CHAPTER XII

AN AMAZING FEAT

Thompson, still believing that Jim was trying to get a rise out of him, walked back to his own bench, growling to himself.

Reis was the first to face Joe in the last half of the ninth. Joe measured him carefully, took his time in winding up, and then, with all the signs of delivering a fast high one, sent over a floater that Reis reached for and hit into the dirt in front of the plate. Joe ran on it, picked it up and tossed it to Burkett for an easy out.

Rance, the Brooklyn pitcher, came to the plate. Joe sent over a hop that Rance caught on the under side for a foul high up back of the rubber that Mylert caught without moving from his position.

With two out, Tighe missed the first one that came over so fast that it had settled in Mylert’s glove before the batter had completed his swing. The next he fouled off for strike two. Then Joe whizzed over his old reliable fadeaway.

“You’re out!” cried the umpire.

The game was over and the Giants had beaten their redoubtable foes by a score of four to none. They had whitewashed their opponents and broken their winning streak.

And what was sweeter to Jim at the moment was that Joe had fulfilled his prediction. Only the pitcher, catcher and first baseman had been necessary to turn the Brooklyns back. The other six men of the Giant team had had nothing to do and might as well have been off the field. It was almost magical pitching, the climax of the art.

Joe and Jim grinned at each other in a knowing way as the former came into the bench.

“You pulled it off that time all right, Joe!” exclaimed Jim gleefully, as he threw his arm around his chum’s shoulder. “I piped off Thompson to what you were going to do and he thought I had gone nutty. He’d have given me an awful razz if it had failed to go through.”

“You were taking awful chances,” laughed Joe. “Of course, I might do that once in a while, but only a superman could do it all the time. But in this inning, luck was with us.”

Thompson at this moment came strolling over toward them. He was evidently consumed with curiosity.

“I’ll take the wind out of your sails at the start by admitting that you put one over on me,” he said, addressing himself to Jim. “Though how you knew what was about to happen is beyond me. How did you do it?” he asked, turning to Joe. “Have you got a horseshoe or rabbit’s foot concealed about you?”

“I assure you that I have nothing up my sleeve to deceive you,” Joe said, rolling up his sleeves in the best manner of the professional conjurer. “It simply means that the hand is quicker than the eye.”

“Cut out the funny stuff and tell me just how you did it,” persisted Thompson.

“I’ll tell you,” said McRae, who had been an amused listener to the conversation. “That’s an old trick of Joe’s that he’s tried out when we’ve been playing exhibition games in the spring training practice. More than once, we’ve called in the whole team, except Joe, the catcher, and the first baseman. Then Joe’s done just what he did this afternoon. Of course, it doesn’t always go through, but in many cases he has put it over.”

“There isn’t another pitcher in the League who would dare try it!” exclaimed Thompson.

“There’s only one Matson in the world,” said McRae simply. “On the level, Thompson, what would you give to have him on your team?”

“A quarter of a million dollars,” blurted out Thompson.

“You couldn’t have him for half a million,” said McRae, with a grin, as he turned away.

It was a jubilant crowd of Giants that gathered in the clubhouse after the game.

“How was that for your birthday present, Joe?” sang out Larry. “It wasn’t quite what you asked for, but it was the best we could do.”

“It was plenty,” laughed Joe. “I’d rather have those runs you gave me than a diamond ring. Keep it up, boys, and we’ll soon be up at the top of the League. We’ve been a long time in getting started, but now just watch our smoke. This game pulls us out of the second division. We’re right on the heels of the Brooklyns. Let’s give those fellows to-morrow the same dose they got to-day. Then we’ll get after the Pittsburghs and the Chicagos.”

“That’s the stuff!” cried Larry. “We’ll show ’em where they get off. They’ve been hogging the best seats in this show. Now we’ll send ’em back to the gallery.”

Joe smiled happily at the enthusiasm of the boys. It was what he had been trying to instill ever since he had been made the captain of the team. He knew that the material was there--the batting, the fielding, and the pitching. But all this counted for nothing as long as the spirit was lacking, the will to victory, the confidence that they could win.

There was just one piece of the machinery, however, that was not working smoothly, and that was Iredell. He had been sulky and mutinous ever since he had been displaced by Joe in the captaincy of the team. Joe had been most considerate and had gone out of his way to be kind to him, but all his advances had been rebuffed.

“You’re certainly getting the team into fine shape, Joe,” said Jim, as they made their way out of the grounds. “They played championship ball behind you this afternoon.”

“They sure did,” agreed Joe. “Those plays by Larry, especially, were sparklers. I never saw the old boy in better form. He’s one of the veterans of the game, and you might expect him to be slipping, but to-day he played like a youngster with all a veteran’s skill. If everybody had the same spirit, I’d have nothing more to ask.”

“Meaning Iredell, I suppose,” said Jim.

“Just him,” replied Joe. “It isn’t that there’s anything especially I can lay my hands on. He plays good mechanical ball. His fielding is good and he’s keeping up fairly well with the stick. But the mischief of it is, it’s all mechanical. He’s like a galvanized dead man going through the motions, but a dead man just the same. I wish I could put some life into him. After a while, that dulness of his will begin to affect the rest of the team. It takes only one drop of ink to darken a whole glass of water.”

“I noticed that in the clubhouse this afternoon,” said Jim thoughtfully, “all the rest of the fellows were bubbling over, while he sat apart with a frown on his face as though we’d lost the game instead of having won it.”

“Well, he’ll have to get over that and get over it quickly,” said Joe with decision. “We can’t have him casting a wet blanket over the rest of the team. The trouble is, we haven’t any one available to put in his place just now, and it’s hard to get one at this stage of the season. Renton’s a likely youngster, but he needs a little more seasoning before I could trust him in such a responsible position as that of shortstop.”

