CHAPTER V
THE CLASH
"That's the way! Line 'em out, now!"
"Put some speed into that!"
"Look out for a high one!"
"Oh, get farther back! I'm going to knock the cover off this time!"
These were only a few of the cries and calls that echoed over the ballfield at Montville. The occasion was the daily practice of the Pittstonnine, and orders had come from the manager and trainer to start in onmore lively work. It was Joe's third day with the professionals.
He had made the acquaintance of all the players, but as yet had neitheradmitted, nor been admitted to, a real friendship with any of them. Itwas too early.
Joe held back because he was naturally a bit diffident. Then, too, mostof the men were older than he, and with one exception they had been inthe professional ranks for several seasons. That one exception wasCharlie Hall, who played short. He, like Joe, had been taken thatSpring from the amateur ranks. Hall had played on a Western collegeteam, and had been picked out by one of the ever-present professionalscouts.
With Charlie, Joe felt more at home than with any of the others and yethe felt that soon he would have good friends among the older men.
On their part they did not become friendly with Joe at once simply forthe reason that they wanted to "size him up," or "get his number," asJimmie Mack put it in speaking of the matter.
"But they'll cotton to you after a bit, Joe," said the assistant manager,"and you'll like them, too. Don't get discouraged."
"I won't," was the answer.
There was one man on the team, though, with whom Joe felt that he wouldnever be on friendly terms, and this was Jake Collin, one of thepitchers--the chief pitcher and mainstay of the nine on the mound, fromwhat Joe picked up by hearing the other men talk. And Collin himself wasnot at all modest about his ability. That he had ability Joe was readyto concede. And Collin wanted everyone else to know it, too. He wasalways talking about his record, and his batting average, which, to dohim credit, was good.
Collin was not much older than Joe, but a rather fast life and hardliving counted for more than years. Joe heard whispers that Collincould not last much longer.
Perhaps it was a realization of this that made Collin rather resent thearrival of our hero on the Pittston nine. For he gave Joe but a coldgreeting, and, as he moved off to practice, the young pitcher could hearhim saying something about "college dudes thinking they can playprofessional ball."
Joe's faced flushed, but he said nothing. It was something that calledmore for deeds than words.
"Everybody lively now! I want some snappy work!" called Jimmie Mack asthe practice progressed. "If we're going to play the Montville teamSaturday we want to snow them under. A win by a few runs won't be thething at all, and, let me tell you, those boys can play ball.
"So step lively, everybody. Run bases as if you meant to get back homesome time this week. Slug the ball until the cover comes off. And you,Collin, get a little more speed on your delivery. Is your arm sore?"
"Arm sore? I guess not! I'm all right!" and the man's eyes snappedangrily.
"Well, then, show it. Let's see what you've got up your sleeve, anyhow.Here comes Gregory now--he'll catch a few for you, and then we'll dosome batting."
The manager, whom Joe had met and liked, came out to join in thepractice. He nodded to our hero, and then took Collin off to one side,to give him some instructions.
Joe under the direction of Jimmie Mack was allowed to do some pitchingnow. With Terry Hanson the left fielder, to back him up, Joe beganthrowing in the balls on a space in front of the grandstand.
Joe noticed that Collin regarded him sharply in the intervals of his ownpractice, but he was prepared for a little professional jealousy, andknew how to take it. He had seen it manifested often enough at schooland college, though there the spirit of the university was paramount topersonal triumph--every player was willing to sacrifice himself that theteam might win. And, in a large measure, of course, this is so inprofessional baseball. But human nature is human nature, whether one isplaying for money or for glory, and in perhaps no other sport wheremoney counts for as much as it does in baseball, will you find more ofthe spirit of the school than in the ranks of the diamond professionals.
"Take it easy, Joe; take it easy," advised Terry, with a good-naturedsmile, as the lad stung in the balls. "You've got speed, and I'm willingto admit it without having you split my mitt. But save yourself for agame. You're not trying to pitch anyone out now, you know, and there'sno one looking at you."
"I guess I forgot this was just practice," admitted Joe with a laugh."I'll throw in some easy ones."
He did, and saw an admiring look on Terry's face.
