"Yes," grinned Jim. "But we weren't comfortable while we were doing it."

"They sure did worry us," acquiesced Joe. "They made us know at least that we'd been in a fight."

"It was that ninth-inning work of yours that pulled us through, Joe,"

declared McRae. "That stunt you pulled of whirling on your heel and shooting it over to third was a pretty bit of inside stuff. And there wasn't anything slow either about spearing that ball that Thompson hit."

"I'd have let the fielders take care of that," admitted Joe, "if there hadn't been so much at stake. My hand stung for an hour afterward. But I'd have hated to let those fellows crow over us."

"That fellow, Alvarez, that Thorpe rang in on us was a sure-enough pitcher," observed McRae. "I'd sign him up in a minute if it weren't for that dark skin of his. But it wouldn't work. We had a second baseman like that one time, and although he was a rattling good player it nearly broke up the team. It's too bad that color should stand in the way of a man's advancement, but it can't be helped.

"By the way," he continued, drawing a paper from his pocket, "here's something that may interest you. It's the official record of the National League of the pitching averages for this season. It made me feel good when I read it and you'll see the reason why."

He handed them the paper, which they opened eagerly to the sporting page.

Joe's heart felt a thrill of satisfaction as he saw that his name stood at the head of the list, and Jim, too, was elated, as he noted that although this was his first year in a major league his name was among the first fifteen--a rare distinction for a "rookie."

"Some cla.s.s to the Giants, eh?" grinned McRae. "There's sixty names in that list and no single team has as many in the first twelve as we have.

That average of yours, Joe, of 1.53 earned runs per game is a hummer.

Hughson is close on your heels with 1.56. The Rube, you see, is eighth in the list with 1.95, and Jim's eleventh with 2.09. I tell you, boys, that's cla.s.s, and to cap it all we won the pennant."

"Two pennants, you mean," corrected Jim with a smile.

"And neither one to be sneezed at," grinned Joe.

"We sure had a great season," observed McRae. "If we start next year with the same team we ought to go through the league like a prairie fire. I have every reason to think that Hughson will be in tip-top shape when the season opens, and if he is, there won't be any pitching staff that can hold a candle to ours. But----"

He paused uncertainly and looked at Joe as though he wanted to speak to him privately. Jim saw the look and took the hint.

"I guess I'll go into the smoker and see what the rest of the fellows are doing, if you'll excuse me," he said, rising and strolling back.

McRae greeted his departure with evident satisfaction.

"I'm glad to have a chance to talk to you alone, Joe," he said. "You're my right bower and I can talk to you more freely than to anyone else, except Hughson. I don't mind telling you that this new league is worrying me a lot."

"What is it?" asked Joe with quick interest. "Anything happened lately?"

"Plenty," replied McRae. "I've kidded myself with the idea that the thing was going to peter out of its own accord. Every few seasons something of the kind crops up, but it usually comes to nothing. Usually the men who put up the coin get scared when they see what a big proposition it is they've tackled and back out. Sometimes, too, they go about it in such a blundering way that it's bound to fail from the start.

"But this time it's different. They've got barrels of money behind them, and they're spending it like water. There's one of them named Fleming, whose father is a millionaire many times over, and he seems to have money to burn. They certainly are making big offers to star players all over the country. You saw the way they came at you, and they're doing the same in other places. There isn't a paper that I pick up that doesn't give the name of some big player that they're tampering with. The last one I saw was Altman of the Chicago White Sox. I guess though, that is a wrong steer, for Altman has come out flat for his old team and denies any intention of jumping his contract."

"Bully for Nick!" exclaimed Joe. "I guess I helped to queer that deal. I saw Westland talking to him, and he seemed to have him going, but I put a few things straight to Nick and he seems to have come to his senses before it's too late."

"There's Munsey of the Cincinnatis, he's left his reservation," continued McRae. "He's the crack shortstop of the country. They've got a line out, too, for Wilson of the Bostons, and you know they don't make any better outfielders than he is. In fact, they're biting into the teams everywhere, and none of them know where they're at. If I'd known they were going at it so seriously, and hadn't got so far in my preparations for this trip, I think I wouldn't have gone on this world's tour. It looks to me as though the major leagues would be backed up against the wall and fighting for their lives before this winter's over."

