CHAPTER XX

STAGE FRIGHT

Joe was a little nervous at first, but it was like being among old friends to work against the Washburg team.

"How's your head, Joe?" asked some of the players whom he knew well, from having associated with them in the Central League.

"Had to get larger sized caps?" asked another.

"Don't you believe it!" exclaimed the Washburg catcher. "Joe Matson isn't that kind of a chap!" and Joe was grateful to him.

The game was not so easy as some of the Cardinal players had professed to believe it would be. Not all of the first string men went in, but they were in reserve, to be used if needed. For baseball is often an uncertainty.

Joe looked around at the grandstands and bleachers as he went out for warm-up practice.

There was a fair-sized crowd in attendance, but nothing like the throng that would have been present at a league game.

"But I'll pitch before a big crowd before I'm through the season!" declared Joe to himself, though it was not clear how this was to be brought about.

Washburg had a good team, and knew how to make everything tell. They led off with a run, which, however, was due to an error on the part of two of the Cardinals. Joe was a little put out by it, for he had allowed only scattering hits that inning.

"Better try to tighten up--if you can," advised Boswell, as our hero came to the bench. "They're finding you a bit."

"They won't--any more!" exclaimed Joe, fiercely.

The Washburg pitcher was a good one, as Joe knew, so it was not surprising that he was not so very badly batted. In fact, it was hard work for the Cardinals to garner three runs during their half of the first inning. But they got them.

Joe had the advantage of knowing considerable about the various batters who faced him, so it was easier than it would have been for another pitcher to deceive them. He varied his delivery, used his fadeaway and his cross-fire, and had the satisfaction of pitching three innings during which he did not allow a hit.

"That's the way to do it!" exclaimed his friend Boswell, the coach. "Hold 'em to that, and you'll have a look-in at a big game, soon."

And Joe did. In vain did the Washburgs send in their best pinch hitters; in vain did they try to steal bases. Twice Joe nipped the man at first, who was taking too big a lead, and once the young pitcher stopped a hot liner that came driving right at him.

Then the story was told, and the Cardinals romped home easy winners. Joe had done well, even though the Washburgs were not exactly big leaguers.

In the weeks that followed, Joe worked hard. There was constant morning practice, when the weather allowed it, and the work on the circuit was exacting. Occasionally Joe went in as relief pitcher, when the game was safe in the "ice box," but the chance he wanted was to pitch against the New Yorks at St. Louis.

For the Giants were at the top of the league now, and holding on to their pennant place with grim tenacity. In turn Joe and his fellow players went to Philadelphia, New York and Boston, eventually playing all around the circuit, but, as yet, the young pitcher had had no real chance to show what he could do.

It was irksome--it was even heart-breaking at times; but Joe had to stand it. Sometimes he felt that he could do better than Barter, Willard and Cooney, the seasoned veterans, and especially was this so when the game went against the Cardinals.

For the St. Louis team was falling sadly behind. They were next to the tail-enders for some time, and the outlook was dubious. The papers alternately roasted and poked fun at the Cardinals, and Manager Watson was urged to "do something."

Various remedies were suggested. New players might be had, and in fact some exchanges were made. Another catcher was imported, from the Detroits, and a new shortstop engaged in a trade. But the pitching staff remained unchanged.

Then some reporter, looking for "copy," saw a chance in Joe, and in a snappy little article reviewed Joe's career, ending with:

"If Mr. Watson wants to see his Cardinals crawl up out of the subway why doesn't he give Matson a chance? The youngster can pitch good ball, and the line of twirling that has been handed out by the Cardinals thus far this season would be laughable, were it not lamentable."

Of course that article made trouble for Joe, especially with the pitching staff.

"Say, how much did you slip that reporter to pull off that dope about you?" inquired Willard with a sneer.

"What do you mean?" asked Joe indignantly.

"I mean how much coin did you pay him?"

"You know I didn't have anything to do with it!" our hero fired back. "He asked me for my record, and I gave it to him. I didn't know he was going to write that."

"A likely story," grumbled Willard.

The other pitchers did not say so much, but it was clear they did not like the "roasting" they got. But it was not Joe's doing.

