And so the young pitcher kept on, struggling to perfect himself in the technicalities of the big game, playing his position for all it was capable of. As the season went on Joe's name figured more and more often in the papers.

"He's got reporters on his staff!" sneered Willard.

"Well, I wish we all had," observed Manager Watson. "Publicity counts, and I want all I can get for my players. It's a wonder some of you fellows wouldn't have your name in the papers oftener."

"I don't play to the grandstand," growled the grouchy pitcher.

"Maybe it would help some if you did," the manager remarked quietly.

The baseball practice and play went on. Joe was called on more often now to pitch a game, as Mr. Watson was kind enough to say some of the club's success was due to him, and while of course he was not considered the equal of the veteran pitchers, he was often referred to as a "comer."

What Joe princ.i.p.ally lacked was consistency. He could go in and pitch a brilliant game, but he could not often do it two days in succession. In this respect he was not unlike many celebrated young pitchers. Joe was not fully developed yet. He had not attained his full growth, and he had not the stamina and staying power that would come with added years. But he was acquiring experience and practice that would stand him in good stead, and his natural good health, and clean manner of living, were in his favor.

The Cardinals had come back to St. Louis in high spirits over their splendid work on the road.

"We ought to take at least three from the Phillies," said Boswell, for they were to play four games with the Quaker City nine. "That will help some."

"If we win them," remarked Joe, with a smile.

"Well, we're depending on you to help," retorted the trainer.

Joe only smiled.

There was some discussion in the papers as to who would pitch the first game against the Phillies, and it was not settled until a few minutes before the game was called, when Slim c.o.o.ney was sent in.

"I guess Mr. Watson wants to make sure of at least the first one,"

remarked Joe, as he sat on the bench.

"Oh, you'll get a chance," Boswell a.s.sured him. "You want to keep yourself right on edge. No telling when you'll be called on."

It was a close game, and it was not until the eleventh inning that the home team pulled in the winning run. Then, with jubilant faces, the members hurried to the clubhouse.

"Whew!" whistled c.o.o.ney, as he swung his southpaw arm about. "I sure will be lame to-morrow."

"You can have a rest," the manager informed him. "And be sure to have your arm ma.s.saged well. This is going to be a stiffer proposition than I thought."

"Did you see him at the game?" asked Rad of Joe, as they walked along together.

"See who?"

"Shalleg."

"No. Was he there?"

"He sure was! I had a glimpse of him over in the bleachers when I ran after that long drive of Mitch.e.l.l's. He was with that Wessel, but they didn't look my way."

"Humph!" mused Joe. "Well, I suppose he's got a right to come to our games. If he bothers me, though, I'll take some action."

"What?"

"I don't know, yet. But I'm through standing for his nonsense."

"I don't blame you."

If Joe could have seen Shalleg and Wessel talking to a certain "tough"

looking character, after the game, and at the same time motioning in his direction, he would have felt added uneasiness.

"Oh, let's go out to some summer garden and cool off," proposed Rad after supper. It was a hot night, and sitting about the hotel was irksome.

"All right," agreed Joe, and they started for a car. The same "tough"

looking character who had been talking with Wessel and Shalleg took the car as well.

Coming back, after sitting through an open-air moving picture performance, Joe and Rad found all the cars crowded. It was an open one, and Joe and Rad had given their seats to ladies, standing up and holding to the back of the seat in front of them. Just beyond Joe was a burly chap, the same one who had left the hotel at the time they did. He kept his seat.

Then, as the car reached a certain corner, this man got up hurriedly.

"Let me past! I want to get off!" he exclaimed, in unnecessarily rough tones to Joe, at the same time pressing hard against him.

"Certainly," the young pitcher replied, removing his hands from the seat in front of him. At that moment the car stopped with a sudden jerk, and the fellow grabbed Joe by the right arm, twisting it so that the ball player cried out, involuntarily.

"'Scuse me!" muttered the fellow. "I didn't mean to grab youse so hard.

I didn't know youse was so tender," he sneered.

"Seems to me you could have grabbed the seat," objected Joe, wincing with pain.

The other did not answer, but afterward Rad said he thought he saw him wink and grin maliciously.

"Hurt much?" asked Rad of Joe, as the fellow got off and the car went on again.

"It did for a minute. It's better now."

"It looked to me as though he did that on purpose," said Rad.

"He certainly was very clumsy," spoke one of the ladies to whom Joe and Rad had given their places. "He stepped on my foot, too."

Joe worked his arm up and down to limber the muscles, and then thought little more about the incident. That is, until the next morning. He awoke with a sudden sense of pain, and as he stretched out his pitching arm, he cried out.

"What's the matter?" asked Rad.

"My arm's sore and lame!" complained Joe. "Say, this is tough luck! And maybe I'll get a chance to pitch to-day."

CHAPTER XXIV

A TIGHT GAME