CHAPTER XXI

A QUEER MESSAGE

The next practice ball Joe sent in went cleanly over the plate, and landed with a thud in the catcher's glove. Russell nodded at Joe, to indicate that was what he wanted.

"Play ball!" directed the umpire, and the batter moved up closer to the plate.

Stooping low, and concealing his signal with his big glove, Russell called for a straight, swift ball. Joe gave it, and as it was in the proper place, though the striker did not attempt to hit it, the umpire called:

"Strike--one!"

Indignantly the batter looked around, but it was only done for effect. He knew it was a strike.

"That's the way. Now we've got 'em!" cried Boswell from the coaching line.

"Ball one," was the next decision of the umpire, and Joe felt a little resentment, for he had made sure it went over the plate. But there was little use to object.

A curve was next called for, and Joe succeeded in enticing the batter to strike at it. But the stick missed the horsehide cleanly. It was two strikes.

"Pretty work! Oh, pretty work!" howled Boswell.

A foul next resulted, and Russell missed it by inches. The batter had still another chance. But it availed him little, for Joe fooled him on the next one.

"Good!" nodded the catcher to the young pitcher, and Joe felt his vision clearing now. He looked over toward where Mabel was sitting. She smiled encouragingly at him.

The New Yorks got one hit off Joe that inning, but, though the man on first stole second, after Joe had tried to nip him several times, the other two men struck out, and a goose egg went up in the first frame.

"Well, if you can do that eight more times the game is ours, if we can only get one run," said Manager Watson, as Joe came up to the bench, smiling happily.

"I'll try," was all he said.

But the Cardinals did not get their run that inning, nor the next nor the next nor next. The game ran along for five innings with neither side crossing home plate, and talk of a "pitchers' battle" began to be heard. Joe was pitching remarkably well, allowing only scattering hits. The Giants could not seem to bunch them.

Then, as might have been expected, Joe had a bit of bad luck. There had been hard work for him that day--hard and nervous work, and it told on him. He was hit for a two-bagger, and the next man walked, though Joe thought some of the decisions unfair.

Then the runner attempted to steal third. There was a wild throw, and the man came in, scoring the first run. Joe felt a wave of chagrin sweep over him. He felt that the game was going.

"Tighten up! Tighten up!" he heard Boswell call to him. By a determined effort he got himself well in hand, and then amid the cheers of the crowd he succeeded in striking out the other men up, so that only the one run was in.

But the pace was telling on Joe. He gave two men their base on balls the next time he pitched, and by a combination of circumstances, two more runs were made before the Giants were retired.

"This won't do," murmured Mr. Watson. "I'm afraid I'll have to take Joe out."

"Don't," advised Boswell. "He'll be all right, but if you take him out now you'll break him all up. I think he could have a little better support."

"Possibly. The fielding is a bit shaky. I'll send in Lawson to bat for Campbell."

This change resulted in a marked improvement With a mighty clout Lawson knocked a home run, and, as there was a man on third, that two. From then on the Cardinals seemed to find themselves. They began coming back in earnest, and everyone "got the habit." Even Joe, proverbially poor hitters as pitchers are supposed to be, did his share, and, by placing a neat little drive, that eluded the shortstop, he brought in another needed run.

"One ahead now! That's fine!" cried Rad to his chum, though Joe "died" on second. "If we can only hold 'em down----" and he looked questioningly at the young pitcher.

"I'll do it!" cried Joe, desperately.

It did not look as though he would, though, when the first man up, after receiving three and two, was allowed to walk. Joe felt a bit shaky, but he steeled himself to hold his nerve. The man at first was a notorious base-stealer, and Joe watched him closely. Twice he threw to the initial sack, hoping to nip him, and he almost succeeded. Then he slammed in a swift one to the batter, only to know that the runner started for second.

But it did him little good to do it, for though he made third, Joe struck out his three men amid a wave of applause.

"One more like that, and we've got the game!" cried Mr. Watson. "It's up to you, Joe. But if you can't stand it I'll send in Slim."

"I'll stand it," was the grim answer, though Joe's arm ached.

And stand it Joe did. He was hit once in that last inning, and one man got his base on balls. And then and there Joe gave a remarkably nervy exhibition. He nipped the man on first, and then in quick succession succeeded in fooling the two batters next up.

"That's the eye!"

"The Cardinals win!"

"What's the matter with Joe Matson?"

"He's all right!"

The crowd went wild, as it had a right to do, and Joe's face was as red with pleasure as the nickname of his team. For he had had a large share in defeating the redoubtable Giants, though to the credit of that team be it said that several of its best players were laid up, and, at a critical part in the game their best hitter was ruled out for abusing the umpire.

But that took away nothing from Baseball Joe's glory.

"Oh, I'm so glad you won!" cried Mabel, as he passed her box. "Isn't it glorious?"

"It sure is," he admitted with a smile.

"Can't you take dinner with us at the hotel?" she went on, and Joe blushingly agreed. The other girls smiled at him, and Reggie nodded in a friendly manner.

"Great work, old man!" called Mabel's brother. "It was a neat game."

Then Joe hurried off to have a shower, and dress, and in the clubhouse he was hailed genially by his fellow players.

"Good work, Joe!"

"I didn't think you had it in you."

"This sure will make the Giants feel sore."

As for Manager Watson, he looked at Joe in a manner that meant much to the young pitcher.

"I told you so!" said the old coach to the manager, later that day.

"Yes, you did," admitted the latter. "Of course I knew Joe had good stuff in him, but I didn't think it would come out so soon. He may help pull us up out of the cellar yet."

Joe enjoyed the little dinner with Mabel and her friends that night, as he had seldom before taken pleasure in a gathering. Rad was one of the guests, and later they went to the theatre, as there was no game next day.

But if the Cardinals expected to repeat their performance they were disappointed. Joe was started in another contest, and he was glad Mabel was not present, for somehow he could not keep control of the balls, and following a rather poor exhibition, he was taken out after the fourth inning. But it was too late to save the game.

"Never mind, we got one of the four, and it was due to you," consoled Rad, when the series was over. "And you've found out what it is to stack up against the Giants."

Joe had had his "baptism of fire," and it had done him good. The St. Louis team was to take the road again, after a time spent in the home town, where they had somewhat improved their standing.

"Got anything to do this evening?" asked Rad, as they were coming back from the ball park, after a final game with Boston.

"No."

"Then let's go to the Park Theatre. There's a good hot-weather show on."

"I'm with you."

"All right. I've got to go down town, but I'll be back before it's time to go," Rad went on.

Joe dressed, and waited around the hotel lobby for his friend to return. It grew rather late, and Joe glanced uneasily at the clock. He was rather surprised, as he stood at the hotel desk, to hear his name spoken by a messenger boy who entered.

"Matson? There he is," and the clerk indicated our hero.

"Sign here," said the boy, shortly. Joe wondered if the telegram contained bad news from home. Giving the lad a dime tip, Joe opened the envelope with fingers that trembled, and then he read this rather queer message:

"If you want to do your friend Rad a good turn, come to the address below," and Joe recognized the street as one in a less desirable section of the city.