Lester Chadwick

“ The secret of good pitching lies in the “cross-fire,” and in varying the delivery. No pitcher can continue to send in the same kind of balls in regular order to each batter. He must study his man and use his brains.
Joe knew this. He also knew that he was not alone a pitcher, but a ball player, and that he must attend to his portion of the diamond. Too many twirlers forget this, and Joe frequently got in on sensational plays that earned him almost as much applause as his box-work did.
Joe was always glad to get back to Pittston to play games. ”

“ OLD POP CONSOLES
Collin flashed a look of mingled scorn and triumph on Joe as he walked past him. It needed only this to make our hero feel that he had stood about all he could, and he turned away, and tried to get rid of a lump in his throat.
None of the other players seemed to notice him. Probably it was an old story to them. Competition was too fierce—it was a matter of making a living on their part—every man was for himself, in a certain sense. They had seen young players come and old players go. ”

“ No one seemed to notice the advent of the young pitcher on the field, and if he expected to receive an ovation, such as was accorded to him when he left home, Joe was grievously disappointed.
But I do not believe Joe Matson looked for anything of the sort. In fact I know he did not, for Joe was a sensible lad. He realized that however good a college player he might be he was now entering the ranks of men who made their living at ball playing. And there is a great deal of difference between doing a thing for fun, and doing it to get your bread and butter—a heap of difference. ”

“ The horse, from which had gone all desire to run farther, now struggled to its feet, and shook itself once or twice to adjust the harness. It was partly loose from it, and, with a plunge or two, soon wholly freed itself.
“Run away again if you want to now,” exclaimed Joe, shaking his fist at the brute. “You can’t hurt anyone but yourself, anyhow. Jump over the cliff if you like!” ”

“ It’s outside the city limits, no car line goes there, and trains don’t stop.”
“Then we’ve got to have an auto,” decided Joe. “I’ll see if we can hire one.”
He was on his way to the dressing rooms, when, happening to glance through the big open gate of the ball ground he saw a sight that caused him to exclaim:
“The very thing! It couldn’t be better. I can kill two birds with one stone. There’s our auto, and the man in it is the very one I want to convince of my innocence! That’s Reggie Varley. I’ll make him take us to Shiller’s Woods! We’ll catch Hogan there. Come on!” ”

“ The energy faded away from his voice, and he ended in a half sob. With bowed head he allowed Joe to lead him across the tracks. A number of railroad men who had seen the rescue looked at the pair, but once the tramp was off the line, and out of immediate danger, they lost interest.
“Can I help you—do you want to go anywhere in particular?” asked Joe, kindly.
“What’s the use of goin’ anywhere in particular?” was the demand. “I’ve got nowhere to go. One place is as good as another when you’re down—and out. Out! Ha! Yes, out! He’s out—out at first—last—out all the time! Out!” ”

“ That city, as he found by looking at a map, was on a direct railroad line from Goldsboro.
“I hope nothing slips up!” murmured the young pitcher. From then on he lived in a sort of rosy glow.
The ball season of the Central League was well under way now. A number of games had been played, necessitating travel from one city to another. Some of the journeys Joe liked, and some were tiresome. He met all sorts and conditions of men and was growing to be able to take things as he found them. ”

“ No team in any league will take a player from another team unless the manager of that team gives the player his release. That is, you can quit playing ball, of course; but, for the life of you, you can’t get in any other professional team until you are allowed to by the man with whom you signed first.”
“Well, of course, I’ve read about players being given their release, and being sold or traded from one team to another,” spoke Joe, “but I didn’t think it was as close as that.” ”

“ The game was almost over, and it was practically won by Pittston, when a voice spoke back of where Joe sat on the players’ bench. It was a husky, uncertain, hesitating sort of voice and it said, in the ear of the young pitcher:
“Never mind, my lad. Ten years from now, when you’re in a big league, you’ll forget all about this. It’ll do you good, anyhow, for it’ll make you work harder, and hard work makes a good ball player out of a middle-class one. ”

“ If two or more of the big clubs pick the same player there is a drawing to decide who gets him.
“Well, I’m not worrying,” returned Joe, with a smile.
After a most successful game, in Washburg, which team had been playing good ball—the contest having been won by Pittston—Joe was walking across the diamond with Pop Dutton, when the young pitcher saw approaching them the same tramp with whom his protegé had entered the lodging house that night.
“Hello, Pop!” greeted the shabby man. “I want t’ see you.” He leered familiarly. Pop Dutton stopped and gazed with half-frightened eyes at Joe. ”

