Evening Star Newspaper, September 16, 1923, Page 84

The Prize and the Prize Girl AID Monty Sawyer in the club- s have $500 in cash in my pocket. What , Not when I go on to tell you Lllll" cause he gon't call Jocko. The crowd tell you, fellow Or quit tryin® We've got Hous g ) we've got to hit. t6 win games, sce? to hit ’at old apple.” “Whadd'yah mean, ‘we’?" growled Jocko Jones, big roughneck first baseman. Jocko had smashed out three solid blows. “Yeah?" Liz Cochran, the ketcher, horned in. “Sing yourself a solo, kid. Don't try to make it a chorus.” Liz had treated himself to a whistling three-bagger. “Oh, I didp't notice you sluggers whanging out any hits when any- body on base,” Monty cameé back at the big fellows. “Not our fault if nobody gets on, hey, - Liz?" Jocko Jones. guffawed. “Y¥’can’t hit behind runners when they ain't any runners.” I was glad to hear the bunch start the razz. It was the best sign yet that I niight be able to turn out a ball club for old man T. Everett Simmons, who'd bought the Blues with some jack he grabbed in the oil business. 1'd picked up Monty Sawyer, a smart second baséman who could hit the: size of his hat when he was lucky, and this big Jocko Jones, a rookie, for first. I'had two good men for the box and nine others with per- féct control—that is, they could put the ball anywhere the other guys could hit it. With this outfit I started the season, and it didn’t look any too rosy. Monty Sawyer was the pepper box in our menu, and he was a smart, tricky flelder. It took us six weeks to dig our- selves into third place. My fool luck give me an infield that is second to none.- Nobody crabs ‘Waldo Blatt's act on third base, and Jersey Day can field and throw with any shortstop that ever lived. Then take this big gorilla, Jocko Jones. His fleldin' looked funny, but he did the job. And hit? Bab; he could swing! I left the pitchers to Liz Burton, and I stood pat on the three out- flelders, O'Connell, Buck and Swarz- heimer, who were fair enough. L L 'ELL, you boys have won two series and ‘broken even in the other one,” sald old man Simmons to me at the end of the second week of the season, which we opened at home. “You go on up to Chicago, and come back by way of Cincinnati, and hang on to fourth place, and I'll blow the bunch to an extra week's wages, see?" So I told the gang. They give three cheers. Extra money looks purty soft in the spring, when the boys have been through a hard win- ter with nothin’ comin’ in. We went away from home with the papers givin’ Us a big send-off. “They printed the averages tor the first two weeks, and man, they were a fright. Mestly zeros and ones. Down at the bottom of the list, with two zeros and a seven, was Monty Sawyer. “Boy," 1 said on the train, “I cert'ny wish you'd get one safe once in a ‘while.” “Mister Andrews,” he came back at me, “I'm gonna hit. See? I've just been readin’ about a book,” he sald, nd it's got the idea in it ‘Never was a book could teach any- body how to hit anything, “You'll see,” he said. 1saw. We 'got back home with five games outa the elght in our bat bag, and fourth place still in our midst. The reason was Monty Sawyer did start hittin’. He got one safe in every game, and two in some of them. You never saw a guy get so cocky in all your life. And talk? In the field, at the bat, on the coachin’ line, on the bench, to and from every- where, this guy barked and yelled ke a pup with a thorn in his foot, but mostly at Jocko Jones. When he wasn't talkin’ to somebody he talked to himself. Mutterin' and growlin’ to ‘himeélf alla time. “I . wish y'd lay off the big suy about hittin’” I sald to him. ‘“Let him have the razz In the field, for that keeps him on the jump. But nix oB that stuff about his battin"” “Why not?" asked Monty, peeved. “Have you looked at his average lately? He's picked up thirty-seven points since I started kiddir' him.” “In that case, shoot,” I said. The old man was good for the extra dough, and the guys felt purty good. “But I've noticed one thing.,” the old man said, “and that is that enly one of you boys is batting the ball now who ‘was not hitting when you left home. I promised this bonus to seé if you wouldn't all start batting barder.’ “Théy'll, come around,” I said. The, worst time in .the world to criticize a_ball player is when he's not gettin® em safe. T'm talkin’, Mister Andrews, Mr. Simmons. . “Now, then, I offer you all ‘s bénus, and only one of you comes thirough. This time I'll offer one of you a bonus and see if all of you can-come through. I'll pay $500 to the man who can produce a scheme that Will land ‘us “in third ~place. Nobody! barred, not even the-manager. Tl be the jugge. -On June first”. sald the old boy, “I'll come. out here | to ' the -clubhouse. If we're .in third place, ahead of “the Goliaths, I'll i | [ { {1 went down from do you say?” All T could do was to fall in line. 1 even made up my mind to try for that jack myself. The old man had ‘took & Hkin' to Monty Sawyer. He always got a laugh outa his line of talk. So he lookéd straight at Monty when he wound up his spiel. ; “There's one boy on the team,” he says, “who's really earned his extra week’'s pay. I suggest you all see if you can't find out his secret and apply it to yourselves.” “Office hours, twelve to twelve, says Monty prompt. “Make your ap- pointments with my secretary, gents.” And we were off! 1 started in workin' on the three best rookie pitchers myself. But outside of that 1 never saw anything that looked like the winner of the old man's five ! hundred. . * ok ok ok A\NE day Moran handed us a de- J cision the crowd didn't like, but it was all right. To satisty the fans the third-base coachin® line to ask Charlie whether his feet hurt him, or something. Standin’ on deck, with three bats in his hands, was little Monty Sawyer. He was lookin' at Moran and sayin’ something. I thought he was cussin’ the umps, but that wasn't it. “Little by little and bit by bit, I'm gettin’ so that I can hit,” Monty growled. “What's that?” I said, about Moran's feet. “Nothin’,” said Monty, turnin’ red. “You could do a Jigstep to it,” I said. £ “Tell him about it, Bill,” yelled the fans. So I went on over and asked Charlie how his family was. When the yellin’ died out I went back to third base. And all the time I was thinkin' ‘about Monty Sawyer's poem, or song, or Whatever it was. That night I tumbled. The kid had been bulldin’ up confidence in himself. “Just like Ty Cobb” I figured. “Clobb’s been good because he's be- Yeved he's good.” Next morning at hittin' practice T got another jolt. I went along behind Irish O'Donnell, our left fielder, and he was talkin' to himself. “Swing from the toes, or chop from forgettin® | the walst. they aln’t any pitcher 'at 1| can’t paste,” says Irish almost out loud. That afternoon he got two as purty blows as you ever see. Next day he got three. “Hi, Jocko,” 1 said to one night, bats. Like to see a hitter have all the wood he needs.” “I got one, Bill,” he says. “How d' you spell Cincinnati? And where do the ball clubs stop there, hey?” I told him, and asked him if he had a girl at the hote] there already. He grumbled something I didn’t under- stand, and' I let it go at that. We win a couple more games, and then one afternoon I hear Otto Swarz- heimer, right fielder, who's been hit- tin' the wind mostly, talkin' to him! self. “It's gettin’ to be an epidemic. said to myself, listening in on Otto. “I pick 'em silm, I pick 'em fat, T hit ‘em with any old kind of a bat,” says Otto. And then he walks up there to the plate and whangs a line drive to right center for two solid sacks. That night T went into the writin’ room of the hotel to send a letter to a sportin’ editor friend of mine in New York, and who did I find but this big Jocko Jomes, rasslin’ with a pen and some ink. : “Say, Bill, what's the name of that hotel in Chicago where all the teams puts up?” he says. “A cigar-stand dame on the string, hey?” T sald. one of your business,” e said “C'mon, tell me. I've got a date. ‘Wanta write-a letter before I go. So I told him. * ¥ ok “Where'd you get off to be buttin’ In with the ladies?” were the first words I heard in the clubhouse next morning. “How do you do, Mont-a-gue? says this big dumb-bell Jocko Jones. “But looky here, you little shrimp, the next time I go calling on a dame, and you come hornin’ in, I'll not be as dumb as I was last night.” “I'll.have to ask you both to cut it out”. I sald. “We can’t have any ekirt chasers on this club. As long a5 we're in the business of winnin' ball games, we'll let the lizards win the ladies, see?” “That's all right, boss,” Monty said. “But y'll have, to talk to Mister Sim- mons. He asked me to come up to his house last night, and sit around to smoke a cigar with him.” h, ho,” I said. “And I s'pose Mrs. Simmons ast you, Jocko' “Well, one of the ladles in the Sim- mons fambly sald T might call,” Jocko said, - “You're a liar!” Monty yells. I had to grab