The old familiar cries, and the resonant sound of the starting gong, were heard at the Reedville diamond. It was the first real game of the season, and it was awaited anxiously, not only by the players, but by Manager Watson, the coach, and by the owners back home. For it would give a "line" on what St. Louis could do.
Of course it was not a league contest, and the work, good, bad or indifferent, would not count in the averages. Joe hoped he would get a chance to pitch, at least part of the game, but he was not likely to, Boswell frankly told him, as it was desired to let Barter and Cooney have a fairly hard work-out on this occasion.
"But your turn will come, son," said the coach, kindly. "Don't you fret. I think you're improving, and, to be frank with you, there's lots of room for it. But you've got grit, and that's what I like to see."
Reedville was a good baseball town, which was one of the reasons why Manager Watson had selected it as his training camp. The townspeople were ardent supporters of the home team, and they welcomed the advent of the big leaguers. In the vicinity were also other teams that played good ball.
The bleachers and grandstand were well filled when the umpire gave his echoing cry of:
"Play ball!"
The ball-tossers had been warming up, both the Cardinals and the home team, which proved to be a husky aggregation of lads, with tremendous hitting abilities, provided they could connect with the ball. And that was just what the St. Louis pitchers hoped to prevent.
"Willard, you can lead off," was the unexpected announcement of Mr. Watson, as he scanned his batting order. "McCann will catch for you. Now let's see what you can do."
"I'll show 'em!" exclaimed the "grouchy" pitcher as he unbuttoned his glove from his belt. He had been warming up, and had come to the bench, donning a sweater, with no hope of being put in the game at the start off. But, unexpectedly, he had been called on.
"Play ball!" cried the umpire again.