The Baseball MEGAPACK ®. Zane GreyЧитать онлайн книгу.
consent to it. Say, this’ll drive me to drink.”
“All I got to say is this, Con. If the Rube takes his wife on that trip it’s goin’ to be an all-fired hummer. Don’t you forget that.”
“I’m not likely to. But, Spears, the point is this—will the Rube win his games?”
“Figurin’ from his work today, I’d gamble he’ll never lose another game. It ain’t that. I’m thinkin’ of what the gang will do to him and Nan on the cars and at the hotels. Oh! Lord, Con, it ain’t possible to stand for that honeymoon trip! Just think!”
“If the worst comes to the worst, Cap, I don’t care for anything but the games. If we get in the lead and stay there I’ll stand for anything.… Couldn’t the gang be coaxed or bought off to let the Rube and Nan alone?”
“Not on your life! There ain’t enough love or money on earth to stop them. It’ll be awful. Mind, I’m not responsible. Don’t you go holdin’ me responsible. In all my years of baseball I never went on a trip with a bride in the game. That’s new on me, and I never heard of it. I’d be bad enough if he wasn’t a rube and if she wasn’t a crazy girl-fan and a flirt to boot, and with half the boys in love with her, but as it is—”
Spears gave up and, gravely shaking his head, he left me. I spent a little while in sober reflection, and finally came to the conclusion that, in my desperate ambition to win the pennant, I would have taken half a dozen rube pitchers and their baseball-made brides on the trip, if by so doing I could increase the percentage of games won. Nevertheless, I wanted to postpone the Rube’s wedding if it was possible, and I went out to see Milly and asked her to help us. But for once in her life Milly turned traitor.
“Connie, you don’t want to postpone it. Why, how perfectly lovely! … Mrs. Stringer will go on that trip and Mrs. Bogart.… Connie, I’m going too!”
She actually jumped up and down in glee. That was the woman in her. It takes a wedding to get a woman. I remonstrated and pleaded and commanded, all to no purpose. Milly intended to go on that trip to see the games, and the fun, and the honeymoon.
She coaxed so hard that I yielded. Thereupon she called up Mrs. Stringer on the telephone, and of course found that young woman just as eager as she was. For my part, I threw anxiety and care to the four winds, and decided to be as happy as any of them. The pennant was mine! Something kept ringing that in my ears. With the Rube working his iron arm for the edification of his proud Nancy Brown, there was extreme likelihood of divers shut-outs and humiliating defeats for some Eastern League teams.
How well I calculated became a matter of baseball history during that last week of June. We won six straight games, three of which fell to the Rube’s credit. His opponents scored four runs in the three games, against the nineteen we made. Upon July 1, Radbourne beat Providence and Cairns won the second game. We now had a string of eight victories. Sunday we rested, and Monday was the Fourth, with morning and afternoon games with Buffalo.
Upon the morning of the Fourth, I looked for the Rube at the hotel, but could not find him. He did not show up at the grounds when the other boys did, and I began to worry. It was the Rube’s turn to pitch and we were neck and neck with Buffalo for first place. If we won both games we would go ahead of our rivals. So I was all on edge, and kept going to the dressing-room to see if the Rube had arrived. He came, finally, when all the boys were dressed, and about to go out for practice. He had on a new suit, a tailor-made suit at that, and he looked fine. There was about him a kind of strange radiance. He stated simply that he had arrived late because he had just been married. Before congratulations were out of our mouths, he turned to me.
“Con, I want to pitch both games today,” he said.
“What! Say, Whit, Buffalo is on the card today and we are only three points behind them. If we win both we’ll be leading the league once more. I don’t know about pitching you both games.”
“I reckon we’ll be in the lead tonight then,” he replied, “for I’ll win them both.”
I was about to reply when Dave, the ground-keeper, called me to the door, saying there was a man to see me. I went out, and there stood Morrisey, manager of the Chicago American League team. We knew each other well and exchanged greetings.
“Con, I dropped off to see you about this new pitcher of yours, the one they call the Rube. I want to see him work. I’ve heard he’s pretty fast. How about it?”
“Wait—till you see him pitch,” I replied. I could scarcely get that much out, for Morrisey’s presence meant a great deal and I did not want to betray my elation.
“Any strings on him?” queried the big league manager, sharply.
“Well, Morrisey, not exactly. I can give you the first call. You’ll have to bid high, though. Just wait till you see him work.”
“I’m glad to hear that. My scout was over here watching him pitch and says he’s a wonder.”
What luck it was that Morrisey should have come upon this day! I could hardly contain myself. Almost I began to spend the money I would get for selling the Rube to the big league manager. We took seats in the grand stand, as Morrisey did not want to be seen by any players, and I stayed there with him until the gong sounded. There was a big attendance. I looked all over the stand for Nan, but she was lost in the gay crowd. But when I went down to the bench I saw her up in my private box with Milly. It took no second glance to see that Nan Brown was a bride and glorying in the fact.
Then, in the absorption of the game, I became oblivious to Milly and Nan; the noisy crowd; the giant fire-crackers and the smoke; to the presence of Morrisey; to all except the Rube and my team and their opponents. Fortunately for my hopes, the game opened with characteristic Worcester dash. Little McCall doubled, Ashwell drew his base on four wide pitches, and Stringer drove the ball over the right-field fence—three runs!
Three runs were enough to win that game. Of all the exhibitions of pitching with which the Rube had favored us, this one was the finest. It was perhaps not so much his marvelous speed and unhittable curves that made the game one memorable in the annals of pitching; it was his perfect control in the placing of balls, in the cutting of corners; in his absolute implacable mastery of the situation. Buffalo was unable to find him at all. The game was swift short, decisive, with the score 5 to 0 in our favor. But the score did not tell all of the Rube’s work that morning. He shut out Buffalo without a hit, or a scratch, the first no-hit, no-run game of the year. He gave no base on balls; not a Buffalo player got to first base; only one fly went to the outfield.
For once I forgot Milly after a game, and I hurried to find Morrisey, and carried him off to have dinner with me.
“Your rube is a wonder, and that’s a fact,” he said to me several times. “Where on earth did you get him? Connelly, he’s my meat. Do you understand? Can you let me have him right now?”
“No, Morrisey, I’ve got the pennant to win first. Then I’ll sell him.”
“How much? Do you hear? How much?” Morrisey hammered the table with his fist and his eyes gleamed.
Carried away as I was by his vehemence, I was yet able to calculate shrewdly, and I decided to name a very high price, from which I could come down and still make a splendid deal.
“How much?” demanded Morrisey.
“Five thousand dollars,” I replied, and gulped when I got the words out.
Morrisey never batted an eye.
“Waiter, quick, pen and ink and paper!”
Presently my hand, none too firm, was signing my name to a contract whereby I was to sell my pitcher for five thousand dollars at the close of the current season. I never saw a man look so pleased as Morrisey when he folded that contract and put it in his pocket. He bade me good-bye and hurried off to catch a train, and he never knew the Rube had pitched the great game on his wedding day.
That afternoon before a crowd that had to be roped off the diamond, I put the Rube against