Jocko, dsten, Monty,” says Jocko, kinda slow, when I'd pushed him back on the bench. “Don’t ever call me that again, see? If you do, I'll spank you. And it'll hurt” Soémebody else come in just then, and the storm blowed over. I made up' my mind I'd see the old man and ee it I couldn’t get him 4o keep his fambly and:his ball players separate before trouble begun. ;But that ‘afternoon the old man showed up in his box and he had his wife and daughter with him. The girl’s the kind that makes every guy. which sees.her decide to start savin’ his money, and I figured I'd let Monty E (fight it out any way they could. For the time bein’. R kK T with worrying over this an’ ¥V that, T dlmost overlosked Skinny Buck, the ball hawk that plays center for us. Skinny ¢overs enough ground on both -sidés of him to make up for ‘Otto’ Swargheimer bein’ so ‘slow In the big guy I And | right! snd'( Ifish :O’Donnell’ havin' ‘a ‘wooden armi.in left.’ So I'd never paid. much-attention to his fallin’ ‘down at the plate. : You can't have everything. ~Well, Skinny, fell for the same dis- ‘ease, or cure, or Whatever It was, that Monty and Otto 'Swarzheimer and Irish O'Connell had. He was growlin’ to himself when he and I both went to pick.up & foul and throw it to the umps.. This was what he was sayin' % ke +Sling ‘em with thelr left hand, sling "em with their right, I'll knock the old apple clean outa sight” Can ‘you' beat it? 'Or even tie 1t2- lemme buy you a coupla; JJouta Jocko? Not" so. 2 beautiful three-bagger out along the left-field foul line. After supper that night Jocko wanted to know whether the Gollaths had more'n two left-handers. I told him no, and started to ask him if he knew anything about this thing of kiddin’ yourself into the notion you're a hitter. “No," “he said. "That's something you can’t kid yourself about. Bither ¥'r a hitter, or ¥'r aint, See? But I gotta beat it. Gotta date.” “Hope you get there before Monty does,” ] sald, yellin’ after him as he loped across the lobby; “and stay | longer.” I was pullin's for him against Monty in any race they might have for ‘this girl. Not that I'd bet he could beat Monty out. He's smart, | Monty is. This club I'm calling the Goliaths |has come through the west like a | Kansas cyclone. They got high- ipriced ball players, special- coaches, trainers, and assistant managers till who tied the pup and why, and any time they finish worse'n second, the owners call in the manager and hand him a million dollars to buy some ball players with. And they've got a smart manager in this Jimmy Mo- Gonigle. v “A lotta folks has turned out to see us beat the Goliaths,” says Mr. Simmons to me in the clubhouse be- fore the first game of the big series. “Best atteridance we've had this year, not exceptin’ openin’ da: “Whadd'yah -mean, beat the Goll aths?” I sald, “We ain't done it yet.” “Oh, but we must” he says. “W can’t disappoint the crowd. And, be- sides, I'm dffering five hundred dol- lars. Remember that, boys.” They all give him a yell, and we piled outa. the clubhouse to.warm up, As soon as Monty hit the field-he be- gun tryin’ to get a argument outa three or four of the Gollaths—some- thing she could chew on all through the game and get 'em in the air about. An old stunt of his, and he's |’n bird at it. In five minutes he had a row on, -and all the Goliaths but the pitchers ‘ and ketchers were scrappin’ with him. I was laughin’ about it until I noticed that these pitchers and ketchers was all watch- lin’ big Jocko Jones. That | didn't make a move that they didn't lamp. Of course he average of .417. and they'd never saw him before. Naturally they'd give him the once over, but here they’ was hardly takin' their eyes offa the boy. “S'pose he's got their goat, even before he goes up to wallop?” I asked myself. And then I decided not to let the big fella swing in hittin’ practice for fear mebbe they'd get some him go up and hit left-handed, which he did. Very clumsy. Iz Qochran saw what I had in mifd, and he come over to set by me, lettin’ one of the other ketchers warm up a couple slingers. “Listen, Bill" he said, “I got an idea. Mabbe I can quallfy for that five hundred the old man’'s offerin’. It's a cinch McGonigle's gang will be watchin’ Jocko. It's a cinch Mac will pitch Nubbin or his other left- hander. Jocko can kill any left- hander that ever lived, see? Here's the idea. Let's move little Sawyer up to fifth place behind the big guy, see? Monty's hittin’. Jocko'll be gettin’ on alla time, and he'll razz If they're up in the air about Jocko, Monty will hit, too. See? And lemme follow Monty, ’'stid of hittin' fifth. Whadd'yah say “You're on,” I 'sald. “A hundred per cent. The idea's a bear, Liz. I'll go up there and give the changed hittin’ list to the press o * % k% HEN 1 got back to the bench Liz was talkin’ to Jocko, but I dor't know what they were sayin'. “Who'll we work today?’ I asked Liz. “Glve ‘em the best we got?” sald Jocko before Liz could say a word. “Who's talkin’ to you?” I said. “You are, right now,” he said. T say, let's use the kids on the kill to- day. If they start Nubbin, or that other lefthander, we'll murder him, Anybody can win for us if they use & southsider, see?” “By jiminy, the kid's right. BilL” says Liz. “Let's try it, and save what real pitchin' we've got for a harder spot, hey? » “All right,” I sald. “I s'pose this is your candidate for the five-hundred- dollar bonus, hey, Jocko?” “Call growled. “If this keeps up we're gonna have 50 many tactics we won’t have any room in the park for some base ball,” 1eaid to Liz. He laughed. And so we started the old ball game. I shot Kid Green, a cocky young lefthander just outa college, at ‘em, and, sure enough, BcGonigle trotted out Nubbin, his star southpaw. * Even if I've been in base ball twenty-eight years, :I'm so exeited I can_hardly keep a chew of. tobacco in my mouth. - The crowg, the way our gang piled outa the dugout for the : first : inning, the: way . these Gollaths kept thelr eyes on- Jocko Jones, the 500 beans for third place to some lucky stiff which might be me but prob’ly wasn’t—all these. things darn near got my goat. St Now, far be it from me to spring ninth-inning finish on you, or even a box score of the game.. The Gollaths &0 down one, two, three to this cocky Kid Green, their first. time out, but pay-little attentfon to him. . Iistend, the wholg .crowd -of 'em stand . offa their bench and/stick their heads outa the dugout to lamp Jocko Janes work around first. Charlle makes m‘:lt up twice, .and sets 'em on the. three times, and finally, says. 1 chase 'em all to the slubhouse if they don’t stay In the dugout. Ahd Jocko pays exactly no attention to thsir line of talk. : ‘Their last man up, & big outflelder nameg Smith, gives Jocko the shoul- der as he reaches the bag runnin’ out a grounder, But did he get a rise Instéad, he lands on his shoulder about ten feet out in right fleld. It was raw, but all the Gollaths climb outa the dug- out and raise Cain with’ Charlie. be- it that If you wanta,” he had a hittin’ | line on him. So I made | this Skinny Buck proceeds up to lay gives 'em the razs, and we're off. Up goes Waldo Blatt, for us. He slices Nubbin's first ball over second for a bag. Nubbin gets worried, and 100ks at our bench. Jersey Day walks up, waits, and walks Instead of sacri- ficin’ as I'd told him. Along comes Irish O'Donnell, talkif’ to himself. I know what he's sayIn’, though I can’t hear it: “Swing from the toes, or chop from the waist; they ain't any pitcher ‘at I can't paste.” While he's walkin' up there, I hear “Sure." “Oh, look who's here,” hollers Jocko Jones, as we go out to take the field for the first round. He . jerks his gloved hand at” the left-hander Nubbin. “You go jump in the:lake, you big fish!” yells Nubbin, “Save y'r breath for sgme pitchin' hollers Jocko, and tends to business, leavin' Nubbin swearin'. There was one inning of base ball, and eight rounds of pitchin’ to that game. Believe me, the crowd got a run for its money. So did McGonigle, f l polite, with all the other guyi tonguetied, wishin’ they had a chance to knock his block off. “Yes, it was a wonderful gam sald Mr. Simmons. “And I'm out here to show you boys I'm good as my word. I said I'd give you five hundred dollars for an idea that would put our club in third place ahead of the Gollaths. Well, we're there, and here’s the money, in my pocket. Now, them, Mr. Andrews,” he says to’me, “how shall we go about this thing?” Andrews, what did the team average o during.these last two weeks?” “It clumb from .228 to .284," T said. “All due to this fine thought,” says Mr. Simmons. “Well, is there any other candldate for the bonus? If not, I'll just ask my daughter, here, to present the prize to Mr. Sawyer.” 