“If they only had two more like them the pennant would be cinched already. The Giants would win in a walk.”
Joe and Jim would not have been human if such comments had not pleased them. But they were used to hero worship, and, as the crowd began to close in upon them and hinder their progress, they were glad enough when they reached the players’ gate and could slip into the grounds.
Some of the players had preceded them to the clubhouse and were already getting into their uniforms, and the newcomers speedily followed their example.
“What’s the matter with your arm, Joe?” asked Larry Barrett, the second baseman, “Laughing Larry,” as he was called because of his jolly disposition. “It’s all cut and bruised. Been in a fight?”
“Nothing like that,” replied Joe, making haste to cover the injured member. “Had a tumble this morning and that arm got the brunt of it. Little bit sore yet, but it will be all right by to-morrow.”
“Well, for the love of Pete, don’t have any more such tumbles,” implored Larry. “It might catch your pitching arm next time. And if anything happened to that wing of yours the Giants would be in the soup.”
“They’d get out of it again,” countered Joe. “The Giants are too great a team to be dependent on one man. McRae would simply have to look around for another pitcher.”
“Sure!” said Larry sarcastically. “Just as simple as that! Look around for another pitcher! There are plenty of pitchers such as they are, but there’s only one Matson.”
“And that’s no lie,” broke in Curry, the star left fielder of the team. “Many’s the time, old boy, that you’ve carried the whole team on your back. And now that Hughson’s gone we’ll have to rely on you more than ever if we’re to have a look in for the flag.”