CHAPTER XXII

A HOT CAMPAIGN

“Well, Joe, the Giants trimmed the Braves good and proper,” chuckled Jim, for the twentieth time referring to the thing that loomed largest in the minds of both.

“We certainly did, but we must remember that ‘one swallow doesn’t make a summer!’” answered Joe. “We’ll have our own scalps taken many a time before the season’s over. As it was, we had a mighty close call. Those ‘cast-offs,’ as they call them, played like champions, and perhaps Hughson was right when he said that they were the ones we would have to look out for.”

“Perhaps so,” assented Jim. “But I’m rather sweet on Chicago for the runner-up. I see by the bulletin board that they whipped Cincinnati by twelve to three. Those fellows are terrors with the stick. You’ll have to do your prettiest when you stack up against them, Joe.”

“None of the teams are going to be easy meat,” was the answer. “They’re better balanced than they’ve been for several years. There isn’t one of them that can’t be figured to have a chance.”

“That’s the way I like to see them,” declared Jim. “There’s no fun in having one or two teams out in the lead so far that there’s no chance of the others catching up.”

“I wonder whether that trouble with his knee is going to lay Hughson up,” remarked Joe, after they had taken their seats in the elevated train and were being whirled to their hotel downtown. “It would be a pretty serious thing for the nine if he were out of the running. He’s the backbone of the team.”

“I don’t think it’s going to be anything serious,” said Jim. “I overheard Farley, the trainer, telling McRae that Hughson would be as well as ever in a week.”

“I suppose Markwith will go in tomorrow,” remarked Joe.

“Quite likely,” assented Jim. “Although those Bostons just eat up left-handed pitching. I shouldn’t wonder if McRae would put you in again. You only pitched one inning and I don’t suppose that has tired you much.”

“Not a bit,” replied Joe. “Still, I think that Bugs Hartley is more likely to be called on. He warmed up well in practice before the game and seems to be in prime condition. Besides, he might feel slighted if McRae doesn’t start him. He seemed sore when I was called on today.”

“Did you notice that, too?” asked Jim. “I thought he acted mighty queer in the clubhouse this afternoon. All of the other fellows were tickled to death that we won, but Hartley seemed to have a grouch on. You don’t suppose he’s small enough to grudge you your victory, do you?”

“I should hope not,” answered Joe. “I don’t see why he should. I’ve gone out of my way to be pleasant to him. He’s an odd fellow, but he’s a mighty good pitcher, and I wish him all the luck in the world.”

“Bugs” Hartley, as he had been dubbed on account of his erratic ways, had been on the Giant team for two seasons. As long as he took care of himself, he ranked among the best pitchers of the league. But he had a weakness for liquor and other forms of dissipation, and McRae had been sorely tried in his attempts to keep him within the bounds of discipline. Several times Hartley had left the team in the lurch by going off on sprees just when they most needed his services. But he had pleaded so eagerly for another chance, when threatened with dismissal, that McRae, though with many misgivings, had kept him on his staff in the hope that he might ultimately reform him.

He had an intensely jealous nature and had been much disgruntled when the deal had been put through that had brought Joe to the Giants. He figured that now McRae would feel so strong in the box that he would be more ready to dispense with his own services the next time he should kick over the traces. And the triumph of the newcomer that afternoon of the first game had been gall and wormwood to Hartley.

“I wonder when I’m going to get my chance or whether I’m going to get any chance at all,” mused Jim.

“You’ll get your chance in good time all right,” declared Joe, confidently. “You’re a fixture on the team. Don’t worry about that.”

“I’m not a bit sure of that,” said Jim, dubiously. “McRae hasn’t told me so yet, and perhaps my head will fall into the basket when the time comes for him to reduce the team to the twenty-two man limit.”

“I’ve had a straight tip from Hughson that McRae means to keep you,” said Joe. “So make your mind easy on that score. As for your chance to play, you’ll have to be patient. You may have to sit on the bench for a while, but then again you may be in harness in a month. The only thing to do is to go ahead with your practice for all that you’re worth and saw wood.”

The campaign that opened that day at the Polo Grounds proved to be a hot one. During the first three weeks the Eastern clubs played among themselves, and the Western clubs did the same. Following the Braves at the Polo Grounds came the Phillies and the Brooklyn Superbas, and then the Giants in their turn visited the grounds of their opponents. The games were bitterly contested, for this year the Eastern teams were scheduled to go West before the Westerners invaded the East, and each was eager to start on the trip with a substantial lead already gained. It was nip and tuck, with now one team, now another at the head of the column, but the net result was that when the teams took the train for the West the Giants were in the lead by a narrow margin of only half a game over the Phillies, while the other two were bunched close up.

“I’m glad anyway that we make the first trip West instead of it being the other way,” remarked Joe to Jim, as they dropped into their seats in the Pullman that was to take them to St. Louis, where they were to open. “We’ll have the big advantage of winding up the season on our own grounds, and in a close race such as this promises to be, that may make all the difference in the world.”

“Right you are,” answered Jim. “And here’s hoping that our last game at the Polo Grounds may end like the first--in victory.”