“ The second day following proved all that could be desired from a weather standpoint for a ball game, the grounds having dried up meanwhile. It was bright and sunny, but not too warm, and soon after breakfast the team was ordered out on the field for light practice.
This was necessary as their day of comparative idleness, added to the damp character of the weather, had made them all a little stiff.
“Get limbered up, boys,” advised Jimmie Mack. “You’ll need all the speed and power you can bring along to-day. Joe, how’s your arm?”
“All right, I guess,” answered the young pitcher. ”

“ Then began a lesson, the learning of which proved of great value to Joe in his after life as a ball player. If Old Pop Dutton had not the nerve to “come back” as a pitcher in a big league, at least he could show a rising young one how to correct his faults. And a fault Joe certainly had.
For several years he had been throwing the fade-away ball in the wrong manner. Not entirely wrong, to be sure, or he never would have attained the results he had, but it was sufficiently wrong to prevent him from having perfect control of that style of ball, and perfect control is the first law of pitching. ”

“ Matson.
“Well, I’ll do the best I can,” thought Joe. “Maybe if Gregory and the others see how well Pop is doing they’ll take up a collection and pay for the operation. It oughtn’t to cost such an awful lot.”
Joe shook his head in a puzzled way. Really it was a little too much for him to carry on his young shoulders, but he had the fire of youth in his veins, and youth will dare much—which is as it should be, perhaps.
Then, too, Joe had to be on edge all the time in order to pitch winning ball. No pitcher is, or can be, at top notch all the while. ”

“ The Montville team, a semi-professional one, was a good bit like the Silver Stars, Joe thought, when he saw the members run out on the diamond for practice. Still they looked to be a “husky lot,” as he admitted, and he was glad of it, for he wanted to see what he and his team-mates could do against a good aggregation.
“Play ball! Play ball!” called the umpire, as he dusted off the home plate. There was quite a crowd present, and when Gregory handed over his batting list the umpire made the announcement:
“Batteries—for Pittston, Collin and Gregory. For Montville, Smith and Jennings.” ”

“ But as Joe’s efforts to make a new man of the old pitcher took him into this place I can do no less than chronicle the events as they happened. And a little knowledge of the sadder, darker and unhappy side of life may be of value to boys, in deterring them from getting into a position where it would appeal to them—appeal wrongly, it is true, but none the less strongly. ”

“ They might eke out a livelihood as a scout or as a ground-keeper in some big league. It was a fight for the survival of the fittest, and Joe’s seeming failure brought no apparent sympathy.
Understand me, I am not speaking against organized baseball. It is a grand thing, and one of the cleanest sports in the world. But what I am trying to point out is that it is a business, and [93] from a business standpoint everyone in it must do his best for himself. Each man, in a sense, is concerned only with his own success. Nor do I mean that this precludes a love of the club, and good team work. ”

“ Joe was glad to hear this.
The new grounds were a little strange to him, at first, but he soon became used to them after one or two days’ practice. Nearly all the other players, of course, were more at home.
“And now, boys,” said Manager Gregory, when practice had closed one day. “I want you to do your prettiest to-morrow. I’ve got a good team—I know it. Some of you are new to me, but I’ve heard about you, and I’m banking on your making good. I want you to wallop Clevefield to-morrow. I want every man to do his best, and don’t want any hard feelings if I play one man instead of another. ”

“ Mack, telling him to report at once at Montville.
“Oh, Joe!” exclaimed his mother. “Do you really have to go so soon?”
“I’m afraid so, Momsey,” he answered. “You see the league season will soon open and I want to begin at the beginning. This is my life work, and I can’t lose any time.”
“Pitching ball a life work!” sighed Mrs. Matson. [20] “Oh, Joe! if it was only preaching—or something like that.”
“Let the boy alone, Mother,” said Mr. Matson, with a good-humored twinkle in his eye. “We can’t all be ministers, and I’d rather have a world series winner in my family than a poor lawyer or doctor. ”

“ As a business proposition, Mother, it’s one of the biggest in the world to-day. The players make more money than lots of professional men, and they don’t have to work half so hard—not that I mind that.”
“Joe Matson! Do you mean to tell me a ball player—even one who tosses the ball for the other man to hit at—does he make more than—than a minister?” ”

