CHAPTER XIX
DRIVING THEM HARD
The next morning dawned soft and balmy. The air was full of thefragrance of flowers and musical with the singing of birds. To Joe whotwo days before had been in a region of snow and ice where winter stillreigned supreme, it almost seemed as though he had been carried by thecarpet of Solomon to some different clime and country.
"Great Scott, but this is regular baseball weather!" he cried, as helooked out of the window. "Get a move on, Jim, and let's get outdoorsas soon as possible. It's a crime to waste any minute of a morning likethis."
Barclay, thus adjured, scrambled out of bed and they hurried into theirclothes.
"What time was it that McRae wanted us to be ready to start for the parkthis morning?" asked Jim.
"Nine o'clock sharp, and it's after seven now. We won't have more thantime to get our breakfast and get into our baseball togs."
They went down to the dining room where a special section had beenreserved for the team. Quite a number were already eating the excellentbreakfast and others soon straggled in until all were accounted for.There was a general air of hilarity, especially among the older membersof the team. The rookies, however, were on edge with nervousness inanticipation of the coming ordeal that meant so much to them. Theygulped down their meal in a preoccupied way and conversation lagged intheir corner.
By nine o'clock all had changed into their uniforms and had assembled infront of the hotel.
"Where's the bus?" asked one of the drafted men.
There was a roar of laughter from the old timers.
"The only bus you'll have will be those two legs of yours," chuckledCurry. "You'll start right in now, my bucko, to learn what they weremade for."
The abashed rookie subsided, and just then McRae put in his appearance.
"All here, eh?" he remarked, as his keen eye ran over the group. "Comealong then and we'll jog down to the Park."
The "jog" proved to be a run of two miles or more. It did notinconvenience Joe to any extent because he was already in fine fettle,but many of the others were winded by the time they reached the gates.But pride kept them from falling behind and none of them cared to take achance with the rasping tongue of McRae. Besides he was only asking themto do what he was willing to do himself and they soon learned that heworked just as hard to get into condition as any "busher" on the team.
Joe tingled clear to the finger tips as he passed through the entranceand his eye fell on the diamond. For months he had been hungry forbaseball. The passion for the game was in his blood, as it has to be ifone is going to be a star player. He longed for the music of bat meetingball. He felt like a colt let out to pasture in the spring.
"Go easy now, boys," warned McRae. "Don't get up too much steam all atonce. You pitchers, especially, cut out all curves for the first fewdays. Just straight ones and not too fast at that. You don't want to doanything more now than just limber up."
There were a number of bats and balls in the little clubhouse and thesewere brought quickly into service. The majority of the men scattered outinto the field, while others, standing near the plate, batted up flies.Others took the infield positions and passed the ball around the bases.The pitchers paired off with the catchers and tossed up a few easy ones,seldom cutting loose a fast one except at times when the temptationbecame too hard to resist. McRae wandered around the field watchingthe action of the different players, putting in a word of criticism oradvice here and there, but devoting himself especially to the new menfrom whom he hoped to cull a certain amount of "big league timber."No one knew better than he how hard this was to get. He had thirty ormore prospects on hand to develop, but if he really got two or threefirst-class men out of that number he would feel amply repaid for allthe trouble and expense.
At noon they ran back to the hotel for dinner and returned for atwo-hour session in the afternoon. They felt pretty tired when nightcame and they slept like logs. The next morning all were lame and soreand there were demands for arnica and a massage. But McRae believed thatone is cured by "the hair of the dog that bites him," and he insisted onthe two sessions just the same although he limited the time for each. Bythe end of a week most of the soreness had disappeared and the men wereas spry as kittens.
"Now," McRae announced one morning, "we're going to have some realpractice. I'm going to split the squad into two teams. One will becalled the Giants and the other the Yannigans. We'll only play sixinning games at the start, but I want them to be for blood. Most ofthe regulars will be on the Giant team, but I give you old timersfair warning that if any of the Yannigans play better ball than you dothey'll get your job."
To equalize matters somewhat, he let the Yannigans have one of thefirst string pitchers, but for the rest they had to stand or fall ontheir merits. And the Yannigans soon proved that they were not to bedespised. They wanted to show McRae what they could do, and they "workedtheir heads off" to defeat their rivals. More than once they had thatsatisfaction, although in the majority of games, as was to be expected,they came off second best.
The pitching staff too was now sent through its paces. Robson, thefamous old time catcher of the Orioles and a warm friend of McRae's, hadspecial charge of this work. For developing young pitchers he had noequal in the country.
He had a tip from McRae to pay especial attention to young Barclay, ofwhom the manager had great hopes. Jim had a good fast ball and a fairvariety of curves. But during his last year at Princeton he had beencoached by one of the greatest spit ball pitchers in the country and haddeveloped a very effective form of that puzzling delivery.
Neither McRae nor Robson favored the "moist" ball overmuch, as theythought it took too much out of the twirler and put too big a strainon his pitching arm. Chesebro, who discovered it and Ed Walsh of theChicagos who perfected it, had both been worn out before their time.Still, as no other pitcher on the Giants used it and Barclay was willingto take the chance, they were not averse to letting him show whathe could do. And Robson soon had to admit that what he could do was"plenty." Before long, it had become clear that, whoever might be sentback to the bushes, Jim would not be among them.
As for Joe himself, he had never been in finer shape at the beginningof a season. He had "speed to burn." The ball shot over the plate,like a bullet from a gun. His control was nearly perfect. He made theball fairly "talk." He won a game from the strong Houston team withcomparative ease and saved another from Waco after Markwith had beenbatted out of the box.
"You're playing like a house afire, Joe," said Jim, after this lastgame. "I'll bet you've got a rabbit's foot concealed about yousomewhere."
"Rabbit's foot be hanged," laughed Joe. "I know a trick worth two ofthat."
Could Joe have referred to a dainty little glove that nestled in hispocket?
In what estimation Joe was held by the "powers that be" may be inferredfrom a scrap of conversation that passed between McRae and Robson asthe team was working its way north, after training days were over, toopen the season at the Polo Grounds.
"What do you think of Matson, Robbie, old boy?" asked McRae.
"What do I think?" said Robson, emphatically. "I think he's going to bea second Hughson."