“Well,” he says, “I bet you don’t eat it when you see it.”
He win his bet. I was the last fella up to the baskets. They was a couple o’ sandwiches and one or two pieces o’ fried chicken left, but it’d all been pawed over by the early birds, and amongst the other things the grounds was shy of was a place to wash your hands. Even if they’d been one, nobody’d of had time to use it.
So that day and the rest o’ the time we was there I set out on the sidelines with Hi and Jimmy and Red durin’ the noon hour, and watched the performance.
“This mayn’t be a big league,” says Jimmy, “but our club’ll be big if they don’t all get lockjaw.”
“It’ll take two engines to pull us home,” says Red.
“If them boys could hit, they’d be heavy hitters,” says Hi.
Well, they couldn’t hit or they couldn’t field; that is, the most o’ them couldn’t. They was a couple that had the stuff to make pretty fair ball players if they’d knew anything. Carmody couldn’t learn ’em because he didn’t know nothin’ himself. I done what I could to help ’em, partly because I’m kindhearted and partly so’s I’d be doin’ somethin’ else besides riskin’ my life in that outfield. It was rough enough so’s a fella with two good legs would be scared to take a chance, and it wasn’t no place for a cripple to frolic round in.
We put on two ball games a day between the regulars and yannigans. The only reason for callin’ our team the regulars was on account o’ Carmody playin’ with us. We was licked most o’ the time because young Steele done most o’ the pitchin’ against us. He sure could buzz ’em through and he had as good control as I ever seen in a kid. He was workin’ the day that I and Carmody had our first and last argument. Carmody’s whole idear o’ baseball was “take two strikes.” That was his instructions to everybody that went up to hit. It was all right when the other fellas was pitchin’ because they was all o’ them pretty near sure to walk you. But I couldn’t see no sense doin’ it against Steele; it just helped him get you in a hole.
This day it come up to the seventh innin’ and Steele had us beat four to nothin’. We was all ordered to take two strikes and most of us was addin’ one onto the order. But in the seventh, one o’ the kids happened to get a base hit and they was a couple o’ boots, and when it was my turn to go up there, the bases was choked and two out.
“Take two strikes,” yells Carmody.
“Yes,” I says to myself, “I’ll take two strikes.”
So Steele, thinkin’ I’d obey orders, laid the first one right over in my groove and I busted it out o’ the ball park.
When I come in to the bench Carmody was layin’ for me.
“What kind o’ baseball is that?” he says.
“It’s real baseball,” I says. “If you think it ain’t you’re crazy. When a pitcher’s got as good control as him, and we’re four runs behind and the bases is full, I’m goin’ to crack the first ball I can reach.”
He called me over away from the gang.
“It’s a bad example,” he says, “for you to not follow instructions.”
“Maybe it is,” says I, “but when the instructions is ridic’lous I’m goin’ to forget ’em.”
“I’m managin’ this ball club,” he says.
“You’re doin’ a grand job,” says I. “When you take money for managin’, it’s plain highway robbery.”
“I suppose you’re earnin’ yourn,” says Carmody. “I suppose you got two good legs.”
That kind o’ shook me up.
“Listen,” he says, “I got just as much license to draw a manager’s salary as you have for takin’ a ball player’s. You’re liable to be on crutches before the middle of April. But if I don’t make no crack to Grant he won’t know you was crippled when you signed; he’ll think, when your knee goes back on you, that it’s the first time and just an accident. So,” he says, “if I was you I’d play the way the manager told me and not make no fuss.”
“You win,” says I. “But have a heart and forget once in a w’ile to give me orders. I don’t mind if the rest o’ the league knows I got a bum leg, but I don’t want ’em to think my head’s cut off.”
They wasn’t never such a long five weeks as I put in down to this excuse for a trainin’ camp. After the first few days I got sick o’ laughin’ and sleepin’ and everything else. I’d promised the girl I wouldn’t take a drink, but all that kept me from breakin’ the promise was lack of opportunity. The burg didn’t even have a soda foundry.
Nights after supper I’d write a long letter to the future Missus and then I and Boyle’d set up in the room and wish we was somewheres else. Once or twice old Grant called on us and raved about our chances to win the pennant.
“If you boys finish on top,” he says, “and if the European war’s over by that time, I might give you all a trip acrost the pond next fall.”
When he’d went out and left us after spillin’ that great piece o’ news, we was as excited as a couple o’ draft horses.
“I wonder what they soak a man for a steamer trunk,” says Jimmy. “It’d be a grand honeymoon for you,” he says. “The lady’ll love you better’n ever when she knows you’re goin’ to take her to see the Tower o’ London and the Plaster o’ Paris.”
“I hope,” says I, “that they’ll be sure and have all the dead removed before we get there.”
“We’ll be right to home in the trenches after practicin’ all spring on these grounds,”