“ Joe had an uphill climb at the big university. Mingled with the hard work, the hopes deferred and the jealousies, were, however, good times a-plenty. That is one reason why Joe did not want to leave it. But he had an ambition to become a professional ball player, and he felt that he was not fitted for a college life.
So when “Jimmie” Mack, assistant manager of the Pittston team of the Central League, who was [18] out “scouting” for new and promising players, saw Joe’s pitching battle against Princeton, he made the young collegian an offer which Joe did not feel like refusing. ”

“ If an operation is needed we’ll have to get the money. And from where is more than I know,” she added, hopelessly.
“I’ll get the money!” exclaimed the young pitcher in energetic tones.
“How?” asked his mother. “I’m sure you can’t make enough at ball playing.”
“No, perhaps not at ordinary ball playing, Mother, but at the end of the season, when the deciding games for the pennant are played off, they always draw big crowds, and the players on the winning team come in for a good share of the receipts. I’ll use mine for the operation.”
“But your team may not win the pennant, Joe,” said Clara. ”

“ It is always more difficult to “unlearn” a wrong way of doing a thing, and start over again on the right, than it is to learn the proper way at first. The old method will crop up most unexpectedly; and this happened in Joe’s case more times than he liked.
But he persisted and gradually he felt that he was able to deliver the fade-away as it ought to come from a pitcher’s hand. ”

“ MABEL
Joe Matson stood spell-bound for a second or so, staring at the valise which had such an interest for him in two ways. It meant the presence at the hotel of the girl who had awakened such a new feeling within him, and also it recalled the unpleasant occasion when he had been accused of rifling it.
“What’s the matter, Matson?” asked Gus Harrison, the big centre fielder, who stood directly behind the young pitcher, waiting to register. “Have you forgotten your name?”
“No—oh, no!” exclaimed our hero, coming to himself with a start. “I—er—I was just thinking of something.” ”

“ A “stool-pigeon” consorts with criminals, that he may overhear their plans, and betray them to the police. Often he is himself a petty criminal. In a sense he does a duty to the public, making it more easy for the authorities to arrest wrong-doers—but no one loves a “stool-pigeon.” They are the decoy ducks of the criminal world.
I am making this explanation, and portraying this scene in Joe Matson’s career, not because it is pleasant to write about, for it is not. I would much rather take you out on the clean diamond, where you could hear the “swat” of the ball. ”

“ There was a little nervous feeling among the players as the time for the first league game drew near. A number of the men had been bought from other clubs. There was one former Clevefield player on the Pittston team, and also one from the pennant club of a previous year.
That night Joe spent some time studying the batting averages of the opposing team, and also he read as much of their history as he could get hold of. He wanted to know the characteristics of the various batters if he should be fortunate enough to face them from the pitching mound. ”

“ Joe had hopes of making a safe hit when he came up, but pitchers are proverbially bad batsmen and our hero was no exception. I wish I could say that he “slammed one out for a home run, and came in amid wild applause,” but truth compels me to state that Joe only knocked a little pop fly which dropped neatly into the hands of the second baseman, and Joe went back to the bench.
“Never mind,” consoled Jimmie Mack, “you’re not here to bat—we count on you to pitch, though of course if you can hit the ball do it—every time. But don’t get nervous.” ”

“ THE PENNANT
The pennant was not yet won. So far the teams had broken even, and unless Pittston could take the next two games there would be a fifth one necessary.
“If there is,” decided Gregory, “we’ll make it an exhibition, on some neutral diamond, and get a big crowd. It will mean a lot more money for us.”
“Will it?” asked Joe. “Then let’s do it!”
“We can’t make sure of it,” went on the manager. “We’ll not think of that, for it would mean throwing a game away if we won the next one, and I’ve never thrown a game yet, and never will. ”

“ His heart felt lighter the moment he had started, and when he got to Riverside, and found his father much improved, Joe was more like himself than at any time since the opening of the ball season. His folks were exceedingly glad to see him, and Joe went about town, renewing old acquaintances, and being treated as a sort of local lion.
Tom Davis, Joe’s chum, looked at the young pitcher closely.
“Joe,” he said, “you’re getting thin. Either you’re in love, or you aren’t making good.”
“Both, I guess,” answered Joe, with a short laugh. “But I’m going to make good very soon. You watch the papers.” ”