CHAPTER VIII

THE HIDDEN-BALL TRICK

“Oh, I wouldn’t tell Jim!” exclaimed Mabel, in alarm. “In the first place, we’re not clear enough about what Clara means to do. Perhaps it won’t amount to anything after all. And if it does, it’ll be bad enough when it comes without our doing anything to hasten it.”

“I can’t understand it,” said Joe, gloomily. “There never seemed to be two people more perfectly made for each other than Jim and Clara--always excepting ourselves,” he hastened to add, as he pressed her hand--“and it will be one of the greatest blows of my life if there should be any break between them. Clara seemed to be dead in love with Jim; and as for him, he fairly worships the ground she walks on. When he gets one of her letters, he’s dead to the world. And he’s one of the finest fellows that ever breathed. I look on him as a brother. He hasn’t any bad habits, is as straight as a string, a splendid specimen of manhood, handsome, well educated--what on earth could any girl ask for more? And he’s making a splendid income too. Has Clara suddenly gone crazy?”

“It’s beyond me,” replied Mabel. “Clara is the dearest girl, but just now I’d like to give her a good shaking. Lots of girls of course are dazzled by millions, but I never believed Clara would be one of them. And perhaps she isn’t, Joe dear. We may be doing her a great injustice. We’ll have to wait and see.”

“Well, promise me, anyway, that you’ll write to her at once,” urged Joe. “I’d do it myself, but you girls can talk to each other about such things a good deal better than any man can. Try to bring her to her senses and urge her not to wreck her own life and Jim’s simply for money or social position. She’d only be gaining the shadow of happiness and losing the substance.”

“I’ll write to-morrow,” promised Mabel. “But now let’s dismiss all unpleasant thoughts and remember only that we’re together.”

While Joe was desperate at the injury to his foot that kept him out of the game just at a time he was sorely needed by his team, he found some compensation in the fact that he could spend more time with Mabel than would otherwise have been possible. He did not have to take part in the morning practice, and in the afternoons he and Mabel attended the games together as spectators.

On the other hand, Mabel was deeply disappointed that she could not see Joe pitch, as she had joyously counted on doing. She was intensely proud of her famous young husband, and was always one of the most enthusiastic rooters when he was scheduled to take his turn in the box. More than once Joe had won some critical game because of the inspiration that came to him from the knowledge that Mabel was looking on. But there was no use murmuring against fate, and they had to take things as they were, promising themselves to make up for their disappointment later in the season.

Reggie, too, felt that fate had treated him unfairly.

“Why, to tell the bally truth, old topper,” he declaimed to Joe, “I didn’t have to come to Chicago at all, don’t you know! I just drummed up the excuse that I ought to look over our branch in this city, and the guv’nor fell for it. It’s rippin’, simply rippin’, the way you’ve been pitchin’ and battin’ ever since the season opened, and I’d been countin’ on seem’ you stand the blighters on their heads. And just when I got here, the old leg had to go bad! It’s disgustin’!”

“Hard luck, old boy,” laughed Joe. “But you’ll see many a game yet through that blessed monocle of yours. If you feel sore, think how much sorer I am and take comfort.”

The crowning disgrace of having the Cubs take four games in a row was happily spared the Giants. McRae put in Jim again, and this time the team gave him better support and he pulled out a victory.

“Great stuff, old man,” congratulated Joe, as Jim, after the game, came up to the box in which Joe and Mabel were sitting.

“You pitched beautifully, Jim,” was Mabel’s tribute, as she smiled upon him.

“Awfully nice of you to say so,” responded Jim, in a sort of lifeless way. “But most of the credit was due to the team. They played good ball to-day. Guess I’ll go and dress now and see you later.”

Joe and Mabel looked at each other, as Jim stalked away across the diamond to the clubhouse.

“Doesn’t seem very responsive, does he?” remarked Mabel.

“No, he doesn’t,” said Joe thoughtfully. “Generally he’s bubbling over with enthusiasm after the Giants have won. He’s been very quiet since our talk last night.”

“Do you think he suspected there was anything wrong?” asked Mabel, anxiously.