8w IGRT then a lot of things hap- peened. I'm not sure that I got .all of 'em, but here's what I did get. 4 I saw Miss Simmons blush and bite her lips I heard 'big Otto Swarzheimer growl: “Huh, if he's gonna get 'at five-hundred/ berries, he's gotta hand me back my fifty.” And Irish O'Donnell: too."” Skinny Buek: I give him seventy-five.” 1] ‘Then all at once they was a bangin’ on the door, it busted open, and in “Yeah, mine “Gosh, come Jim McGonigle—mad as a hat- | ter, with Lefty Nubbin, the Goliath club owner; his secretary, and haif a dozen Gollaths right after him. They looked like an Irish fair to me, and I reached for a ball bat. I know Jim McGonigle. When he starts a shindig, 1 want a weapon. “Where's 'at big stiff Jones?" he vells. “Lemme at the dirty black- mafler.” “Whatsa matter, Jim?" “What do you guys want?”’ “We want 'at guy Jones!” yells Mc- Gonigle. % “Yeah, we'l] tear his dirty block oft,” hollers Lefty Nubbin. ‘Gwan, don’t talk like a hander,” says Liz Cochran, up offa the bench where he'd been settin’. This got Nubbin sore and he started for Liz, instead of Jocko, who he'd been lokin' for. Monty sorta sidled off to one side, by the lockers, and big Jocko come out from behind, and herded Mr. Stmmons, Mrs. Simmons #nd the girl out into the next room., “Whatsa matter, Jim?" T said to Mac again, tryin’ te ca'm him down But ca’'min’ Jim McGonigle when he's mad is like pourin’ water on a hot stove. You c'd heard him sizzle. “Blackmail's the matter,” he says. “Dirty, rotton blackmail, see? And we're gonna take it outa the hide of the guy that pulled it, see? And then we're gonna run him outa this league. Where's 'at Jones, hey There was a shufflin’ around, and then here come great big gorilla- handed Jocko, with a bat in his mitts. ©Oh, baby! “Here he is,” says Jocko, cool, like he'd been through many's the storm before this. “Who's lookin’ for me? Here I am.” “Yeah, and here I am.” says Liz I said. left- { Cochran, steppin’ up beside him. “And me,” chirps Waldo Blatt. “Present,” says Jersey Day, linin’ up Wwith the rest. HERE'S BRAVE LITTLE MONTY LEADIN’ THE SIMMONS FAMBLY PARTY BACK INTO THE ROOM. a yell. This nervous Nubbin is look- in’ at our bench again. 11 be there in a minit!” yells this Jocko Jones. Irish says his plece and whangs out a grounder their third sacker can't handle, and that fills the bases “Here T come,” hollers Jocko, wavin' Monty and make him come through. | his bat as he climbs outa the hole while Nubbin watches him. And Nub- bin, fingerin® the ball, just looks him over, kinda dumb. Jocko don't say any plece whatever, but wades into the first ene with a whole of a wallop. Result, two bases and three runs over. “That's one,” hollers Jocko at this now wild-eyed lefthander, Nubbin. But Nubbin, whose goat has gone out on him, looks like it must of been a hundred. “Come on, now, Monty!" I yells at the bench. “You're the higter.” “Who, me?” says Monty, s'prised. 1 hadn't told him he was hittin’ fifth. “All right, I'll hit, too.” And up he went, growlin’ to himself, this way: “Little by little and bit by bit, I'm gettin’ so that I can hit.” “C'mon, you little shrimp!” yells Jocko. “Le's see you hit me fome.” Nubbin tried to wasfe one on him, but Monty went crazy and whanged a short single to center off'n a bad ball. I held Jocko at third, just to keep things scattered for Nubbin's sake. This bird’s a pitcher, b'lieve me, but he's blew, higher'n aviation knows anything about. So old Liz Cochran jammed his way up to the plate, and socked a right-handed single to left, chasin’ Jocko and Monty across. A * ok k% BIN come down to earth after that, and we stopped with five. For the first. But in the second Otto Swarzhelmer recited: "I plck slim, I'pick ‘em fat, I hit 'em with any old kind of a bat” and. blew himself to a double. Somebody sac- rificed. him down, when the Goliaths was expectin’ some more free-and- easy hittin. And Skinny Buck talked himself into enough confidence to'de- liver 2’ pinch’ single with his little poém:' “Sling 'am with their left‘hand, sling 'em with their right, I'll knock the old applé “clean outa sight” Things 'went- along till big Jocko Jones went jumpin’ up to the plate again. ‘McGonigle, seein’ Nubbin was helpless, tried to jerk him, but was too ‘late: This time Jock lifted a three-bagger to the cgnterfield fence. Then Mac yanked Nubbin, to save him. You don't care if the score was 11 to 3, but it may interest you to know that our talkin’ batters lammed a coupla right-handers hard the last six innings.. That was one game. Also third place. - Next day Mac was hard up for pitchin’, and'shot another southpaw at us.' Jocko Jones had hi left-handed number