“Of course every one has a right to his own opinion,” said Tompkinson suavely. “It’s natural that you should stand up for the manager of your team.”
“He’s a prince,” declared Joe. “One of the best friends I have. He brought me to New York and gave me my chance. He’s one of the fairest, squarest men I know, and when it comes to baseball he’s the ablest.”
“Personally, I don’t question that at all,” replied Tompkinson. “I’m only repeating what I’ve frequently heard said. Whether that is true or not is beside the question. The fact is that many people believe it, and that belief is reinforced by the many victories of the Giants. And that leads me to think that if some other team got the pennant it might stir up renewed interest in the game. I think there are a good many people in New York who agree with me.”
“And those very people,” said Joe grimly, “would be the first to pan us if they came to the Polo Grounds only to see us beaten.”
“Of course they would, if you were beaten too often,” agreed Harrish. “But if you maintained a good standing in the race—say good enough to come in second or third at the end of the season—the New York public wouldn’t kick very much.”
Their persistent harping on this theme got on Joe’s nerves and at the same time he felt a faint stirring of suspicion.
“Speaking of McRae,” went on Tompkinson, “I understand he’s very liberal in the matter of salaries.”
“I don’t know a man on the team that’s dissatisfied,” replied Joe. “There’s nothing mean or niggardly about the Giant management.”
“And some of the salaries I imagine are almost princely,” remarked Harrish. “I’ve heard rumors, for instance, that you were drawing down more money than most railway or bank presidents.”
“The matter of my salary is a matter between me and the club,” said Joe curtly. “They pay me enough.”