“If that Mornsby deal had only gone through, we’d have had a crackerjack,” said Jim regretfully.

“We sure would!” replied Joe. “But I felt from the beginning that we didn’t have much chance of getting him. If the St. Louis management had let him go, they might as well have shut up shop. The fans would have hooted them out of town. Anyway, I’d rather develop a player than buy him. I’m going to coach young Renton with a possible view to taking Iredell’s place, if it becomes necessary.”

The next day Brooklyn again came to the Polo Grounds, determined to regain their lost laurels of the day before. This time they relied on Reuter, while McRae sent Jim into the box.

That Reuter was good, became evident before the game had gone very far. He had a world of speed and his curves were breaking well. Up to the seventh inning, only two hits had been made off of him, one of which was a homer by Joe and another a two-base hit by Burkett. His support was superb, and more than one apparent hit was turned into an out by clever fielding.

Jim, in the early innings, was not up to his usual mark. He had most of the stuff that had given him such high repute as a pitcher, except that he could not handle his wide-breaking curve with his usual skill. The failure of that curve to break over the plate got him several times in the hole. He relied too much also on his slow ball when, with the dull, cloudy weather that prevailed, speed would have been more effective.

But, although he was not in his best form, his courage never faltered. He was game in the pinches. Leete, for instance, in the fifth inning, laced the first ball pitched into leftfield for a clean homer. There was no one out when the mighty clout was made, but Jim refused to be disconcerted. He struck out Mornier, the heavy hitting first baseman of the Dodgers, made Tonsten hit a slow roller to the box that went for an easy out, and fanned Trench, after the latter had sent up two fouls in his unavailing attempt to hit the ball squarely.

Again in the sixth, after a triple and a single in succession had scored another run, he settled down and mowed the next three down in order.

But though his nerve was with him, the Brooklyn batsmen kept getting to him, picking up one run after the other until at the end of the seventh inning they had four runs to their credit while only one lone score had been made by the Giants. The Brooklyn rooters were jubilant, for it looked as though their pets had just about sewed up the game.

But in the Giants’ half of the eighth Reuter began to crack. He started well enough by making Curry pop to Mornier. Iredell came next and shot a single to left, his first hit of the game and the third that had been made off Reuter up to that time. Then Burkett followed suit with a beauty to right that sent Iredell to third, though a good return throw by Reis held Burkett to the initial bag.

The two hits in succession seemed to affect Reuter’s control, and he gave Wheeler a base on balls. Now the bags were full, with only one man out, and the Giant rooters, who had hitherto been glum, were standing up in their places and shouting like mad.

McRae sent Ledwith, a much faster man than Wheeler, to take the latter’s place on first, while he himself ran out on the coaching line and Robbie scurried in the direction of third.

Jackwell was next at bat, and the chances were good for a double play by Brooklyn. But Reuter’s tired arm had lost its cunning and, try as he would, he could not get the ball over the plate. Amid a pandemonium of yells from the excited fans he passed Jackwell to first, forcing a run over the plate. And still the bases were full.

It was evident that Reuter was “through,” and Thompson signaled him to come in. He took off his glove and walked into the bench to a chorus of sympathetic cheers from the partisans of both sides in recognition of the superb work he had done up to that fateful inning.

Grimm took his place and tossed a few balls to the catcher in order to warm up. It was a hard assignment to take up the pitcher’s burden with the bases full.

The first ball he put over came so near to “beaning” Larry that the latter only saved himself by dropping to the ground. McRae signaled to him to wait the pitcher out. He did so, with the result that he, too, trotted to first on four bad balls, forcing another run home and making the score four to three in favor of the Brooklyns.

Grimm braced for the next man, Bowen, and struck him out, as Bowen let even good balls go by, hoping to profit by the pitcher’s wildness. But this time he reckoned without his host and retired discomfited to the bench.

Joe came next and received a mighty hand as he went to the plate. His three comrades on the bases implored him to bring them home.

Grimm was in a dilemma. Under ordinary circumstances he would have passed Joe and taken a chance on Mylert. But to pass him now meant the forcing home of another run, which would have tied the score. On the other hand, a clean hit would bring at least two men home and put the Giants ahead. There was still, however, the third chance--that Joe might not make a hit. In that case there would be three men out, leaving the Brooklyns ahead.

He took the third alternative and pitched to Joe, putting all the stuff he had on the ball. Joe swung at it and missed. Two balls followed in succession. Then he whizzed over a high, fast one that Joe caught fairly and sent out on a line between left and center for a sizzling triple, clearing the bases and himself coming into third standing up.

The Giants and their partisans went wild with joy as the three men followed each over the plate, making the score six to four in favor of the home team.

And at that figure the score remained, for Jim pitched like a man possessed in the Brooklyn’s half of the ninth and set them down as fast as they came to the bat.

“That’s what you call pulling the game out of the fire,” exulted Larry, as the Giants were holding a jubilee in the clubhouse after the game.

“Yes,” agreed Jim. “But it was a hard game for Reuter to lose. He outpitched me up to that fatal eighth inning. He had a world of stuff on the ball.”

“He’s a crackerjack, all right,” agreed Joe. “And it certainly looked as though he had us going.”

“Didn’t have you going much that I could notice, except going around the bases,” declared Larry, with a wide grin. “That was a corking homer of yours, and the triple was almost as good.”

“Better, as far as the results were concerned,” put in Jim. “For it brought home three men and settled the game. It was a life saver, and no mistake. Talk about Johnny on the spot. Joe on the spot is the salvation of the Giants!”