CHAPTER XVI
JOE'S TRIUMPH
"Well, what do you know about that?" cried Rad, with a queer look atJoe.
"I don't know what to think about it, and that's the truth," was thesimple but puzzled answer.
"But who are they--what do they mean? The idea of them threatening youthat way! Why, that's against the law!"
"Maybe it is," agreed Joe. "As for who those men are, you know Wessel,of course."
"Yes. The fellow who jumped his board bill at the hotel. Say, I guessthe proprietor would like to see him. He has nerve coming back to thistown. I've a good notion to tell the hotel clerk he's here. Mr. Watsonwould be glad to know it, too, for he takes it as a reflection on theteam that Wessel should claim to be one of us, and then cheat the way hedid."
"Maybe it would be a good plan to tell on him," agreed Joe.
"And who's the other chap, and why did he threaten you?" his chum asked.
"That's another queer thing," the young pitcher went on. "He's angry atme, as near as I can tell, because I had to refuse him a loan," and hedetailed the circumstances of his meeting with Shalleg.
"But it's odd that he and Wessel should be chumming together. I've saidlittle about it, but I've been wondering for a long time why Wesselquarreled with me. I begin to see a light now. It must have been thatShalleg put him up to it."
"A queer game," admitted Rad. "Well, I think I'll put the hotelproprietor wise to the fact that he can collect that board bill from IkeWessel."
But Joe and Rad found their plans unexpectedly changed when they went toput them into effect. They were a little late getting back to the hotelfrom the grounds, as Joe had some purchases to make. And, as the twochums entered the lobby, they saw standing by the desk the two men inquestion. Mr. Watson was addressing Shalleg in no uncertain tones.
"No, I tell you!" he exclaimed. "I won't have you on the team, and thisis the last time I'll tell you. And I don't want you hanging around,either. You don't do us any good."
"Is that your last word?" asked Shalleg, angrily.
"Yes, my last word. I want you to clear out and leave us alone."
"Huh! I guess you can't keep me away from games!" sneered Shalleg. "Thisis a free country."
"Well, you keep away from my club," warned Mr. Watson, with greatfirmness. "I wouldn't have you as a bat-tender."
The flushed and ill-favored face of Shalleg grew more red, if that werepossible, and he growled:
"Oh, don't let that worry you. Some day you may be glad to send for meto help pull your old club out of the cellar. Someone has been talkingabout me, that's the trouble; and if I find out who it is I'll make 'emsweat for it!" and he glared at Joe, who was too amazed at the strangeturn of affairs to speak.
Then the two cronies turned and started out of the hotel lobby. But Radwas not going to be foiled so easily. He slipped over to the clerk andwhispered:
"Say, that's the fellow who jumped his board bill, you know," and henodded at Wessel.
"Yes, I know," the clerk replied. "He just came in to settle. Heapologized, and said he had to leave in a hurry," and the clerk winkedhis eye to show how much belief he placed in the story.
"Hum!" mused Rad. "That's rather queer. He must have wanted to squarematters up so he could come back to town safely."
"Looks so," returned the clerk.
Joe talked the matter over with his roommate, as to whether or not itwould be advisable to tell Mr. Watson how Shalleg had threatened theyoung pitcher, and also whether to speak about the queer actions ofWessel.
"But I think, on the whole," concluded Joe, "that I won't say anything;at least not yet a while. The boss has troubles enough as it is."
"I guess you're right," agreed Rad.
"But what about him being in our room that night?" asked Joe. "I wonderif I hadn't better speak of that?"
"Oh, I don't know as I would," replied his chum. "In the first place, wecan't be absolutely sure that it was he, though I guess you're prettycertain. Then, again, we didn't miss anything, and he could easily claimit was all a mistake--that he went in by accident--and we'd be laughedat for making such a charge."
"Probably," agreed Joe. "As you say, I can't be dead sure, though I'mmorally certain."
"One of the porters might have opened our door by mistake," went on Rad."You know the hotel workers have pass-keys. Better let it drop." Andthey did. Joe, however, often wondered, in case Wessel had entered hisroom, what his object could have been. But it was not until some timelater that he learned.
Shalleg and his crony were not seen around the hotel again, nor, forthat matter, at the ball grounds, either--at least during the next week.
Practice went on as usual, only it grew harder and more exacting. Joewas made to pitch longer and longer each day, and, though he did not geta chance to play in many games, and then only unimportant ones, still hewas not discouraged.
There were many shifts among the out and infield staff, the managertrying different players in order to get the best results. The pitchingstaff remained unchanged, however. Some more recruits were received,some of them remaining after a gruelling try-out, and others "falling bythe wayside."
In addition to pitching balls for Boswell to catch, and doing some stickwork, Joe was required to practice with the other catchers of the team.
"I want you to get used to all of them, Matson," said the manager."There's no telling, in this business, when I may have to call on myyoungsters. I want you to be always ready."
"I'll try," promised Joe, with a smile.
"You're coming on," observed Boswell, after a day of hard pitching,which had made Joe's arm ache. "You're coming on, youngster. I guessyou're beginning to feel that working in a big league is different thanin a minor; eh?"
"It sure is!" admitted Joe, rubbing his aching muscles.
