“It was a whale of a catch all right,” Jim conceded. “But to offset that there was some rotten playing in the infield. McCarney at third acted as though his fingers were all thumbs. Twice he fell down on easy ones, and that high throw over Burkett’s head in the seventh let Ryan leg it all the way to third. It was only that snappy double play that Iredell engineered that kept us from being scored on in that inning.”
“McCarney did have a bad day,” admitted Joe. “Hupft, too, let a ball get by him that went for two bases when he ran in to make a catch of Milton’s hit that he ought to have waited for on the bound. He might have seen that he couldn’t make it.”
“I can’t quite make out those fellows,” said Jim thoughtfully. “When we got them on that trade with St. Louis, I thought they were going to be towers of strength to the team. They had a good record last year both in fielding and batting, and they certainly played like fiends in the spring-training practice. But since the regular season opened I haven’t known what to make of them. One day they’ll play like stars and the next you’d think they were a couple of bushers.”
“You’re right about that,” agreed Joe. “But it isn’t that which gives me food for thought, Jim. Ball players are like race horses. One day they race like stake winners and the next they’re simply selling platers. There isn’t one of us that doesn’t sometimes have an off day. But the off days of Hupft and McCarney are different, somehow. There seems to be a kind of method in their offness.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Jim, with quickened interest. “Do you think they’re not loyal to the team?”
“Why, I shouldn’t want to think that about anybody unless I had the goods on him,” answered Joe evasively. “Let’s hurry up now and get back. We’ve walked further than we intended to, and I want to get in a little practice this morning to keep my wing in condition.”
The two chums had been strolling along in the parklike section of upper New York, at no great distance from the Polo Grounds. The time was a day in late spring, and there was just enough coolness in the air to make a walk delightful.
Both of them were trained athletes, tall, muscular, and in the pink of condition. Perfect health and abounding vitality showed in the springiness of their steps and the easy swing of their shoulders as they walked along at a rapid pace.
They had reported for duty at the appointed time that season in the training camp at San Antonio, Texas. During the winter they had kept themselves fit and hard, and even at the beginning of practice had shown that they were fit to fight for a man’s life. In both pitching and fielding they had been doing wonders, and when at last the bell rang for the beginning of the regular championship season they had never been in better form. Joe showed that his arm was the same mighty weapon that had struck fear into opposing batsmen the preceding year. In batting, too, he was knocking out homers with gratifying regularity. Jim, too, who now stood next to Joe as the most reliable flinger on the Giants’ staff, was playing the game of his life in the box. It was largely owing to the work of these two that the Giants stood up in the front rank of the competing clubs. The prophecy was, already, that they would win the championship, as they had won it the preceding year.