But Iredell was in no mood to take the olive branch that Joe held out to him.
“I suppose I’ll have to do what you tell me to,” he muttered sourly. “You’re the boss now.”
“I don’t like that word ‘boss,’” returned Joe. “I don’t have any of the feeling that that word implies. If I have to exercise the authority that has been given me, it will be simply because that’s my job, and not because I have a swelled head. McRae’s the boss of all of us. You say you’ll have to do what I tell you to. But I’m hoping you’ll do your best, not because I tell you to, but because you want to do whatever is for the best interests of the team. How about it, Iredell? Does that go?”
“Oh, what’s the use of talking about it,” snapped Iredell. “I’ll do my work as shortstop. You’ve got the job you’ve been working for. Let it go at that.”
His tone was so offensive, to say nothing of the implication of his words, that Joe had to make a mighty effort to restrain his naturally quick temper. But he knew that he could not rule others unless he had first learned to master himself. So that it was with no trace of anger that he replied:
“Listen to me, Iredell. I haven’t worked for this job. I didn’t want it. I hadn’t even thought of it. I was struck all in a heap when McRae asked me to take it. And at that time, you’d already resigned. That’s the absolute truth.”
Iredell made no answer, but his sniff of unbelief spoke volumes. Joe saw that while he was in this mood there was nothing to be gained by talking longer.
“Think it over, old boy,” he said pleasantly. “I’m your friend, and I want to stay your friend. I know how well you can play, and I’m sure you’re going to do your best with the rest of us to bring the pennant once more to New York.”
He moved away, and a little later had gathered the rest of the team in the clubhouse.