He had a tip from McRae to pay especial attention to young Barclay, of whom the manager had great hopes. Jim had a good fast ball and a fair variety of curves. But during his last year at Princeton he had been coached by one of the greatest spit ball pitchers in the country and had developed a very effective form of that puzzling delivery.
Neither McRae nor Robson favored the “moist” ball overmuch, as they thought it took too much out of the twirler and put too big a strain on his pitching arm. Chesebro, who discovered it and Ed Walsh of the Chicagos who perfected it, had both been worn out before their time. Still, as no other pitcher on the Giants used it and Barclay was willing to take the chance, they were not averse to letting him show what he could do. And Robson soon had to admit that what he could do was “plenty.” Before long, it had become clear that, whoever might be sent back to the bushes, Jim would not be among them.
As for Joe himself, he had never been in finer shape at the beginning of a season. He had “speed to burn.” The ball shot over the plate, like a bullet from a gun. His control was nearly perfect. He made the ball fairly “talk.” He won a game from the strong Houston team with comparative ease and saved another from Waco after Markwith had been batted out of the box.
“You’re playing like a house afire, Joe,” said Jim, after this last game. “I’ll bet you’ve got a rabbit’s foot concealed about you somewhere.”
“Rabbit’s foot be hanged,” laughed Joe. “I know a trick worth two of that.”
Could Joe have referred to a dainty little glove that nestled in his pocket?
In what estimation Joe was held by the “powers that be” may be inferred from a scrap of conversation that passed between McRae and Robson as the team was working its way north, after training days were over, to open the season at the Polo Grounds.
“What do you think of Matson, Robbie, old boy?” asked McRae.
“What do I think?” said Robson, emphatically. “I think he’s going to be a second Hughson.”