“I shouldn’t wonder,” answered Joe somberly. “He’s quick as a flash to sense anything, and I noticed a shadow on his face as he watched you when we were talking about Clara. Hang it all!” he burst out, with a vehemence that startled Mabel. “If Clara throws him down, I’ll never forgive her, even if she is my sister. What’s the matter with the girls nowadays, anyway? Haven’t they any sense?”

“Some of them have,” answered Mabel. “Myself, for instance. That’s the reason I married you, Joe dear.”

“For which heaven be thanked,” responded Joe, with a fervor that left nothing for Mabel to desire. “I’m the luckiest fellow on earth. And just because I am so happy, I want Jim to be happy too.

“Then, there’s another thing,” he went on, “which, while it’s infinitely less important than Jim’s happiness, is important, just the same. That is the effect it will have on the chances of the Giants. We never needed men to be in shape to do their best work as much as we need them now. And the most important men on any team are the pitchers. I’m not saying that because I’m a pitcher, but because it’s a simple fact that every one knows. Let the pitchers go wrong, and the best team on earth can’t win. And a pitcher that has a load of trouble on his mind can’t do his best work. How do you suppose Jim can keep up to his standard if Clara does her best to break his heart?”

“I suppose that’s true,” assented Mabel. “And yet I thought he pitched well to-day.”

“He doesn’t know all we know,” replied Joe. “He just has a suspicion, and he’s trying to assure himself that it’s groundless. But even at that, he wasn’t in his usual form this afternoon. You may not have noticed it, but I did. He got by because the boys played well behind him and because the Cubs let down and played indifferent ball. But he wasn’t the old Jim. Already that thing is beginning to work on him. And if the worst happens, it will break him all up--at least, for the present season. If I had that sister of mine here this afternoon, I’ll bet she’d hear something that would make her ears burn.”

Mabel soothed him as best she could, but her own heart was heavy as she thought of the possibilities that the future held in store for poor Jim.

From Chicago the Giants went to St. Louis, the last stop on their Western schedule. Here they had some hopes of redeeming themselves and making up for their recent failures, for the Cardinals were going none too well. Mornsby, their famous shortstop, had had a quarrel with the manager, and was seeking to get his release to some other team, any one of which would have snapped him up at a fabulous price. There were rumors of cliques in the team, and their prospects for the season were none too flattering.

But no matter how poorly a team had been going, they always seemed to brace up when they were to meet the Giants. They reserved their best pitchers for those games, and the fans came out in droves in order to see the proud team of the Metropolis humbled.

So the clean sweep that the Giants had been hoping for did not materialize. Markwith, to be sure, carried off the first game by a comfortable margin. He was one of the pitchers who when he was good was very good indeed, and on that day his southpaw slants were simply unhittable.

But the St. Louis evened things up the next day by beating Bradley, one of the Giants’ second string pitchers, by a score of eight to five. On the following day, the pendulum swung again to the other side of the arc, and Jim chalked up a victory, despite some pretty free hitting by the home team.

The Giants pinned their hopes once again to Markwith in the last game of the series. He was not so good as on the opening day, but even then he might have won, had it not been for a stupid play by Iredell in the ninth inning.

One man was out in the Giants’ last half. The score was seven to six in favor of St. Louis. Iredell had reached first on a single, and on a wild pitch had advanced to second. Burkett, the heavy hitting first baseman, was at the bat. A hit would probably bring Iredell in and tie the score.

Iredell was taking a pretty long lead off second and “Red” Smith, the Cardinal catcher, shot the ball down to second, hoping to catch him napping. Iredell, however, made a quick slide back to the bag and got there before Salberg, the Cardinal second baseman, could put the ball on him.

Iredell got up, grinned triumphantly at Salberg, dusted off his clothes, and again took a lead off the bag. Quick as a flash, Salberg, who had concealed the ball under his arm, ran up to Iredell and touched him out.

A groan of distress came from the Giants and their supporters and a roar of derision from the St. Louis crowd. That a big-league player could be caught by a trick that was as old as the hills seemed almost incredible. It was years since the moth-eaten play had been seen on a major-league diamond, and the crowd yelled itself hoarse.

Iredell stood for a moment as if stupefied, then he walked slowly into the bench, his face a flaming red. If McRae forebore to tell him what he thought of him, it was because he was so choked that the words would not come. But the glare that he turned on the luckless player was more eloquent than any words, even in his rich vocabulary.

