“Looking to see if his girl was there, perhaps,” laughed Jim.
“Nothing so pleasant as that,” asserted Joe. “It was as though he were looking for some one he didn’t want to see. And the same thing is true of Bowen. Of course he’s out at center, and I can’t observe him as well as I can Jackwell. But when he’s been sitting in the dugout waiting for his turn at bat, he’s always squinting at the fans in the stands and the bleachers. The other boys aren’t that way.”
“This is all news to me,” remarked Jim. “I’ve noticed that they’ve been rather clannish and stuck close together, but that’s natural enough, seeing that they were pals in the minor-league team from which McRae bought them and that they don’t feel quite at home yet in big-league company.”
“Well, you keep your eye on them and see if you don’t notice what I’ve been telling you about,” counseled Joe. “Of course, it may not mean a thing, but all the same it’s struck me as queer.”
By this time the two pitchers had reached the Giants’ dugout, where most of their teammates had already gathered.
It was a beautiful day in early summer. The Eastern teams’ invasion of the West was in full swing, and baseball enthusiasm was running high all over the circuit. The Giants, after a disastrous series of games in Pittsburgh and Cincinnati, had struck Chicago. Or, perhaps, it would be more correct to say that Chicago had struck them, for the Cubs had taken the first two games with ease.
No doubt that accounted for the tremendous throng that had been pouring into the gates that afternoon, until now the stands and bleachers were crowded with enthusiastic fans. For if there was anything in the world that Chicago dearly loved, it was to see the Giants beaten. One game from the haughty Giants, the champions of the world, was more keenly relished than two games from any other club.
The rivalry between the teams of the two great cities was intense, dating from the days when the old Chicagos, with “Pop” Anson and Frank Chance at their head, had been accustomed to sweeping everything before them. Now the tables had been turned, and for the last few years, the Giants, with McRae as their astute manager and Baseball Joe as their pitching “ace,” had had the upper hand. Twice in succession the Giants had won the championship of the National League and had wound up the season in a blaze of glory by also winning the World Series.
