"And now, boys," said Manager Gregory, when practice had closed one day.
"I want you to do your prettiest to-morrow. I've got a good team--I know it. Some of you are new to me, but I've heard about you, and I'm banking on your making good. I want you to wallop Clevefield to-morrow. I want every man to do his best, and don't want any hard feelings if I play one man instead of another. I have reasons for it. Now that's my last word to you. I want you to win."
There was a little nervous feeling among the players as the time for the first league game drew near. A number of the men had been bought from other clubs. There was one former Clevefield player on the Pittston team, and also one from the pennant club of a previous year.
That night Joe spent some time studying the batting averages of the opposing team, and also he read as much of their history as he could get hold of. He wanted to know the characteristics of the various batters if he should be fortunate enough to face them from the pitching mound.
There was the blare of a band, roars of cheers, and much excitement. The official opening of the league season was always an event in Pittston, as it is in most large cities. The team left their hotel in a body, going to the grounds in a large 'bus, which was decorated with flags. A mounted police escort had been provided, and a large throng, mostly boys, marched to the grounds, accompanying the players.
There another demonstration took place as the home team paraded over the diamond, and greeted their opponents, who were already on hand, an ovation having also been accorded to them.
The band played again, there were more cheers and encouraging calls, and then the Mayor of the city stepped forward to throw the first ball.
Clevefield was to bat first, the home team, in league games, always coming up last.
The initial ball, of course, was only a matter of form, and the batter only pretended to strike at it.
Then came the announcement all were waiting for; the naming of the Pittston battery.
"For Clevefield," announced the umpire, "McGuinness and Sullivan. For Pittston, Matson and Nelson."
Joe had been picked to open the battle, and Nelson, who was the regular catcher, except when Gregory took a hand, would back him up. Joe's ears rang as he walked to the mound.
"Play ball!" droned the umpire.
CHAPTER X
BITTERNESS
Joe glanced over to where Gregory sat on the bench, from which he would engineer this first game of the season. The manager caught the eye of the young pitcher, and something in Joe's manner must have told the veteran that his latest recruit was nervous. He signalled to Joe to try a few practice balls, and our hero nodded comprehensively.
The batter stepped back from the plate, and Joe thought he detected a smile of derision at his own newness, and perhaps rawness.
"But I'll show him!" whispered Joe fiercely to himself, as he clinched his teeth and stung in the ball. It landed in the mitt of the catcher with a resounding thud.
"That's the boy!" called Gregory to him. "You'll do, old man. Sting in another."
Joe threw with all his force, but there was a sickening fear in his heart that he was not keeping good control over the ball. Nelson signalled to him to hold his curves in a little more, and Joe nodded to show he understood.
"Play ball!" drawled the umpire again, and the batter took his place at the plate.
Joe looked at the man, and reviewing the baseball "dope" he recalled that the player batted well over .300, and was regarded as the despair of many pitchers.
"If I could only strike him out!" thought Joe.
His first ball went a little wild. He realized that it was going to be a poor one as soon as it left his hand, but he could not for the life of him recover in time.
"Ball one!" yelled the umpire.
"That's the way!"
"Make him give you what you want!"
"Wait for a pretty one!"
"That's their ten thousand dollar college pitcher! Back to the bench for his!"
These were only a few of the remarks, sarcastic and otherwise, that greeted Joe's first performance. He felt the hot blood rush to his face, and then, as he stepped forward to receive the ball which the catcher tossed back to him, he tried to master his feelings. The catcher shook his head in a certain way, to signal to Joe to be on his guard. Joe looked over at Gregory, who did not glance at him.
"I'll do better this time!" whispered Joe, fiercely.
He deliberated a moment before hurling in the next ball.
"Here goes a home run! Clout it over the fence, Pike!" called an enthusiastic "fan" in a shrill voice and the crowd laughed.
"Not if I know it!" muttered Joe.
The ball clipped the corner of the plate cleanly, and the batter, who had made a half motion to hit at it, refrained.
"Strike one!" yelled the umpire, throwing up his arm.
"That's the way, Matson!"
"Two more like that and he's a dead one!"
Joe caught the signal for a drop, but shook his head. He was going to try another out. Again his catcher signalled for a drop, but Joe was, perhaps, a trifle obstinate. He felt that he had been successful once with an out, and he was going to do it again. The catcher finally nodded in agreement, though reluctantly.
Joe shot in a fast one, and he knew that he had the ball under perfect control. Perhaps he was as disappointed as any of the home players when there came a resounding crack, and the white sphere sailed aloft, and well out over centre field.
"That's the way, Pike! Two bags anyhow!"
But the redoubtable Pike was to have no such good fortune, for the centre fielder, after a heart-breaking run, got under the fly and caught it, winning much applause from the crowd for his plucky effort.
"One down!" called Gregory, cheerfully. "Only two more, Joe."
Joe wished that he had struck out his man, but it was some consolation to know that he was being supported by good fielding.
The next man up had a ball and a strike called on him, and Joe was a bit puzzled as to just what to offer. He decided on a swift in, and thought it was going to make good, but the batter was a crafty veteran, and managed to connect with the ball. He sent a swift liner which the shortstop gathered in, however, and there was another added to the list of outs.
"One more and that'll be about all!" called the Pittston catcher. Joe threw the ball over to first for a little practice, while the next batter was picking out his stick, and then came another try.
"I've got to strike him out!" decided the young pitcher. "I've got to make good!"
His heart was fluttering, and his nerves were not as calm as they ought to have been. He stooped over and made a pretence of tying his shoe-lace. When he straightened up he had, in a measure, gained a mastery of himself. He felt cool and collected.
In went the ball with certain aim, and Joe knew that it was just what he had intended it should be.