“Able to sit up and take nourishment,” replied the other, at the same time thrusting the document into his pocket with what seemed like unnecessary haste.
“Most of the boys are that way,” laughed Joe. “There are just two things that every ball player is ready to do, take nourishment and nag the umpire.”
Iredell laughed as he bit off the end of a cigar.
“That poor umpire got his this afternoon,” he 136 said. “With McRae on one side and Everett on the other I thought he’d be pulled to pieces.”
“He was sure up against a hard proposition,” agreed Joe. “The next hardest was in a play that happened when I was on the Pittston team. A fellow poled out a hit that went down like a shot between left and center. A lot of carriages were parked at the end of the field and a big coach dog ran after the ball, got it in his mouth and skipped down among the carriages where the fielders couldn’t get at him. It would have doubled you up to have seen them coaxing the brute to be a good dog and give the ball up. In the meantime, the batter was tearing around the bases and made home before the ball got back.”
“And how did his Umps decide it?” asked Iredell, with interest.
“He was flabbergasted for a while,” replied Joe, “but he finally called it a two-base hit and let it go at that.”
“An umpire’s life is not a happy one,” laughed Iredell. “He earns every dollar that he gets. I suppose that’s what some of us fellows will be doing, too, when we begin to go back.”
“It will be a good while before you come to that, Dell,” Joe replied. “You’ve played a rattling game at short this year, and you’re a fixture with the Giants.”
“I don’t know about that,” said the shortstop 137 slowly. “Fixtures sometimes work loose, you know.”