Chapter 18

HOT WORDS

That opening game, between the St. Louis Cardinals and the Cincinnati Reds, was not remarkable for good playing. Few opening games are, for the teams have not that fierce rivalry that develops later in the pennant season, and, though both try hard to win, they are not keyed up to the pitch that makes for a brilliant exhibition.

So that opening game was neither better nor worse than hundreds of others. But, as we have to deal mostly with Baseball Joe in this book, I will centre my attention on him.

His feelings, as he watched his fellow players in the field, the pitcher on the mound, and the catcher, girded like some ancient knight, may well be imagined. I fancy my readers, even if they are not baseball players, have been in much the same situation.

Joe sat on the bench, "eating his heart out," and longing for the chance that he had small hopes would come to him. How he wished to get up there, and show what he could do, only he realized.

But it was not to be.

Manager Watson's Cardinals went into the game with a rush, and had three runs safely stowed away in the ice box the first inning, after having gracefully allowed the Reds to score a goose egg.

Then came an uninteresting period, with both pitchers working their heads off, and nothing but ciphers going up on the score board.

"By Jove, old man, do you think we'll win?" asked Cosey Campbell, as he came to the bench after ingloriously striking out, and looked at Joe.

"I don't see why we shouldn't," responded Joe. "We've got 'em going."

"Yes, I know, but you never can tell when we may strike a slump."

"You seem terribly worried," laughed Joe. "Have you wagered a new necktie on the result?"

"No," he answered, "but I am anxious. You see, Matson, there's a girl--I could point her out to you in one of the boxes; but maybe she wouldn't like it," he said, craning his neck and going out from under the shelter of the players' bench and looking at the crowd in the grandstand.

"Oh, that's all right, I'll take your word for it," said Joe, for he appreciated the other's feelings.

"A girl, you understand, Matson. She's here to see the game," went on Campbell. "I sent her tickets, and I told her we were sure to win. She's here, and I'm going to take her out to supper to-night. I've got the stunningest tie----"

He fumbled in his pocket.

"Thought I had a sample of it here with me," he said. "But I haven't. It's sort of purple--plum color--with a shooting of gold, and it shimmers down into a tango shade. It's a peach! I was going to wear it to-night, but, if we don't win----"

His face showed his misery.

"Oh, cut it out!" advised Rad, coming up behind him. "We can't lose. Don't get mushy over an old tie."

"It isn't an old tie!" stormed Campbell. "It's a new one I had made to order. Cost me five bones, too. It's a peach!"

"Well, you'll wear it, all right," said Joe with a laugh. "I don't see how we can lose."

The Cardinals were near it, though, in the seventh inning, when, with only one out, and three on bases, Slim Cooney was called on to face one of the hardest propositions in baseball.

But he made good, and not a man crossed home plate.

And so the game went on, now and then a bit of sensational fielding, or a pitcher tightening up in a critical place, setting the crowd to howling.

It was nearing the close of the contest. It looked like the Cardinals, for they were three runs to the good, and it was the ending of the eighth inning. Only phenomenal playing, at this stage, could bring the Reds in a winner.

Some of the crowd, anticipating the event, were already leaving, probably to catch trains, or to motor to some resort.

"Well, it's a good start-off," said Rad to Joe, as he started out to the field, for the beginning of the ninth.

"Yes, but it isn't cinched yet."

"It will be soon."

The Reds were at bat, and Joe, vainly wishing that he had had a chance to show what he could do, pulled his sweater more closely about him, for the day was growing cool.

Then Batonby, one of the reserve players, strolled up to him.

"You didn't get in, either," he observed, sitting down.

"No. Nor you."

"But I've been half-promised a chance in the next game. Say, it's fierce to sit it out; isn't it?"

"It sure is."

"Hear of any new players coming to us?" Batonby wanted to know.

"Haven't heard," said Joe.

The game was over. The Cardinals did not go to bat to end the last inning, having the game by a margin of three runs.

The players walked across the field to the clubhouse, the spectators mingling with them.

"Did you hear anything about a fellow named Shalleg, who used to play in the Central League, coming to us?" asked Batonby, as he caught up to Joe and Rad, who had walked on ahead.

"No," answered Joe quickly. "That is, I have heard of him, but I'm pretty sure he isn't coming with us."

"What makes you think so?"

"Why, I heard Mr. Watson tell him----"

"Say, if I hear you retailing any more stuff about me I'll take means to make you stop!" cried an angry voice behind Joe, and, wheeling around, he beheld the inflamed face of Shalleg, the man in question.

"I've heard enough of your talk about me!" the released player went on. "Now it's got to quit. I won't have it! Cut it out! I'll settle with you, Matson, if I hear any more out of you," and he shook his fist angrily at Joe.