The Knocker
``Yes, Carroll, I got my notice. Maybe it's nosurprise to you. And there's one more thing I wantto say. You're `it' on this team. You're thetopnotch catcher in the Western League and oneof the best ball players in the game--but you'rea knocker!''Madge Ellston heard young Sheldon speak.She saw the flash in his gray eyes and the heatof his bronzed face as he looked intently at thebig catcher.``Fade away, sonny. Back to the bush-leaguefor yours!'' replied Carroll, derisively. ``You'renot fast enough for Kansas City. You look prettygood in a uniform and you're swift on your feet,but you can't hit. You've got a glass arm andyou run bases like an ostrich trying to side. Thatnotice was coming to you. Go learn the game!''Then a crowd of players trooped noisily out ofthe hotel lobby and swept Sheldon and Carrolldown the porch steps toward the waiting omnibus.Madge's uncle owned the Kansas City club.She had lived most of her nineteen years in abaseball atmosphere, but accustomed as she wasto baseball talk and the peculiar banterings andbickerings of the players, there were times whenit seemed all Greek. If a player got his ``notice''it meant he would be released in ten days. A``knocker'' was a ball player who spoke ill ofhis fellow players. This scrap of conversation,however, had an unusual interest because Carrollhad paid court to her for a year, and Sheldon,coming to the team that spring, had fallendesperately in love with her. She liked Sheldonpretty well, but Carroll fascinated her. She beganto wonder if there were bad feelings between therivals--to compare them--to get away from herselfand judge them impersonally.When Pat Donahue, the veteran manager ofthe team came out, Madge greeted him with asmile. She had always gotten on famously withPat, notwithstanding her imperious desire tohandle the managerial reins herself upon occasions.Pat beamed all over his round ruddy face.``Miss Madge, you weren't to the park yesterdayan' we lost without our pretty mascot. Weshure needed you. Denver's playin' at a fastclip.''``I'm coming out today,'' replied Miss Ellston,thoughtfully. ``Pat, what's a knocker?''``Now, Miss Madge, are you askin' me thatafter I've been coachin' you in baseball foryears?'' questioned Pat, in distress.``I know what a knocker is, as everybody elsedoes. But I want to know the real meaning, theinside-ball of it, to use your favorite saying.''Studying her grave face with shrewd eyes Donahueslowly lost his smile.``The inside-ball of it, eh? Come, let's sit overhere a bit--the sun's shure warm today. . . .Miss Madge, a knocker is the strangest manknown in the game, the hardest to deal with an'what every baseball manager hates most.''Donahue told her that he believed the term``knocker'' came originally from baseball; that ingeneral it typified the player who strengthenedhis own standing by belittling the ability of histeam-mates, and by enlarging upon his ownsuperior qualities. But there were many phases ofthis peculiar type. Some players were naturalborn knockers; others acquired the name in theirlater years in the game when younger men threatenedto win their places. Some of the bestplayers ever produced by baseball had the habitin its most violent form. There were playersof ridiculously poor ability who held their jobson the strength of this one trait. It was amystery how they misled magnates and managersalike; how for months they held their places,weakening a team, often keeping a good teamdown in the race; all from sheer bold suggestionof their own worth and other players' worthlessness.Strangest of all was the knockers' powerto disorganize; to engender a bad spirit betweenmanagement and team and among the players.The team which was without one of the parasitesof the game generally stood well up in the racefor the pennant, though there had been championshipteams noted for great knockers as wellas great players.``It's shure strange, Miss Madge,'' said Pat inconclusion, shaking his gray head. ``I've playedhundreds of knockers, an' released them, too.Knockers always get it in the end, but they go onfoolin' me and workin' me just the same as if Iwas a youngster with my first team. They'repart an' parcel of the game.''``Do you like these men off the field--outsideof baseball, I mean?''``No, I shure don't, an' I never seen one yetthat wasn't the same off the field as he was on.''``Thank you, Pat. I think I understand now.And--oh, yes, there's another thing I want toask you. What's the matter with Billie Sheldon?Uncle George said he was falling off in his game.Then I've read the papers. Billie started outwell in the spring.''