Joe turned to Mabel, where he was sitting beside her in the stands immediately back of the pitcher.

“Did you see that?” he asked. “To think of a Giant player being caught by a sand-lot trick!”

“I didn’t quite get it,” answered Mabel. “I was looking at the batter at the time. Just what was it that happened?”

“Salberg hid the ball under his arm instead of throwing it back to the pitcher,” explained Joe. “Iredell took it for granted that he had thrown it, and was so busy dusting off his clothes that he didn’t make sure of it. Why, Shem tried that on Japhet when they came out of the ark. And to think that he chose this moment to pull that bonehead play! Look at that hit by Burkett. It would have brought Iredell home with the run which would have tied the score.”

Their eyes followed the flight of the ball, which was a mighty three-bagger that Burkett had lined out between right and center. It brought a rousing cheer from the Giant partisans, and hope revived that the game might yet be saved. But the hope was vain, for the fly that Wheeler sent out into the field settled firmly in the leftfielder’s hand, and the inning and the game were over, with the St. Louis having the big end of the score.

It was a hard game to lose, and it was a disgruntled lot of Giant players that filed off dejectedly to their dressing rooms. A sure tie, at least, had been within their grasp, and, as a matter of fact, a probable victory. For if Iredell had scored, as he could easily have done on the three base hit of Burkett, the latter would have been on third with only one man out instead of two and with the score tied. Then Wheeler’s long hit, even though an out, would have gone for a sacrifice and Burkett could easily have scored from third, putting the Giants one run ahead. To be sure, the St. Louis would still have had the last half of the ninth, but the Giants, fighting to hold their advantage, would have had all the odds in their favor.

But all the post mortems in the world could not change the fact that the game had gone into the St. Louis column and that the Giants, instead of taking three out of four, had had to be content with an even break. It was small consolation that that was better than they had been able to do with the other Western teams. The trip had been a terrible flivver, one of the worst that the Giant team had ever made while swinging around the circle.

“That’s the last straw that breaks the camel’s back,” growled McRae, savagely. “It’ll make us the laughing stock of the League. Why, at this minute, the crowds before the bulletin boards all over the United States are snickering at the Giants. Not merely a Giant player--that would be bad enough--but the Giant captain--get me?--the Giant captain, supposed to show his men how the game should be played, gets caught by the oldest and cheapest trick in the game. It’s all we needed to wind up this trip. I want to go away somewhere and hide my head. I hate to go back and face the grins of the New York fans.”

“It sure is tough,” agreed Robbie. “Of course that finishes Iredell as captain.”

“That goes without saying,” replied McRae. “Even if I were disposed to overlook it and give him another chance, I couldn’t do it now. When a captain, instead of being respected by his men, becomes the butt of the team and a joke to the fans all over the circuit, he’s through.”

A little later the stocky manager sought out Iredell and found him alone.

“I know what you want to see me about,” Iredell forestalled him. “You want my resignation as captain of the team. Well, here it is,” and he handed over a paper.

“All right, Iredell,” returned McRae, after he had scanned the paper carefully and stowed it away in his pocket. “I’ll accept this, and I won’t say anything more about that play, because I know how sore you’re feeling and I don’t want to rub it in. I’ll admit that at the time it happened, I saw red. But what’s past is past, and there’s no use crying about spilled milk.”

“You can have my resignation as shortstop too, if you want it,” growled Iredell, who was evidently in a nasty humor.

“I don’t want it,” said McRae, kindly. “You’re a good shortstop, and I’ve no fault to find with your work as such. And now that you’ve got nothing to think about except playing your position, I hope you’ll do better than ever. One thing I’m counting on, too, is that you cherish no grudges and give full loyalty to the man I’m going to make captain. Is that a go?”

Iredell grunted something that McRae chose to accept as an affirmative. But he would have changed his opinion if he had seen the ugly glare in Iredell’s eyes and the clenched fist that Iredell shook at the manager’s back as the latter walked away.

“Give me a dirty deal and expect me to take it lying down, do you?” he snarled. “You’ve got another guess coming, and don’t you forget it!”