CHAPTER XXVI
THE SLUMP
The trouble began with Hartley.
On the last Western trip he seemed to lose what little shred ofself-control he had left, and began to drink heavily.
His comrades tried to shield him, as Joe and Jim had done on an earlieroccasion, but all to no purpose. In his sober moods he was penitent andpromised solemnly never to offend again. But his moral fibre had beenweakened by self-indulgence, and with every debauch he became the lessable to resist temptation.
McRae had pleaded with him and threatened him. He had fully resolved torelease him when the season was over, but he hoped to keep him goingfairly well till the end of the present year. When Hartley was "good,"he was almost unhittable, and in a close finish he might come in handy.
But of late he had been losing almost every game that he pitched. Twicein one week Joe had gone in when Hartley had been batted from the moundand by superhuman exertions had just nosed out a victory.
Hartley resented this bitterly. He seemed to think that Joe was tryingto "show him up." He glared at our hero whenever they came near eachother, growled at him in the clubhouse after the game, and on twooccasions of late had tried to trip him.
Joe attributed this to his mental state, and where he would haveresented, with his fists if need be, such conduct on the part ofanother, he passed it over pityingly in the case of Hartley.
"Bugs seems to have it in for me," he remarked to Jim one day, whenthey were dressing after the game. "You'd think that after I'd tried toshield him as I did in St. Louis, he'd be grateful, instead of trying toharm me in any way he could."
"It's just an illustration of the old motto: 'Do a man a favor and he'llnever forgive you,'" returned Jim. "The trouble with Bugs is that heisn't right in the upper story. His nickname fits him right enough."
Finally, McRae, wrought to exasperation by the loss of a game that oughtto have been won easily, gave Hartley his ten days' notice of release.And this time, although Hartley begged hard for another chance, themanager was adamant.
"It's no use, Hartley," he declared. "You've told me the same thingfifty times and you've fallen down every time. Here's where you and Ipart company."
Hartley saw that this time McRae was really through with him. He beganat once to pull wires to land a berth in some other club. But in themeantime, his unreasonable hate of Joe developed until he could think oflittle else.
Joe himself, although he had every reason to be glad at Hartley'sdeparture from the club, was sincerely sorry for the plight in which thelatter found himself, and took early occasion to tell him so.
"I hope you'll land something else right away, Hartley," he said,heartily. "There ought to be some years of big league pitching in youyet, and some of the other clubs will soon be after you, when they knowthey can get you."
"You shut up!" snarled Hartley. "I'm not asking any sympathy from you oranybody else. I was pitching in the big league when you were a busherand I'll be pitching in it yet when you're fired back to the minors.You've been trying to do me ever since you've been on the club. You'veput on extra steam whenever you've followed me in a game, just to showthat you could win where I was losing. I've been on to you, all right."
"If you were any one else, I'd ram those words down your throat!"exclaimed Joe, angered at finding his friendly advances met in suchfashion. "But you have troubles enough just now without my adding tothem. You're your own worst enemy, Hartley, and it's time you got wiseto it."
He turned on his heel and left him and did not see the man until noonthe next day. Then Hartley approached him as he sat at the hotel table.Joe was slated to pitch that day, and as he did not like to eat a heavymeal immediately before the game, he had come down for a light lunchearlier than the rest of the team.
Hartley came up to him with a pleasant smile.
"I'm sorry I spoke to you the way I did yesterday, Matson," he said."But I was feeling sore and wanted to take it out on somebody. I hopethere's no hard feelings."
"Not in the least," said Joe, whose nature was too large to cherisha grudge. "Any man is liable to say what he doesn't mean when thingsaren't going just right. Just forget all about it."
He pointed to a chair opposite.
"Sit down and have a cup of coffee with me," he invited. "I was justgoing to order one for myself to finish up with."
Hartley accepted the invitation and Joe signaled the waiter and gave theorder. They chatted on various topics until the coffee was placed beforethem. Hartley motioned the waiter to put the cups down near him.
"I've got the sugar and cream right here," he said, lightly. "How manylumps of sugar, Matson?"
"Two will do," answered Joe, "and just a drop of cream."
Hartley dropped two cubes in Joe's cup and at the same time slipped in atiny white tablet that he had extracted from his vest pocket.
"There you are," he said, as he passed the cup over.
He swallowed the contents of his own cup with a gulp.
"Well, I'll have to be going," he remarked after a moment. "I understandyou're going to pitch against the Phillies this afternoon. Hope you trimthem, all right."
"Thanks," responded Joe. "I'll do my best, but they have a big battingstreak on just now and all pitchers look alike to them. But if our boysback me up with the stick, I'll try to hold them down."
After Hartley had gone, Joe glanced at his watch. He saw that it waslater than he thought and swallowed his coffee hastily. He noticed thatit had rather a bitter taste, but the matter passed from his mind thenext moment.
Baseball Joe on the Giants; or, Making Good as a Ball Twirler in the Metropolis Page 26