too, and we cake walked home with a 9 to 4 win. And two full games' lead on the -Gollaths for third ‘place.. Third day they took us, and cut us to one game. The - fourth day we're all set for battle. It's the Saturday before decoration day, and the' crowd is so Dbig that ground rules is necessary. “We'll giye ’em the best we got today,” I sald to old .Liz Tochran. “How's Bowman workin'?" % “Same old Aces,” eays Liz. . “And he'll -deliver. Let's” use Monty up there- behind Jooko,. bey?” - the Goliaths and Lefty Nubbin. And us too. Nubbin was right and so was Aces Bowman. We went along, horse and horse, to the seventh. They pinched a run in their half. The old man, over in his box with his wife and daughter, darn near fainted when they pushed it over. But were we cooked? Il tell the great official scorer we wasn't. “Swing from the toes, or chop from the walst, they ain't any pitcher ‘at T can't paste” says Irish O'Donnell, first'up in our half of the seventh, and sticks out his chest and swings on a fast one for a single to right. T know there’s no use to try to signal Jocko Jones to lay down a sacrifice, even if he could sacrifice. “I'm comin’,” hollers Jocko. I've two now, and this will make you could see poor old Lefty Nubbin shrink inside his shirt as Jocko jogged up there to the hill. Well, this timé Jocko lets him work. One and one. Two, and then t Three and two, and Nubbin's in the hole. He's got his nmerve left, or part of it, but that's about all. He certny didn't have anything on the straight one he stuck over the pan. And how big Jocko Jones climbed on that ball! He jumped it for a fast ride to left center for two bags! Tt it hadn’s been for the ground rules. he'd of had three, or mebbe a homer. But I sw'd worry. Irish is In, with the tyin’ run. And there's Jocko on second with the winner, and nobody down. And Nubbin curlin’ up like an apple peelin’. “Old Liz Cochranll home,” I sald to myself. comes our old ball game.” | But wait a minute! T'd forgot bout Monty Sawyer. Up he goes, swingin' two_bats. Talking to him- self too. Pulls his cap down, throws away one stick. Knocks the dirt outa his cleats, pulls up his pants, and spits on his hands. Growls to himself, and I can keep time with him: “Little by little, and bit by bit, I'm {gettin’ so that T can hit And he stepped into one that sh'd of tore the bat right outa his hands, but Qidn’t. Another two-timer, !Jocko walks in because the bail's in the crowd. Oh, baby, you sh'd have heard the mob then! And that was the.ball game. . . * k k¥ Héw old man T. Everet{ Simmons got to the clubhouse before the guys did is more’n I'll ever know. But he did. There he was, in the dressin’ room, and he had his wife and that lovely daughter of his, right with him, to boot. Then the gang piled in, yellin" and laughin’ at each other. I stood by the.door and shushed ‘em down as weil as I could, but they didn’t tum- ble until they saw the old man and Mrs. Simmons. And Miss Simmons. They was knotked dumb, also deaf. But not blind. They stood around pop-eyed for about an hour, it seemed like, before little Monty Sawyer comes to and pipes up. YWhy, howdy, Mr. Simmons?” he says. “How do you do, Mrs. Sim ons, and Miss Simmons? It was quite a ball game we had, wasm't it He takes off hils cap and agts right bring him “Here “You're the doctor,” I said. “We leave it & you to decide.” if the boys think that's " he said. ‘“What is there to be “Well, I'll| say this for myself,” I sald. “I worked the best I knowed how with the rookie pitchers, and three of 'em have been winnin’ their games right regular. But that was my job, anyhow, and I'm not clatmin’ the bonus.” *That's very modest of you, sure,” says Mrs. Simmons. Tm not makin’ any clalm eithe Liz Cochran said. “All I did was to advise Bill to stick Monty Sawyer up there in fifth place hittin' ahead of me. And you saw what he done, You might talk to big Jones, over there, hidin' behind the lockers. He got Bill to save Aces Bowman for a tough game, when we needed him. That was today, when we held our place over these other guys.” “Lay offa me,” sald Jocko, stickin’ his head around the cormer. How he'd ever got up the nirve to go allin' on Miss Simmons is_more'n I'll ever know. He was blufhin’ so his face was redder'n his neck. Mr. Simmons was lookin’ hard at Monty Sawyer, but Monty hated to speak up, for soge reason. It was the only time in my life I ever saw him hang back. 