``Didn't he? I was sure thinkin' I had a findin Billie. Well, he's lost his nerve. He's in abad slump. It's worried me for days. I'm goin'to release Billie. The team needs a shake-up.That's where Billie gets the worst of it, for he'sreally the makin' of a star; but he's slumped, an'now knockin' has made him let down. There, MissMadge, that's an example of what I've just beentellin' you. An' you can see that a manager hashis troubles. These hulkin' athletes are a lot ofspoiled babies an' I often get sick of my job.''That afternoon Miss Ellston was in a brownstudy all the way out to the baseball park. Shearrived rather earlier than usual to find the grand-stand empty. The Denver team had just comeupon the field, and the Kansas City players werepractising batting at the left of the diamond.Madge walked down the aisle of the grand standand out along the reporters' boxes. She askedone of the youngsters on the field to tell Mr.Sheldon that she would like to speak with him amoment.Billie eagerly hurried from the players' benchwith a look of surprise and expectancy on his sun-tanned face. Madge experienced for the firsttime a sudden sense of shyness at his coming. Hislithe form and his nimble step somehow gaveher a pleasure that seemed old yet was new.When he neared her, and, lifting his cap,spoke her name, the shade of gloom in hiseyes and lines of trouble on his face dispelled herconfusion.``Billie, Pat tells me he's given you ten days'notice,'' she said.``It's true.''``What's wrong with you, Billie?''``Oh, I've struck a bad streak--can't hit orthrow.''``Are you a quitter?''``No, I'm not,'' he answered quickly, flushinga dark red.``You started off this spring with a rush. Youplayed brilliantly and for a while led the teamin batting. Uncle George thought so well of you.Then came this spell of bad form. But, Billie, it'sonly a slump; you can brace.''``I don't know,'' he replied, despondently.``Awhile back I got my mind off the game. Then--people who don't like me have taken advantageof my slump to----''``To knock,'' interrupted Miss Ellston.``I'm not saying that,'' he said, looking awayfrom her.``But I'm saying it. See here, Billie Sheldon,my uncle owns this team and Pat Donahue is manager.I think they both like me a little. Now Idon't want to see you lose your place. Perhaps----''``Madge, that's fine of you--but I think--I guessit'd be best for me to leave Kansas City.''``Why? ''``You know,'' he said huskily. ``I've lost myhead--I'm in love--I can't think of baseball--I'm crazy about you.''Miss Ellston's sweet face grew rosy, clear tothe tips of her ears.``Billie Sheldon,'' she replied, spiritedly.``You're talking nonsense. Even if you werewere that way, it'd be no reason to play poorball. Don't throw the game, as Pat would say.Make a brace! Get up on your toes! Tearthings! Rip the boards off the fence! Don'tquit!''She exhausted her vocabulary of baseballlanguage if not her enthusiasm, and paused in blushingconfusion.``Madge!''``Will you brace up?''``Will I--will I!'' he exclaimed, breathlessly.Madge murmured a hurried good-bye and, turningaway, went up the stairs. Her uncle's privatebox was upon the top of the grand stand and shereached it in a somewhat bewildered state ofmind. She had a confused sense of havingappeared to encourage Billie, and did not knowwhether she felt happy or guilty. The flame inhis eyes had warmed all her blood. Then, as sheglanced over the railing to see the powerful BurnsCarroll, there rose in her breast a panic at strangevariance with her other feelings.Many times had Madge Ellston viewed the fieldand stands and the outlying country from thishigh vantage point; but never with the samemingling emotions, nor had the sunshine everbeen so golden, the woods and meadows so green,the diamond so smooth and velvety, the wholescene so gaily bright.Denver had always been a good drawing card,and having won the first game of the presentseries, bade fair to draw a record attendance.The long lines of bleachers, already packed withthe familiar mottled crowd, sent forth a merry,rattling hum. Soon a steady stream of well-dressed men and women poured in the gates andup the grand-stand stairs. The soft murmur ofmany voices in light conversation and laughterfilled the air. The peanut venders and score-cardsellers kept up their insistent shrill cries. Thebaseball park was alive now and restless; theatmosphere seemed charged with freedom andpleasure. The players romped like skittish colts,the fans shrieked their witticisms--all sound andmovements suggested play.Madge Ellston was somehow relieved to seeher uncle sitting in one of the lower boxes. Duringthis game she wanted to be alone, and shebelieved she would be, for the President of theLeague and directors of the Kansas City teamwere with her uncle. When the bell rang to callthe Denver team in from practice the stands couldhold no more, and the roped-off side lines werefilling up with noisy men and boys. From herseat Madge could see right down upon theplayers' bench, and when she caught both Sheldonand Carroll gazing upward she