“I suppose you’re right,” conceded Iredell. “But a fellow can’t always think of everything. If Larry had got to the plate, you’d be patting me on the back.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” snapped McRae, “because it would have been just fool’s luck. Why, I fined a man twenty-five dollars once for knocking out a home run when I had ordered him to bunt. That he came across with a home run didn’t change the fact that at that point in the game a bunt was the proper thing, and nine times out of ten would have gone through. You’ve got to use your sense and judgment and do the thing that seems most likely to bring home the bacon.”
“I don’t seem to please you these days, no matter what I do,” said Iredell sullenly.
“You’ll only please me when you do things right,” returned McRae. “You know as well as any one else that I never ride my men. I’ve been a ball player myself as well as manager, and I can put myself in the place of both. But what I want are men who are quick in the head as well as the feet. Give me the choice between a fast thinker and a fast runner, and I’ll take the fast thinker every time. Look at Joe Matson, the way he shot that ball over on Burton to-day before he knew where he was at. He’s always doing something of that kind—outguessing the other fellow. His think tank is working every minute. He puts out as many men with his head as he does with his arm. And that’s what makes him the greatest pitcher in this country to-day, bar none.
“Now, take it from me, Iredell, that’s the kind of thinking that’s going to pull this team out of the mud. I’m paying you a good salary to play shortstop. There, you’re delivering the goods. But I’ve tacked a couple of thousands onto your salary to act as captain. There, you’re not delivering the goods. And those goods have got to be delivered, or, by ginger, I’ll know the reason why!”
[CHAPTER V]
A STARTLING SUGGESTION
With this ultimatum, the irate manager stalked off to join Robbie, while Iredell, his face like a thunder cloud, returned to the clubhouse.
Nor was his wrath at the “roasting” he had received at the hands of McRae lessened by the consciousness that it was deserved. He knew in his heart that he had neglected his duties, or, at least, had failed to take advantage of his opportunities. The game might have been won if he had been on the job. To be sure, the team had played like a lot of bushers, but that did not relieve him of his responsibility. It was when they were playing badly that it was up to him to step into the breach. And that was what he had lamentably failed to do.