'm “You're lookin' at the right guy,| Mr. Simmons,” I said, figurin’ I might as well get the business over with. “Yes, let's hear from you, Mr. Saw- yer,” says the old man. “Aw, it wamn't anything,” he said. _“Nothing—to get all these boys hit- ting the ball? Oh, pshaw,” says Mr. Simmons. “Come on, tell us about aes “Well, you see” Monty .begins, ‘some time back I was readin’ an ad about a book on sumpin’ new. It's called . ‘Autosuggestion’. and says autosuggestion will cure anything. I figured . that .might include weak battin’, so I bought a copy. The idea of the book is this: You can’ cure y'rself of anything just by - tellin’ y'rself over and over and over that ¥y'r all right, see?’ Keep on teilin’ yourself, In €' many-words, that y'r O. K.’ That's It.’ autosuggestion.” “Auto what?" says Mr. Simmons. “Autosuggestion,”” says Monty. told myself I could hit, and'I @ Yes, sir. Autosuggestio “Auto-he—uh, autobat,” growls Joc- ko Jones from his corne: ‘Autobat, 1 1d hit. “Well, for that matter, here 1 am. to,” I says. “I don’t know what y'r drivin’ at, Jim, but we're all with Jones. What can we do for you? Little Miss Simmons was stickin’ her head through the door, to see what was goin’ on. These Gollaths were watchin' Jocko, lookin' him over ~—his six-foot - two - hunderd - pound | heft, and great big fists. “Well?" says Jocko. “This big stiff,” say me instead of {writin® every day, tellin’ him he'd knock him all over the lot. And writin' to Jim, talkin' to Jocke, “has been same way." “Well, didn’t Lefty and Smith be- lieve it?” I said, laughin’. “It was so,” says Liz Cochran, let- tin' out a yell. *“Jocko didn't lie about ft. Jim—three doubles, a triple and four singles for the series, mostly off Lefty Nubbin and Smith. He certainly didn't lie about i “It's dirty rotten blackmall!” hol- lers Jim, while my gang busts out laughin’. “Aw, ¢'mon, Jim, let's beat it outa says Nubbin, grabbin'® Jim's “This ain’t the way to handle “By blankity blankity. I'll protest this to the head of the league!” Jim door. . “Won't pay to advertise” Jocko hollers after them. Liz Cochran shut the door behind 'em. I look around, and here's brave little Monty Sawyer leadin’ ‘the Simmons family party back into the room. * %k % % Y now I'm offa that.guy for life, exceptin’ as a second baseman. 1 should worry how strong the old man is for him. Jones, I was glvin’ three cheers for him every time my hefrt ticked off another beat. Alla time he was writin' those letters 1 hadn’'t give him a tumble either! Lefty legters for a month,| Smith, my other left-hander, too, the | yells as Nubbin pulls him/out the| As for big Jocko | standin’ | il “Well, Mr. Simmons, we've just been accused of blackmail,” I said. fow's that?” he asks. “Yes, I heard some of it, and I'm interested, too,” speaks up Miss Sim- mons, for the first word she'd said All the roughnecks looks at her. She smiles, and then outblushes mile, though they was goin® themselves, “S'pose you tell ‘em, Jocko,” I said. “Aw, I didn’t see any sense In this gutobat stuft—tellin’ myselt I ocan hit,” he sald, foolin' with the bat in his hands. “So I got busy and told them left-handers I can hit, see? Figured if ¥’ oughta suggest anything. ¥' oughta suggest it where it'd do some good. Tha's all I did.” “AN?" I said. “AN?" echoes Aear boy—-" “Hey!" yells Irish O'Donnell. *“I move we hand the prize package to old Jocko Jones, D'ya see them lefi- handers cave in?" “Second the motion,” says Skinny Buck. “I'm sick of singin’ that durn little tune.” “Anyway,” growls Otto heimer, “Monty's got our jack. This Miss Simmons way givin' big old Jocko credit the way I was, 1 guess. He'd cert'ny grabbed a nasty.$ situation in his t%o hands a minute = before. She stood up, smiled and reached out her hand to her father for the mioney, lookin' at Jocko alla time. Her father scowled, for he musta wanted the dough to go to Monty. He looked at Monty, but that little devil saw which way the wind | was blowin’ and got out from under. Efther that or you got to give him eredit for bein’ a sport. I don't know which. “Auto- "’ he begun ‘What's 'at?” yells the gang, sus- pictous. ‘em a some the old man. “My Swarz- {‘Oughta make it unanimous,” he sald, and ducked. (Copyright, 1928.) —_——— Evolution of the Fan. HE fan was born in China cen- turies ago. Some say that the idea of a fan originated in the pal- metto leaf Borne to and fro by the breeze, but the Chinese trace the fan's origin into the legendary past. It appears that Lang-sin, the daughter of .an all-powerful