drew backwith sharply contrasted thrills.Then the bell rang again, the bleachers rolledout their welcoming acclaim, and play was calledwith Kansas City at the bat.Right off the reel Hunt hit a short fly safelyover second. The ten thousand spectators burstinto a roar. A good start liberated applause andmarked the feeling for the day.Madge was surprised and glad to see BillieSheldon start next for the plate. All season, untillately, he had been the second batter. During hisslump he had been relegated to the last place onthe batting list. Perhaps he had asked Pat to tryhim once more at the top. The bleachers voicedtheir unstinted appreciation of this return, showingthat Billie still had a strong hold on theirhearts.As for Madge, her breast heaved and she haddifficulty in breathing. This was going to be ahard game for her. The intensity of her desireto see Billie brace up to his old form amazed her.And Carroll's rude words beat thick in her ears.Never before had Billie appeared so instinct withlife, so intent and strung as when he faced Keene,the Denver pitcher. That worthy tied himself upin a knot, and then, unlimbering a long arm,delivered the brand new ball.Billie seemed to leap forward and throw hisbat at it. There was a sharp ringing crack--andthe ball was like a white string marvelously stretchingout over the players, over the green fieldbeyond, and then, sailing, soaring, over the right-field fence. For a moment the stands, even thebleachers, were stone quiet. No player had everhit a ball over that fence. It had been deemedimpossible, as was attested to by the many painted``ads'' offering prizes for such a feat. Suddenlythe far end of the bleachers exploded and theswelling roar rolled up to engulf the grand standin thunder. Billie ran round the bases to applausenever before vented on that field. But he gave nosign that it affected him; he did not even doffhis cap. White-faced and stern, he hurried to thebench, where Pat fell all over him and many ofthe players grasped his hands.Up in her box Madge was crushing her score-card and whispering: ``Oh! Billie, I could hugyou for that!''Two runs on two pitched balls! That was anopening to stir an exacting audience to the highestpitch of enthusiasm. The Denver managerperemptorily called Keene off the diamond andsent in Steele, a south-paw, who had alwaysbothered Pat's left-handed hitters. That moveshowed his astute judgment, for Steele struck outMcReady and retired Curtis and Mahew on easychances.It was Dalgren's turn to pitch and though hehad shown promise in several games he had notyet been tried out on a team of Denver's strength.The bleachers gave him a good cheering as hewalked into the box, but for all that they whistledtheir wonder at Pat's assurance in putting himagainst the Cowboys in an important game.The lad was visibly nervous and the hard-hittingand loud-coaching Denver players went afterhim as if they meant to drive him out of thegame. Crane stung one to left center for a base,Moody was out on a liner to short, almost doublingup Crane; the fleet-footed Bluett bunted and beatthe throw to first; Langly drove to left for whatseemed a three-bagger, but Curtis, after a hardrun, caught the ball almost off the left-fieldbleachers. Crane and Bluett advanced a base on thethrow-in. Then Kane batted up a high foul-fly.Burns Carroll, the Kansas City catcher, had thereputation of being a fiend for chasing foul flies,and he dashed at this one with a speed thatthreatened a hard fall over the players' bench ora collision with the fence. Carroll caught the balland crashed against the grand stand, but leapedback with an agility that showed that if there wasany harm done it had not been to him.Thus the sharp inning ended with a magnificentplay. It electrified the spectators into a fierceenergy of applause. With one accord, by baseballinstinct, the stands and bleachers and roped-in-sidelines realized it was to be a game of gamesand they answered to the stimulus with a savageenthusiasm that inspired ballplayers to greatplays.In the first half of the second inning, Steele'swill to do and his arm to execute were very likehis name. Kansas City could not score. In theirhalf the Denver team made one run by cleanhitting.Then the closely fought advantage see-sawedfrom one team to the other. It was not a pitchers'battle, though both men worked to the limit ofskill and endurance. They were hit hard. Dazzlingplays kept the score down and the inningsshort. Over the fields hung the portent ofsomething to come, every player, every spectator feltthe subtle baseball chance; each inning seemedto lead closer and more thrillingly up to theclimax. But at the end of the seventh, with thescore tied six and six, with daring steals, hardhits and splendid plays, enough to have madememorable several games, it seemed that the greatportentous