Baseball Joe In The Big League Part 25

"I came mighty near making an error, though, toward the last," Rad responded. "Guess I'm not used to such strenuous life as playing nine innings in a big game. My heart was in my throat when I saw that fly ball coming toward me."

"But you froze on to it," said Batonby.

"h.e.l.lo, what's up?" asked Rad quickly, for Joe's face still showed the emotion he felt at the encounter with Shalleg. "Had a row?" asked Rad.

"Rather," admitted the young pitcher. "Shalleg was on deck again."

"Say, that fellow, and his side partner, Wessel, ought to be put away during the ball season!" burst out Rad. "They're regular pests!"

Joe heartily agreed with him, as he related the circ.u.mstances of the last affair. Then the friends pa.s.sed on to the clubhouse, where the game was played over again, as usual, a "post-mortem" being held on it. Only, in this case the Cardinals, being winners, had no excuses to make for poor playing. They were jubilant over the auspicious manner in which the season had opened.

"Boys. I'm proud of you!" exclaimed Manager Watson as he strolled through. "Do this often enough, and we'll have that pennant sure."

"Yes, a fat chance we have!" muttered Willard, sulkily.

"That's no way for a member of the team to talk!" snapped "Muggins."

Willard did not reply. It was clear that he was disgruntled because he had not had a chance to pitch.

Then the splas.h.i.+ng of the shower baths drowned other talk, and presently the players, fresh and s.h.i.+ning from their ablutions, strolled out of the clubhouse.

"Got anything on to-night?" asked Rad of Joe, as they reached the hotel.

"Nothing special--why?"

"Let's go down to the Delaware Garden, and hear the Hungarian orchestra.

There's good eating there, too."

"I'm with you. Got to write a letter, though."

"Tell her how the game went, I s'pose?" laughed Rad.

"Something like that," agreed Joe, smiling.

He bought an evening paper, which made a specialty of sporting news. It contained an account of the opening game, with a skeletonized outline of the plays, inning by inning. The Cardinals were properly congratulated for winning. Joe wished he could have read his name in the story, but he felt he could bide his time.

Joe and Rad enjoyed their little excursion to the Delaware Garden that evening, returning to the hotel in good season to get plenty of sleep, for they were to play the Reds again the next day. There were four games scheduled, and then the Cardinals would go out on the circuit, remaining away about three weeks before coming back for a series on Robison Field.

The tables were turned in the next game. The Cincinnati team, stinging from their previous defeat, played strong ball. They sent in a new pitcher, and with a lead of three runs early in the contest it began to look bad for the Cardinals.

"I'll get no chance to-day," reasoned Joe, as he saw a puzzled frown on Mr. Watson's face. Joe knew that only a veteran would be relied on to do battle now, and he was right.

Mr. Watson used all his ingenuity to save the game. He put in pinch hitters, and urged his three pitchers to do their best.

Willard was allowed to open the game, but was taken out after the first inning, so fiercely was he pounded. c.o.o.ney and Barter had been warming up, and the latter went in next.

"You go warm up, too, Matson," directed Boswell, "though it's doubtful if we'll have to use you."

Joe hoped they would, but it was only a faint hope.

Barter did a little better, but the Reds had a batting streak on that day, and found his most puzzling curves and drops. Then, too, working the "hit and run" feature to the limit and stealing bases, which in several cases was made possible by errors on the part of the Cardinals, soon gave the Reds a comfortable lead of five runs.

"I'm afraid they've got us," grumbled the manager, as he subst.i.tuted a batter to enable c.o.o.ney to go in the game. "You've got to pull us out, Slim," he added.

Slim grinned easily, not a whit disconcerted, for he was a veteran. But though he stopped the winning streak of the Reds, he could not make runs, and runs are what win ball games.

With his best nine in the field the manager tried hard to overcome the advantage of his opponents. It looked a little hopeful in the eighth inning, when there were two men on bases, second and third, and only one out, with "Slugger" Nottingham at the plate.

"Now, then, a home run, old man!" pleaded the crowd.

"Soak it on the nose!"

"Over the fence!"

"A home run means three tallies, old man. Do it now!"

Nottingham stood easily at the plate, swinging his bat. There was an interchange of signals between catcher and pitcher--a slight difference of opinion, it seemed. Then the ball was thrown.

There was a resounding crack, and the crowd started to yell.

"Go it, old man, go it!"

"That's the pie!"

"Oh, that's a beaut!"

But it was not. It was a nice little fly, to be sure, but the centre fielder, running in, had it safely before the batter reached first.

Then, with Nottingham out, the ball was hurled home to nip the runner at the plate.

Dugan, who had started in from third, ran desperately, and slid in a cloud of dust.

"You're out!" howled the umpire, waving him to the bench.

"He never touched me!" retorted Dugan. "I was safe by a mile!"

"Robber!" shrieked the throng in the bleachers.

"Get a pair of gla.s.ses!"

"He was never out!"

The umpire listened indifferently to the tirade. Dugan dusted off his uniform, and, losing his temper, shook his fist at the umpire, sneering:

"You big fat----" and the rest of it does not matter.

"That'll cost you just twenty-five dollars, and you can go to the clubhouse," said the umpire, coolly.

Dugan's face fell, and Manager Watson flushed. He bit his lips to keep from making a retort. But, after all, the umpire was clearly within his rights.