There were shifts and re-shifts, there were hard feelings manifested, and gotten over. But nothing could disguise the fact that the Cardinals were in a "slump."

Loyal as the St. Louis "fans" were to their teams, when they were on the winning side, it was not in human nature to love a losing nine.

So that it got to be the fashion to refer to the Cardinals as "losing again." And this did not make for good ball playing, either. There were sore hearts among the players when they assembled in the clubhouse after successive defeats.

Not that the Cardinals lost all the time. No team could do that, and stay in the big league. But they never got to the top of the second division, and even that was not much of an honor to strive for. Still, it was better than nothing.

Joe pitched occasionally, and, when he did there was a little improvement, at times. But of course he was not a veteran, and once or twice he was wild.

Then the paper which bore the least friendliness to the Cardinals took a different tack. It laughed at the manager for sending in a young pitcher when a veteran was needed.

"Say, I'd like to know just what those fellows want me to do!" Mr. Watson exclaimed one day, after a particularly severe roast. "I can't seem to please 'em, no matter what I do."

"Don't let 'em get your goat," advised his coach. "Go on. Keep going. We'll strike a winning streak yet, and mark my words, it will be Joe Matson who'll pull us out of a hole."

"He hasn't done so well yet," objected Mr. Watson, dubiously.

"No, and it's because he hasn't exactly found himself. He is a bit nervous yet. Give him time."

"And stay in the cellar?"

"Well, but what are you going to do?" reasoned the other. "Cooney and Barter aren't pitching such wonderful ball."

"No, that's true, but they can generally pull up in a tight place. I'd send Matson in oftener than I do, only I'm afraid he'll blow up when the crises comes. He is a good pitcher, I admit that, but he isn't seasoned yet. The Central League and the National are a wide distance apart."

"That's true. But I'd like to see him have his chance."

"Well, I'll give it to him. We play Boston next week. They happen to be in the second division just at present, although they seem to be going up fast. I'll let Joe go up against them."

"That won't be as good as letting him go against New York," said Boswell.

"Well, it'll have to do," decided the manager, who could be very set in his ways at times.

The Braves proved rather "easy," for the Cardinals and, as Boswell had indicated, there was little glory for Joe in pitching against them. He won his game, and this, coupled with the fact that the reporter friendly to Joe made much of it, further incensed the other pitchers.

"Don't mind 'em," said Rad, and Joe tried not to.

The season was advancing. Try as the Cardinals did, they could not get to the top of the second division.

"And if we don't finish there I'll feel like getting out of the game," said the manager gloomily, after a defeat.

"Pitch Matson against the Giants," advised the coach.

"By Jove! I'll do it!" cried the manager, in desperation. "We open with New York at St. Louis next week for four games. I'll let Matson see what he can do, though I reckon I'll be roasted and laughed at for taking such a chance."

"Well, maybe not," the coach replied, chuckling.

In the meanwhile Joe had been working hard. Under the advice of Boswell he adopted new training tactics, and he had his arm massaged by a professional between games. He was surprised at the result of the new treatment, and he found he was much fresher after a hard pitching battle than he had been before.

"He thinks he's going to be a Boy Wonder," sneered Willard.

"Oh, cut it out!" snapped Boswell. "If some of you old stagers would take better care of yourselves there'd be better ball played."

"Huh!" sneered Willard.

The Cardinals came back to St. Louis to play a series with New York.

"Wow!" exclaimed Rad as he and Joe, discussing the Giants' record, were sitting together in the Pullman on their way to their home city, "here's where it looks as if we might get eaten up!"

"Don't cross a bridge before you hear it barking at you," advised Joe. "Maybe they won't be so worse. We're on our own grounds, that's sure."

"Not much in that," decided his chum, dubiously.

When Joe reached the hotel he found several letters awaiting him. One, in a girl's handwriting, he opened first.

"Does she still love you?" laughed Rad, noticing his friend's rapt attention.

"Dry up! She's coming on to St. Louis."

"She is? Good! Will she see you play?"

"Well, I don't know. It doesn't look as though I was going to get a game--especially against New York."

"Cheer up! There might be something worse."

"Yes, I might have another run-in with Shalleg."