moment was still in abeyance.The head of the batting list for Kansas City wasup. Hunt caught the first pitched ball squarelyon the end of his bat. It was a mighty drive andas the ball soared and soared over the center-fieldHunt raced down the base line, and the winged-footed Crane sped outward, the bleachers splittheir throats. The hit looked good for a homerun, but Crane leaped up and caught the ball inhis gloved hand. The sudden silence and thenthe long groan which racked the bleachers wasgreater tribute to Crane's play than any applause.Billie Sheldon then faced Steele. The fansroared hoarsely, for Billie had hit safely threetimes out of four. Steele used his curve ball, buthe could not get the batter to go after it. Whenhe had wasted three balls, the never-despairingbleachers howled: ``Now, Billie, in your groove!Sting the next one!'' But Billie waited. Onestrike! Two strikes! Steele cut the plate. Thatwas a test which proved Sheldon's caliber.With seven innings of exciting play passed,with both teams on edge, with the bleachers wildand the grand stands keyed up to the breakingpoint, with everything making deliberation almostimpossible, Billie Sheldon had remorselesslywaited for three balls and two strikes.``Now! . . . Now! . . . Now!'' shrieked thebleachers.Steele had not tired nor lost his cunning. Withhands before him he grimly studied Billie, thenwhirling hard to get more weight into his motion,he threw the ball.Billie swung perfectly and cut a curving linerbetween the first baseman and the base. Like ashot it skipped over the grass out along the foul-line into right field. Amid tremendous uproarBillie stretched the hit into a triple, and when hegot up out of the dust after his slide into thirdthe noise seemed to be the crashing down of thebleachers. It died out with the choking gurglingyell of the most leather-lunged fan.``O-o-o-o-you-Billie-e!''McReady marched up and promptly hit a longfly to the redoubtable Crane. Billie crouched ina sprinter's position with his eye on the gracefulfielder, waiting confidently for the ball to drop.As if there had not already been sufficient heart-rending moments, the chance that governed baseballmeted out this play; one of the keenest, mosttrying known to the game. Players waited,spectators waited, and the instant of that droppingball was interminably long. Everybody knewCrane would catch it; everybody thought of thewonderful throwing arm that had made himfamous. Was it possible for Billie Sheldon tobeat the throw to the plate?Crane made the catch and got the ball away atthe same instant Sheldon leaped from the baseand dashed for home. Then all eyes were on theball. It seemed incredible that a ball thrown byhuman strength could speed plateward so low, sostraight, so swift. But it lost its force and slanteddown to bound into the catcher's hands just asBillie slid over the plate.By the time the bleachers had stopped stampingand bawling, Curtis ended the inning with a difficultgrounder to the infield.Once more the Kansas City players took thefield and Burns Carroll sang out in his lusty voice:``Keep lively, boys! Play hard! Dig 'em up an'get 'em!'' Indeed the big catcher was the main-stay of the home team. The bulk of the work fellupon his shoulders. Dalgren was wild and kepthis catcher continually blocking low pitches andwide curves and poorly controlled high fast balls.But they were all alike to Carroll. Despite hisweight, he was as nimble on his feet as a goat,and if he once got his hands on the ball he nevermissed it. It was his encouragement that steadiedDalgren; his judgment of hitters that carried theyoung pitcher through dangerous places; hislightning swift grasp of points that directed themachine-like work of his team.In this inning Carroll exhibited another of hisdemon chases after a foul fly; he threw the base-stealing Crane out at second, and by a remarkableleap and stop of McReady's throw, he blocked arunner who would have tied the score.The Cowboys blanked their opponents in thefirst half of the ninth, and trotted in for theirturn needing one run to tie, two runs to win.There had scarcely been a breathing spell forthe onlookers in this rapid-fire game. Everyinning had held them, one moment breathless, thenext wildly clamorous, and another waiting innumb fear. What did these last few momentshold in store? The only answer to that was thedogged plugging optimism of the Denver players.To listen to them, to watch them, was to gatherthe impression that baseball fortune always favoredthem in the end.