“McRae never made a shrewder deal than when he secured this phenomenal pitcher from St. Louis. We said this last year, when Matson’s great pitching disposed of Chicago’s chances for the pennant. We said it again when in the World Series he bore the heft of the pitcher’s burden and made his team champions of the world. But a true thing will bear repeating twice or even thrice, and so we say it now with added emphasis.”
All of the comment was in the same laudatory strain, although in reference to his batting, one paper cautioned its readers that not too much importance was to be attached to that. It was probably one of Matson’s good days, and one swallow did not make a summer. But whether he kept up his remarkable batting or not, the New York public would ask nothing more of him than to keep up his magnificent work in the box.
Joe would not have been human if he had not enjoyed the praise that was showered upon him in the columns that he and Jim read with interest the next morning. It was pleasant to know that his work was appreciated. But he was far too sensible to be unduly elated or to get a “swelled head” in consequence. He knew how quickly a popular idol could be dethroned, and he did not want the public to set up an ideal that he could not live up to.
It was for that reason that he read with especial approval the article that warned against expecting him to be a batting phenomenon because of his performance of yesterday.
“That fellow’s got it right,” he remarked to Jim, as he pointed to the paragraph in question. “I just had luck yesterday in straightening out Albaugh’s slants. Another time and I might be as helpless as a baby.”
“Luck, nothing!” replied Jim, who had no patience with Joe’s depreciation of himself. “There was nothing fluky about those hits. You timed them perfectly and soaked the ball right on the nose. And look at the way you’ve been lining them out in training this spring. Wake up, man. You’re not only the king of pitchers, but you’ve got it in you to become the king of sluggers.”
“Oh, quit your kidding,” protested Joe.
“I’m not kidding,” Jim affirmed earnestly. “It’s the solemn truth. You’ll win many a game this year not only by your pitching but by your batting too. Just put a pin in that.”
At this moment a bellboy tapped at the door, and being told to come in, handed Joe two telegrams. He tore them open in haste. The first was from Reggie and read:
“Keep it up, old top. Simply ripping, don’t you know.”