"That's so. Seen anything of him lately?"

"No, but I hear he's been writing letters to Mr. Watson, intimating that if the boss wants to see the team come up out of the subway, Shalleg is the man to help."

"Some nerve; eh?"

"I should say so!"

It was a glorious sunny day, perhaps too hot, but that makes for good baseball, for it limbers up the players. The grandstand and bleachers were rapidly filling, and out on the well-kept diamond of Robison Field the rival teams--the Cardinals and the Giants--were practicing.

Mabel Varley and her brother had come to St. Louis, stopping off on business, and Joe had called on them.

"I'm coming out to see you play," Mabel announced after the greetings at the hotel.

"I'm afraid you won't," said Joe, somewhat gloomily.

"Why not?" she asked in surprise. "Aren't you on the pitching staff?"

"Yes, but perhaps you haven't been keeping track of where the Cardinals stand in the pennant race."

"Oh, yes, I have!" she laughed, and blushed. "I read the papers every day."

"That's nice. Then you know we're pretty well down?"

"Yes, but the season isn't half over yet. I think you'll do better."

"I sure do hope so," murmured Joe. "But, for all that, I am afraid you won't see me pitch to-day. Mr. Watson won't dare risk me, though I think I could do some good work. I'm feeling fine."

"Oh, I do hope you get a chance!" Mabel exclaimed enthusiastically. "Anyhow, I'm going to have one of the front boxes, and there are to be some girl friends with me. You know them, I think--Hattie Walsh and Jean Douglass."

"Oh, yes, I remember them," Joe said. "Well, I hope you see us win, but I doubt it."

And now, as the game was about to start, Joe looked up and saw, in one of the front boxes, Mabel and her friends. He went over to speak to them, as he walked in from practice.

"For good luck!" said Mabel softly, as she gave him one of the flowers she was wearing.

"Thanks," and Joe blushed.

As yet the battery of the Cardinals had not been announced. Clearly Manager Watson was in a quandary. He and Boswell consulted together, while the players waited nervously. Some of the newspaper reporters, anxious to flash some word to their papers, asked who was to pitch.

"I'll let you know in a few minutes," was the manager's answer.

And then, as the time for calling the game approached, Mr. Watson handed his batting order to the umpire.

The latter stared at it a moment before making the announcement. He seemed a trifle surprised.

"Batteries!" he called through his megaphone. "For New York, Hankinson and Burke--for St. Louis--Matson and Russell."

Joe was to pitch, and in the biggest game he had ever attempted!

There was a rushing and roaring in his ears, and for a moment he could not see clearly.

"Go to it, Matson," said the manager. "I'm going to try you out."

Joe's lips trembled. He was glad his teammates could not know how he felt. Nervously he walked out to the mound, and caught the new ball which the umpire divested of its foil cover and tossed to him. Russell girded himself in protector and mask, and the batter stepped back to allow the usual practice balls.

Someone in a box applauded. Joe could not see, but he knew it was Mabel.

"Oh, Joe's going to pitch!" she exclaimed to her girl friends. "I hope he strikes them all out!"

"Not much chance," her brother said, rather grimly.

Joe sent the first ball whizzing in. It went so wild that the catcher had to jump for it. There was a murmur from the stands, and some of the Giants grinned at one another.

Russell signalled to Joe that he wanted to speak to him. Pitcher and catcher advanced toward one another.

"What's the matter?" Russell wanted to know, while some in the crowd laughed at the conference. "Got stage fright?"

"Ye--yes," stammered Joe. Poor Joe, he had a bad case of nerves.

"Say, look here!" exclaimed Russell with a intentional fierceness. "If you don't get over it, and pitch good ball, I'll give you the best beating up you ever had when we get to the clubhouse! I'm not going to stand being laughed at because you're such a rotten pitcher! Do you get me!" and he leered savagely at Joe.

The effect on the young pitcher was like an electric shock. He had never been spoken to like that before. But it was just the tonic he needed.

"I get you," he said briefly.

"It's a good thing you do!" said Russell brutally, and, as he walked back to his place his face softened. "I hated to speak that way to the lad," he murmured to himself, "but it was the only way to get him over his fright."