``Only three more, Dal. Steady boys, it's ourgame,'' rolled out Carroll's deep bass. Howvirile he was! What a tower of strength to theweakening pitcher!But valiantly as Dalgren tried to respond, hefailed. The grind--the strain had been too severe.When he finally did locate the plate Bluett hitsafely. Langley bunted along the base line andbeat the ball.A blank, dead quiet settled down over thebleachers and stands. Something fearful threatened.What might not come to pass, even at thelast moment of this nerve-racking game? Therewas a runner on first and a runner on second.That was bad. Exceedingly bad was it that theserunners were on base with nobody out. Worstof all was the fact that Kane was up. Kane, thebest bunter, the fastest man to first, the hardesthitter in the league! That he would fail toadvance those two runners was scarcely worthconsideration. Once advanced, a fly to the outfield,a scratch, anything almost, would tie the score.So this was the climax presaged so many timesearlier in the game. Dalgren seemed to wilt underit.Kane swung his ash viciously and called onDalgren to put one over. Dalgren looked intoward the bench as if he wanted and expected tobe taken out. But Pat Donahue made no sign.Pat had trained many a pitcher by forcing himto take his medicine. Then Carroll, mask underhis arm, rolling his big hand in his mitt, sauntereddown to the pitcher's box. The sharp order ofthe umpire in no wise disconcerted him. He saidsomething to Dalgren, vehemently nodding hishead the while. Players and audience alikesupposed he was trying to put a little heart intoDalgren, and liked him the better, notwithstandingthe opposition to the umpire.Carroll sauntered back to his position. Headjusted his breast protector, and put on his mask,deliberately taking his time. Then he steppedbehind the plate, and after signing for the pitch, heslowly moved his right hand up to his mask.Dalgren wound up, took his swing, and let drive.Even as he delivered the ball Carroll boundedaway from his position, flinging off the mask ashe jumped. For a single fleeting instant, thecatcher's position was vacated. But that instantwas long enough to make the audience gasp. Kanebunted beautifully down the third base line, andthere Carroll stood, fifteen feet from the plate,agile as a huge monkey. He whipped the ball toMahew at third. Mahew wheeled quick as thoughtand lined the ball to second. Sheldon came tearingfor the bag, caught the ball on the run, andwith a violent stop and wrench threw it like abullet to first base. Fast as Kane was, the ballbeat him ten feet. A triple play!The players of both teams cheered, but theaudience, slower to grasp the complex andintricate points, needed a long moment to realizewhat had happened. They needed another todivine that Carroll had anticipated Kane's intentionto bunt, had left his position as the ball waspitched, had planned all, risked all, played all onKane's sure eye; and so he had retired the sideand won the game by creating and executing therarest play in baseball.Then the audience rose in a body to greet thegreat catcher. What a hoarse thundering roarshook the stands and waved in a blast over thefield! Carroll stood bowing his acknowledgment,and then swaggered a little with the sun shiningon his handsome heated face. Like a conquerorconscious of full blown power he stalked away tothe clubhouse.Madge Ellston came out of her trance andviewed the ragged score-card, her torn parasol,her battered gloves and flying hair, her generallydisheveled state with a little start of dismay, butwhen she got into the thick and press of the movingcrowd she found all the women more or lessdisheveled. And they seemed all the prettier andfriendlier for that. It was a happy crowd andvoices were conspicuously hoarse.When Madge entered the hotel parlor thatevening she found her uncle with guests andamong them was Burns Carroll. The presenceof the handsome giant affected Madge moreimpellingly than ever before, yet in someinexplicably different way. She found herselftrembling; she sensed a crisis in her feelings for thisman and it frightened her. She became conscioussuddenly that she had always been afraid of him.Watching Carroll receive the congratulations ofmany of those present, she saw that he dominatedthem as he had her. His magnetism was over-powering; his great stature seemed to fill theroom; his easy careless assurance emanated fromsuperior strength. When he spoke lightly of thegame, of Crane's marvelous catch, of Dalgren'spitching and of his own triple play, it seemed theselooming features retreated in perspective--somehowlost their vital significance because he slightedthem.In the light of Carroll's illuminating talk, in theremembrance of Sheldon's bitter denunciation, inthe knowledge of Pat Donahue's estimate of apeculiar type of ball-player, Madge Ellston foundherself judging the man--bravely trying to resisthis charm, to be fair to him and to herself.Carroll soon made his way to her side andgreeted her with his old familiar manner ofpossession. However irritating it might be to Madgewhen alone, now it held her bound.Carroll possessed the elemental attributes of aconqueror. When with him Madge whimsicallyfeared that he would snatch her up in his armsand carry her bodily off, as the warriors of olddid with the women they wanted. But she beganto believe that the fascination he exercised uponher was merely physical. That gave her pause.Not only was Burns Carroll on trial, but also avery foolish fluttering little moth--herself. Itwas time enough, however, to be stern with herselfafter she had tried him.