the idea!" cried Joe. "Now for some real work."