mandarin, was present at a feast of lanterns. Over- come with the heat, she removed her mask—a daring thing to do. She still held it near enough to screen her features, while waving it to and fro. To this caprice of a princess is thus assigned the origin of the fan. Now, in the beginning the fan was a trifle, an airy object made of bam- boo, & bit of.paper or silk adorned with a lily bud or a leaf. Sometimes a flight of swallows, a handful of graceful grass or a gragon fly ap- peared upon the paper surface. Later the fan was made more elaborately from ivory, dragon skin or olled silk and finished with a silken cord and tassel. Little figures were sometimes | wrought in silk embroidery, for silk was an anclent and highly valued material. In China the fan was e flat, stiff, hanq screen, but finally the Jap- {anese improved it by making it an ogi or folding fan. The fan then ac- quired a framework of sticks of the same length.and thickness, with the outer stick wider and heavier. For the Japanese the fan soon, besame an emblem of life. The rivet end was the starting point, and as the rays expand, €0 the road of life was supposed to widen to a prosperous future; therefore the fan was used ag a gift on important occasions. In the oriental lands the fan was always an indispensable weapon against the hot climate and the swarms of insects, and it was not long_before it became another kind of weapon, a war ‘weapon. The Japanese sewed two thicknesses of leather together and attached an iron handle over a foot long, very strong and. heavy, thus making a weapon. Gold was used for the rivets of war fans, also for orna- mentation, while bronze embellished the metal handle. In Egypt the fan was a royal em- blem and signified authority, happi- ness and repose. The worshipful company of fan-bearers were gen- erally persons of royal birth. Imagine with what elaborate ceremonies jhey escorted the stately Cleopatra, wav- ing the semi-circular screen fan at- tached to a long handle. In Greece the fan was made of peacock feathers, as the peacock was Juno's bird and symbolized luxury and splendor. The fan enhanced the great festivals of the Romans, for slaves stood behind the guests and waved fans made of peacock feathers enriched with os- trich plumes. Early in the eighteenth century the fan reached England, where it became a mere feminine accessory, but the fan was held in high favor and car- ried at court. Then the fan crossed the Atlantic and: came tp America. Here it settled down and developed from ‘a mere caprice into a com- morcial necessity.: The bamboo, silken paper and ‘plumes disappeared en- tirely.: The fan was made with a motor bedy: and base finished Wwith black enamel; with fan blades, guards and trimming in dipped and lac- quered brass. Its silken tassel be- came an attaching cord and plug and the fan was connected with an eloc- tric current. Then the fan became |a professional breeze maker with & for hitless wonders. Yeah.” And. then.| he.shut up. I noticed old Liz:Cochran grin, and Waldo, Blatt sorta snickered. “The idea seems perfectly simple to me, and perfectly logical,” speéaks up Mr. Simmons, right quick. ‘He's cert'ny taken an awful shine to this Montague Sawyer. - Kinda got sore at Jocko and Waldo Blatt: ‘How did you work it?” “Well, the idea Is to fix up a certain formula, and repeat it over and over. Like this” and I give Monty credit for “blughin’: * ‘Little by little, and bit bys bit, I'm gettin' 8o that I can hit’ ‘That thing did wonders. for me. And when ' I found I could bat bet- ter'n ever, why, I let some of the boys inion it. That's all.” “Splendid,” says the old.man.. “Mr, . range bf operation. It is useful in the home in a varlety of ways. Fresh alr is one of the most important fac- tors of modern healthy living, and the fan freshens the alr and ventilates the home. In the lbrary, dining room and hedrooms it is indispensable. It never tires or falls aslesp like the punkah boys in Ind! The . higher | the mercury. climbs the busier it is, ‘for it .can keep a home comfortable on days that would otherwise be un- Dbearable. For.a small cost it pro- Vides-hours of coollng breeze, It is very popular in an eight-inch size where only a moderate breeze is re- quired, and it is made both with and without - an osclilating mechanism, Recently some of its relatives have acquired two sets of blades revolvil in a circlo 'and’ with three r\li\n(:{ speeds. The baby six-inch fan i3 a favorite in many homes. S,