Baseball Joe In The Big League Part 23

"I'm glad you think so. I wonder what sort of a story it will be when I go up against a big league team?"

"Oh, you'll go up against 'em all right!" predicted his chum, "and you'll win, too!"

Preparations for leaving Reedville were made. The training was over; hard work was now ahead for all. Nothing more was seen of Shalleg and Wessel, though they might have been at that last game, for all Joe knew.

In order not to tire his players by a long jump home, especially as they were not to open at once on Robison Field, Manager Watson planned several exhibition games to be played in various cities and towns on the way.

Thus the journey would occupy a couple of weeks.

The players were on edge now, a little rest from the Nipper game having put them in fine trim.

"They're ready for Giants!" energetically declared Boswell, who took great pride in his training work.

"Hardly that," replied the manager, "but I think we can take care of the Cincinnati Reds when we stack up against them on opening day."

The journey North was enjoyed by all, and some good games took place.

One or two were a little close for comfort, but the Cardinals managed to pull out in time. Joe did some pitching, though he was not worked as often as he would have liked. But he realized that he was a raw recruit, in the company of many veterans, and he was willing to bide his time.

Joe had learned more about baseball since getting into the big league than he ever imagined possible. He realized, as never before, what a really big business it was, involving, as it did, millions of dollars, and furnishing employment to thousands of players, besides giving enjoyment to millions of spectators.

The home-coming of the Cardinals, from their trip up from the South, was an event of interest.

St. Louis always did make much of her ball teams, and though the American Brown nine had arrived a day or so before our friends, and had been noisily welcomed, there was a no less enthusiastic reception for the Cardinals. There was a band, a cheering throng at the station, and any number of reporters, moving picture men and newspaper photographers.

"Say, it's great; isn't it?" cried Joe to Rad.

"It sure is, old man!"

Joe wrote home an enthusiastic account of it all, and also penned a note to Mabel, expressing the hope that she and her brother would get to St.

Louis on the occasion of some big game.

"And I hope I pitch in it," Joe penned.

A day of rest, then a week of practice on their own grounds, brought the opening date nearer for St. Louis. Joe and the other players went out to the park the morning of the opening day of the season. The grounds were in perfect shape, and the weather man was on his good behavior.

"What kind of ball have the Reds been playing?" asked Joe of Rad, who was a "fiend" on baseball statistics.

"Snappy," was the answer. "We'll have our work cut out for us!"

"Think we can do 'em?"

"n.o.body can tell. I know we're going to try hard."

"If I could only pitch!" murmured Joe.

The grandstand was rapidly filling. The bleachers were already overflowing. The teams had marched out on the field, preceded by a blaring band. There had been a presentation of a floral horseshoe to Manager Watson.

Then came some fast, snappy practice on both sides. Joe, who had only a faint hope of being called on, warmed up well. He took his turn at batting and catching, too.

"They look to be a fast lot," observed Joe to Rad, as they watched the Reds at work.

"Oh, yes, they're there with the goods."

The game was called, and, as is often done, a city official pitched the first ball. This time it was the mayor, who made a wild throw. There was laughter, and cheers, the band blared out, and then the umpire called:

"Play ball!"

CHAPTER XVIII

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.