"It may not be as bad as you think," said Joe consolingly. "Even if they get a lot of the stars, there will be a great many left. And, besides, they may have trouble in finding suitable grounds to play on."

"But they will," declared McRae. "They've got the refusal of first-cla.s.s locations in every big city of the major league. I tell you, there's brains behind this new league and that's what's worrying me. I don't know whether it's Fleming----"

"No," interrupted Joe, smiling contemptuously, as he thought of the dissipated young fellow whom he had thrashed so soundly. "It isn't Fleming. He's got money enough, but there's a vacuum where his brains ought to be."

"Then it's his partners," deduced McRae. "And their brains with his money make a strong combination."

"Well," comforted Joe, "there's one good thing about this trip, anyway.

You've got the Giants out of reach of their schemes."

McRae looked around to see if anyone were within earshot, and then leaned over toward Joe.

"Don't fool yourself," he said earnestly. "I'm afraid right now there are traitors in the camp!"

CHAPTER XIV

A WEIRD GAME

Baseball Joe was startled and showed it plainly.

"What do you mean?" he asked, as his mind ran over the names of his team-mates.

"Just what I say," replied McRae. "I tell you, Joe, somebody's getting in his fine work with our boys and I know it."

"Where's your proof?" asked Joe. "I hate to think that any of our fellows would welch on their contracts."

"So do I," returned McRae. "We've been like one big family, and I've always tried to treat the boys right. I've got a rough tongue, as everybody knows, and in a hot game I've called them down many a time when they've made bonehead plays. But at the same time I've tried to be just, and I've never given any of them the worst end of the deal. They've been paid good money, and I've carried them along sometimes when other managers would have let them go."

"You've been white all right," a.s.sented Joe warmly. He recalled an occasion when a m.u.f.f by a luckless center-fielder had lost a World Series and fifty thousand dollars for the team, and yet McRae had "stood the gaff" and never said a word, because he knew the man was trying to do his best.

"I'm telling this to you, Joe," went on McRae, "because I want you to help me out. You've proved yourself true blue when you were put to the test. I know you'll do all you can to hold the boys in the traces. They all like you and feel that they owe you a lot because it was your pitching that pulled us through the World's Series. Besides, they'll be more impressed by what you say than by the talk I'd give them. They figure that I'm the manager and am only looking after my own interests, and for that reason what I say has less effect."

"I'll stand by you, Mac," returned Joe, "and help you in any way I can.

Who are the boys that you think are trying to break loose?"

"There are three of them," replied McRae. "Iredell, Curry and Burkett, and all three of them are stars, as you know as well as I do."

"They're cracks, every one of them," agreed Joe. "And they're among the last men that I'd suspect of doing anything of the kind. What makes you think they've been approached?"

"A lot of things," replied McRae. "In the first place, I have noticed that they are stiff and offish in their manner when I speak to them. Then, too, I've come across them several times lately with their heads together, and when they saw me coming they'd break apart and start talking of something else, as if I had interrupted them. Beside that, all three have struck me lately for a raise in salary next season."

"That's nothing new for ball players," said Joe, with a smile.

"No," admitted McRae, an answering smile relieving the gravity of his face for the moment. "And I stand ready of my own accord to give the boys a substantial increase on last year's pay because of their winning the pennant. But what these three asked for was beyond all reason, and made me think there was a n.i.g.g.e.r in the woodpile. They either had had a big offer from somebody else and were using that as a club to hold me up with, or else they were just trying to give themselves a better excuse for jumping."

"How long do their contracts have to run?" asked Joe.

"Iredell has one year more and Curry and Burkett are signed up for two years yet," replied the Giants' manager. "Of course I could try to hold them to their contracts, but you know as well as I do that baseball contracts are more a matter of honesty than of legal obligation. If a man is straight, he'll keep it, if he's crooked, he'll break it. And you know what a hole it would leave in the Giant team if those three men went over the fence. There isn't a heavier slugger in the team than Burkett, except Larry. His batting average this year was .332, and as a fielding first baseman he's the cla.s.s of the league."

"You're right there," acquiesced Joe, as he recalled the ease and precision with which Burkett took them on either side and dug them out of the dirt. "He's saved a game for me many and many a time."