``Wasn't that a splendid catch of Crane'stoday?'' she asked.``A lucky stab! Crane has a habit of runninground like an ostrich and sticking out a hand tocatch a ball. It's a grand-stand play. Why, agood outfielder would have been waiting underthat fly.''``Dalgren did fine work in the box, don't youthink?''``Oh, the kid's all right with an old head backof the plate. He's wild, though, and will nevermake good in fast company. I won his game today.He wouldn't have lasted an inning withoutme. It was dead wrong for Pat to pitch him.Dalgren simply can't pitch and he hasn't sandenough to learn.''A hot retort trembled upon Madge Ellston'slips, but she withheld it and quietly watchedCarroll. How complacent he was, how utterly self-contained!``And Billie Sheldon--wasn't it good to see himbrace? What hitting! . . . That homerun!''``Sheldon flashed up today. That's the worstof such players. This talk of his slump is all rot.When he joined the team he made some lucky hitsand the papers lauded him as a comer, but hesoon got down to his real form. Why, to breakinto a game now and then, to shut his eyes andhit a couple on the nose--that's not baseball.Pat's given him ten days' notice, and his releasewill be a good move for the team. Sheldon's notfast enough for this league.''``I'm sorry. He seemed so promising,'' repliedMadge. ``I liked Billy--pretty well.''``Yes, that was evident,'' said Carroll, firingup. ``I never could understand what you saw inhim. Why, Sheldon's no good. He----''Madge turned a white face that silencedCarroll. She excused herself and returned to theparlor, where she had last seen her uncle. Notfinding him there, she went into the long corridorand met Sheldon, Dalgren and two more of theplayers. Madge congratulated the young pitcherand the other players on their brilliant work; andthey, not to be outdone, gallantly attributed theday's victory to her presence at the game. Then,without knowing in the least how it came about,she presently found herself alone with Billy, andthey were strolling into the music-room.``Madge, did I brace up?''The girl risked one quick look at him. Howboyish he seemed, how eager! What an altogetherdifferent Billie! But was the differenceall in him! Somehow, despite a conscious shynessin the moment she felt natural and free, withoutthe uncertainty and restraint that had alwaystroubled her while with him.``Oh, Billie, that glorious home run!''``Madge, wasn't that hit a dandy? How I madeit is a mystery, but the bat felt like a feather. Ithought of you. Tell me-- what did you thinkwhen I hit that ball over the fence?''``Billie, I'll never, never tell you.''``Yes--please--I want to know. Didn't youthink something--nice of me?''The pink spots in Madge's cheeks widened tocrimson flames.``Billie, are you still--crazy about me? Now,don't come so close. Can't you behave yourself?And don't break my fingers with you terriblebaseball hands. . . . Well, when you made thathit I just collapsed and I said----''``Say it! Say it!'' implored Billie.She lowered her face and then bravely raisedit.``I said, `Billie, I could hug you for that!' . . .Billie, let me go! Oh, you mustn't!--please!''Quite a little while afterward Madge rememberedto tell Billie that she had been seeking heruncle. They met him and Pat Donahue, comingout of the parlor.``Where have you been all evening?'' demandedMr. Ellston.``Shure it looks as if she's signed a newmanager,'' said Pat, his shrewd eyes twinkling.The soft glow in Madge's cheeks deepened intotell-tale scarlet; Billie resembled a schoolboystricken in guilt.``Aha! so that's it?'' queried her uncle.``Ellston,'' said Pat. ``Billie's home-run drivetoday recalled his notice an' if I don't miss guessit won him another game--the best game in life.''``By George!'' exclaimed Mr. Ellston. ``I wasafraid it was Carroll!''He led Madge away and Pat followed withBillie.``Shure, it was good to see you brace, Billie,''said the manager, with a kindly hand on the youngman's arm. ``I'm tickled to death. That tendays' notice doesn't go. See? I've had to shakeup the team but your job is good. I releasedMcReady outright an' traded Carroll to Denverfor a catcher and a fielder. Some of the directorshollered murder, an' I expect the fans will roar,but I'm running this team, I'll have harmonyamong my players. Carroll is a great catcher,but he's a knocker.''
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