On the eve of the invasion of the East by the Western teams, McRae called his men together for a heart-to-heart talk in the clubhouse.
“You boys know that I can give you the rough edge of my tongue when you lay down on me,” he said, as he looked around on the group of earnest young athletes, who listened to him with respectful attention. “But you know, too, that I’m always ready to give a man credit when he deserves it. I’m glad to say that just now I’m proud of the men who wear the Giant uniform. You’ve done good work in cleaning up the Eastern teams. You’ve played ball right up to the end of the ninth inning, and many a game that looked lost you’ve pulled out of the fire.
“Now, that’s all right as far as it goes. But the Western clubs are coming, and they’re out for scalps. You remember what they did to us on our first trip out there. They gave us one of the most disgraceful beatings we’ve had for years. They took everything but our shirts, and they nearly got those. Are you going to let them do it again?”
There was a yell of dissent that warmed McRae’s heart.
“That’s the right spirit,” he declared approvingly. “Now, go in and show the same spirit on the field that you’re showing in the clubhouse. Beat them to a frazzle. Show them that you’re yet the class of the League. Don’t be satisfied with an even break. That won’t get us anywhere. Take three out of four from every one of them. Make a clean sweep if you can. Keep on your toes every minute. You’ve got the pitching, you’ve got the fielding, you’ve got the batting, and you’ve got the best captain that ever wore baseball shoes. What more does any club want?”
“Nothing!” shouted Larry. “We’ll wipe up the earth with them!”
“That’s the stuff,” replied McRae. “Now go out and say it with your bats. I want another championship this year, and I want it so bad that it hurts. You’re the boys that can give it to me, and I’m counting on you to do it. Show them that you’re Giants not only in name, but in fact. That’s about all.”
“What’s the matter with McRae?” cried Curry, as the manager, having said his say, turned to leave.
“He’s all right!” came in a thundering chorus from all except Iredell, who maintained a moody silence.
McRae waved his hand and vanished through the door.