"Well, you're getting more speed and better control," went on theveteran. "And you don't mind taking advice; that's what I like aboutyou."
"Indeed I'd be glad of any tips you could give me," responded Joe,earnestly.
He did indeed realize that there was a hard road ahead of him, and hewas a little apprehensive of the time when he might be called on topitch against such a redoubtable team as the Giants.
"Most folks think," went on Boswell, "that the chief advantage a pitcherhas over a batter is his speed or his curves. Well, that isn't exactlyso. The thing of it is that the batter has to guess whether the ballthat's coming toward him is a swift straight one, or a comparativelyslow curve. You see, he's got to make up his mind mighty quickly as tothe speed of the horsehide, and he can't always do it.
"Now, if a batter knew in advance just what the pitcher was going todeliver--whether a curve or a straight one, why that batter would havea cinch, so to speak. You may be the best twirler in the league, but youcouldn't win your games if the batters knew what you were going to handthem--that is, knew in advance, I mean."
"But that's what signals are for," exclaimed Joe. "I watch the catcher'ssignals, and if I think he's got the right idea I sign that I'll heavein what he's signalled for. If not, I'll make a switch."
"Exactly," said the old player, "and that's what I'm coming to. If yoursignals are found out, where are you? Up in the air, so to speak. So youwant to have several sets of signals, in order to change them in themiddle of an inning if you find you're being double-crossed. There'slots of coaches who are fiends at getting next to the battery signs, andtipping them off to their batters. Then the batters know whether to stepout to get a curve, or lay back to wallop a straight one. The signalbusiness is more important than most players think."
Joe believed this, and, at his suggestion, and on the advice of Boswell,a little later, a new signal system was devised between the pitchers andcatchers. Joe worked hard to master it, for it was rather complicated.He wrote the system out, and studied it in his room nights.
"Well, boys, a few weeks more and we'll be going home for the openingof the season," said Mr. Watson in the hotel lobby one day. "I see theBoston
Braves are about through training, the Phillies are said to beall primed, and the Giants are ready to eat up all the rest of us."
"Whom do we open with?" asked Joe.
"The Cincinnati Reds," answered the manager. "The exact date isn't setyet, but it will be around the last of April. We've got some hard gameshere yet. I'm going to play some exhibitions on the way up North, tobreak you in gradually."
More hard work and practice, and the playing of several games with theReedville and other local nines soon brought the time of departurenearer.
"This is our last week," Mr. Watson finally announced. "And I'm going toput you boys up against a good stiff proposition. We'll play the Nipperteam Saturday, and I want to warn you that there are some former bigleaguers on it, who can still hit and run and pitch, though they're notqualified for the big circuit. So don't go to the grounds with the ideathat it'll be a cinch. Play your best. Of course I know you will, andwin; but don't fall down!"
Joe hoped he would be called on to pitch, but when the game started,before the biggest crowd that had yet assembled at the Reedvillegrounds, the umpire announced the Cardinal battery as Slim Cooney andRob Russell.
"Play ball!" came the signal, and the game was under way.
To make the contest a little more even the St. Louis team were to batfirst, giving the visitors the advantage of coming up last in the ninthinning.
"Doolin up!" called the score keeper, and the lanky left-handed hitterstrolled up to the plate, while Riordan, who was on deck, took up acouple of bats, swinging them about nervously to limber his arms.
"Strike one!" bawled the umpire, at the first delivery of the visitingpitcher.
Doolin turned with a look of disgust and stared at the arbiter, but saidnothing. There was an exchange of signals between catcher and pitcher,and Joe watched to see if he could read them. But he could not.
"Ball," was the next decision, and this time the pitcher looked pained.
It got to be three and two, and the St. Louis team became ratherinterested.
Doolin swung at the next with vicious force--and missed.
"Strike three--batter's out!" announced the umpire, as the ball landedwith a thud in the deep pit of the catcher's mitt.
Doolin threw down his bat hard.
"What's he got?" whispered Riordan, as he went forward.
"Aw, nothing so much! This light bothers me, or I'd have hit for athree-sacker, believe me!"
Riordan smiled, but he did little better. He hit, but the next man fliedout. Rad was up next and hit a twisting grounder that just managed toevade the shortstop, putting Rad on first and advancing Riordan.
But that was the end. The next man was neatly struck out, and agoose-egg went up in St. Louis's frame.
"Got to get 'em, boys," announced the manager grimly, as the team wentto the field.
Cooney did not allow a hit that inning, but he was pounded for two whenhe was on the mound again, St. Louis in the meanwhile managing to get arun, through an error.
"Say, this is some little team," declared Boswell admiringly.
"I told you they were," replied the manager. "I want to see our boyswork."
And work they had to.
The best pitcher in the world has his off days, and the best pitcher inthe world may occasionally be pounded, as Slim Cooney was hit that day.How it happened no one could say, but the Nippers began to slide ahead,chiefly through hard hitting and excellent pitching.
"This won't do," said Manager Watson as the sixth inning saw the scoretied. "Matson, go out and warm up. I'm going to see what you can do. I'mtaking a chance, maybe; but I'll risk it."
Joe's heart beat fast. Here was his chance. Willard, who sat near him onthe bench, muttered angrily under his breath.
"If I can only do something!" thought Joe, anxiously.