“This is all news to me,” remarked Jim. “I’ve noticed that they’ve been rather clannish and stuck close together, but that’s natural enough, seeing that they were pals in the minor-league team from which McRae bought them and that they don’t feel quite at home yet in big-league company.”
“Well, you keep your eye on them and see if you don’t notice what I’ve been telling you about,” counseled Joe. “Of course, it may not mean a thing, but all the same it’s struck me as queer.”
By this time the two pitchers had reached the Giants’ dugout, where most of their teammates had already gathered.
It was a beautiful day in early summer. The Eastern teams’ invasion of the West was in full swing, and baseball enthusiasm was running high all over the circuit. The Giants, after a disastrous series of games in Pittsburgh and Cincinnati, had struck Chicago. Or, perhaps, it would be more correct to say that Chicago had struck them, for the Cubs had taken the first two games with ease.
No doubt that accounted for the tremendous throng that had been pouring into the gates that afternoon, until now the stands and bleachers were crowded with enthusiastic fans. For if there was anything in the world that Chicago dearly loved, it was to see the Giants beaten. One game from the haughty Giants, the champions of the world, was more keenly relished than two games from any other club.
The rivalry between the teams of the two great cities was intense, dating from the days when the old Chicagos, with “Pop” Anson and Frank Chance at their head, had been accustomed to sweeping everything before them. Now the tables had been turned, and for the last few years, the Giants, with McRae as their astute manager and Baseball Joe as their pitching “ace,” had had the upper hand. Twice in succession the Giants had won the championship of the National League and had wound up the season in a blaze of glory by also winning the World Series.
This year they were desperately anxious to repeat. And, as Jim had said, it looked at the beginning of the season as though they were going to do it. They got off on the right foot and had an easy time of it in the games with the other Eastern clubs.
But with the Western clubs it was another story. A “jinx” seemed to be pursuing them. Pittsburgh had tied the can to them, and the Reds, not to be outdone, had tightened the knot. The Cubs thus far had clawed them savagely. They had tasted blood, and their appetite had grown with what it had fed upon. And for that reason the sport lovers of the Windy City had turned out in force to see the Cubs once more make the Giants “their meat.”
McRae, the manager, was sitting on the bench with Robson, his assistant, as Joe and Jim approached. There was an anxious furrow on his brow, and even the rotund and rubicund “Robbie,” usually jolly and smiling, seemed in the depths of gloom.