"They seem to have the punch--that's a nice little drop you've got. Butdon't work it too much. Vary your delivery."
From time to time as the practice proceeded Terry gave Joe good advice.Occasionally this would be supplemented by something Mack or Gregorywould say and Joe took it all in, resolving to profit by it.
The practice came to an end, and the players were advised by theirtrainer, Mike McGuire, to take walks in the country round-about.
"It'll be good for your legs and wind," was the comment.
Joe enjoyed this almost as much as the work on the field, for thecountry was new to him and a source of constant delight. He went outwith some of the men, and again would stroll off by himself.
Saturday, the day when the first practice game was to be played, foundJoe a bit nervous. He wondered whether he would get a chance to pitch.So too, for that matter, did Tom Tooley, the south-paw moundman, whowas nearer Joe's age than was Collin.
"Who's going to be the battery?" was heard on all sides as the Pittstonplayers went to the grounds.
"The old man hasn't given it out yet," was the reply of Jimmie Mack. The"old man" was always the manager, and the term conveyed no hint ofdisrespect.
The Montville team, a semi-professional one, was a good bit like theSilver Stars, Joe thought, when he saw the members run out on thediamond for practice. Still they looked to be a "husky lot," as headmitted, and he was glad of it, for he wanted to see what he and histeam-mates could do against a good aggregation.
"Play ball! Play ball!" called the umpire, as he dusted off the homeplate. There was quite a crowd present, and when Gregory handed over hisbatting list the umpire made the announcement:
"Batteries--for Pittston, Collin and Gregory. For Montville, Smith andJennings."
"Um. He's going to pitch Collin," murmured Tooley in Joe's ear. "Thatmeans we warm the bench."
Joe was a little disappointed, but he tried not to show it.
This first game was neither better nor worse than many others. Naturallythe playing was ragged under the circumstances.
The Pittstons had everything to lose by being beaten and not much togain if they won the game. On the other hand the home nine had much togain in case they should win. So they took rather desperate chances.
Pittston was first at bat, and succeeded in getting two runs over. Thencame a slump, and in quick succession three men went down, two beingstruck out. The Montville pitcher was a professional who had been in abig league, but who had drifted to a minor, and finally landed in thesemi-pro ranks. But he had some good "heaves" left.
Collin walked to the mound with a rather bored air of superiority. Therewas a little whispered conference between him and the catcher-manager,and the second half of the first inning began.
Collin did well, and though hit twice for singles, not a run came in,and the home team was credited with a zero on the score-board.
"Oh, I guess we can play some!" cried one of the professionals.
"What are you crowing over?" demanded Jimmie Mack. "If we win this Isuppose you fellows will want medals! Why this is nothing but a kidbunch we're up against."
"Don't let 'em fool you, though," advised the manager, who overheard thetalk.
And then, to the surprise and dismay of all, the home team proceeded to"
do things" to the professionals. They began making runs, and succeededin stopping the winning streak of the Pittstons.
The detailed play would not interest you, and, for that matter it was athing the Pittstons did not like to recall afterward. There was a badslump, and when the seventh inning arrived Gregory called:
"Matson, you bat for Collin."
Joe felt the blood rush to his face.
"Does that mean I'm going to be taken out of the box?" asked the chiefpitcher, stalking angrily over to the manager.
"It means just that, son. I can't afford to lose this game, and we surewill the way you're feedin' 'em in to 'em. I guess you drew it a littletoo fine the last few days. You need a rest."
"But--I--er--I----" protested Collin.
"That'll do," said Gregory, sharply. "Joe Matson will pitch. It's achance, but I've got to take it."
"What's the matter with Tooley?" demanded Collin. "What do you want togo shove this raw college jake in ahead of us for? Say!"
"Go to the bench!" ordered the manager. "I know what I'm doing, Collin!"
The pitcher seemed about to say something, and the look he gave Joe wasfar from friendly. Then, realizing that he was under the manager'sorders, he stalked to the bench.
"You won't do this again, if I can prevent it!" snapped Collin at Joe,as he passed him. "I'll run you out of the league, if you try to come itover me!"
Only a few players heard him, and one or two whispered to him to quietdown, but he glared at Joe, who felt far from comfortable.
But he was to have his chance to pitch at last.