“Why—why,” stammered Robbie, “just because it isn’t done. I don’t remember a case where it ever was done.”
“That cuts no ice with me at all,” declared McRae, incisively. “Whatever success I’ve had in the world has been got by doing things that aren’t done. How was it that we made the old Orioles the class of the League and the wonder of the baseball world? By doing the things that aren’t done—that no other team had thought of. They went along in the old groove, playing cut and dried baseball. We went after them like a whirlwind with a raft of new ideas, and before they knew where they were at, we had their shirts.”
“Wriggling snakes!” exclaimed Robbie, his face lighting up, as he gave his friend a resounding slap on the back. “Mac, you’ve got me going. You’re the same old Mac, always getting up something new. Matson, of course! Joe Matson, not only the greatest pitcher, but the brainiest man in all baseball! Matson, who thinks like lightning. Matson, that the whole team worships. Matson, who can give any one cards and spades and beat him out. Mac, you old rascal, you take my breath away. You’ve hit the bull’s-eye.”
McRae smiled his gratification.
“That’s all right, Robbie, but you needn’t go knocking me down with that ham of a hand of yours,” he grumbled.
“Have you mentioned the matter to Joe yet?” asked Robbie, eagerly.
“Not yet,” replied the manager. “I wouldn’t do that anyway until I had talked the matter over with you and learned what you thought of it. And then, too, with that bruised leg and ankle of his, he won’t be in the game for a week or so, anyway. So you really cotton to the idea, do you?”
“I fall for it like a load of bricks,” was the response. “Of course, Matson’s yet to be heard from. It’s a pretty heavy responsibility to be placed on a man that’s already carrying the team along with his wonderful pitching. Perhaps he’ll think it’s a little too much to ask of him.”
“I’ll take a chance on that,” replied McRae, confidently. “He’s got a marvelous physique, and he always keeps himself in the best of condition. He’s strong enough to carry any load that he’s asked to bear. Then, too, you know how he’s wrapt up in the success of the team. He’s never balked yet at anything I’ve asked him to do. He’s playing baseball not only for money, but because he loves it. He talks baseball, thinks baseball, eats baseball, dreams baseball. He’s hep to every fine point in the game and he’s on the job every second. And when it comes to thinking fast and acting quickly—well, you know as well as I do that nobody can touch him.”
“He’s a wizard, all right,” agreed Robbie. “But here’s a point to be thought over, John. A captain’s got to be in every game. Joe pitches perhaps two games a week.”