My Roomy
INo--I ain't signed for next year; but there won't be no troubleabout that. The dough part of it is all fixed up. John and metalked it over and I'll sign as soon as they send me a contract.All I told him was that he'd have to let me pick my own roommateafter this and not sic no wild man on to me.You know I didn't hit much the last two months o' the season.Some o' the boys, I notice, wrote some stuff about me gettin' oldand losin' my battin' eye. That's all bunk! The reason I didn'thit was because I wasn't gettin' enough sleep. And the reason forthat was Mr. Elliott.He wasn't with us after the last part o' May, but I roomed withhim long enough to get the insomny. I was the only guy in theclub game enough to stand for him; but I was sorry afterward thatI done it, because it sure did put a crimp in my little oldaverage.And do you know where he is now? I got a letter today and I'llread it to you. No--I guess I better tell you somethin' about himfirst. You fellers never got acquainted with him and you ought tohear the dope to understand the letter. I'll make it as short asI can.He didn't play in no league last year. He was with some semi-prosover in Michigan and somebody writes John about him. So Johnsends Needham over to look at him. Tom stayed there Saturday andSunday, and seen him work twice. He was playin' the outfield, butas luck would have it they wasn't a fly ball hit in his directionin both games. A base hit was made out his way and he booted it,and that's the only report Tom could get on his fieldin'. But hewallops two over the wall in one day and they catch two linedrives off him. The next day he gets four blows and two o' themis triples.So Tom comes back and tells John the guy is a whale of a hitterand fast as Cobb, but he don't know nothin' about his fieldin'.Then John signs him to a contract--twelve hundred or somethin'like that. We'd been in Tampa a week before he showed up. Then hecomes to the hotel and just sits round all day, without tellin'nobody who he was. Finally the bellhops was going to chase himout and he says he's one o' the ballplayers. Then the clerk getsJohn to go over and talk to him. He tells John his name and sayshe hasn't had nothin' to eat for three days, because he wasbroke. John told me afterward that he'd drew about three hundredadvance--last winter sometime. Well, they took him in the dinin'room and they tell me he inhaled about four meals at once. Thatnight they roomed him with Heine.Next mornin' Heine and me walks out to the grounds together andHeine tells me about him. He says:"Don't never call me a bug again. They got me roomin' with thechampion o' the world.""Who is he?" I says."I don't know and I don't want to know," says Heine; "but if theystick him in there with me again I'll jump to the Federals. Tostart with, he ain't got no baggage. I ast him where his trunkwas and he says he didn't have none. Then I ast him if he didn'thave no suitcase, and he says: 'No. What do you care?' I wasgoin' to lend him some pajamas, but he put on the shirt o' theuniform John give him last night and slept in that. He was asleepwhen I got up this mornin'. I seen his collar layin' on thedresser and it looked like he had wore it in Pittsburgh every dayfor a year. So I throwed it out the window and he comes down tobreakfast with no collar. I ast him what size collar he wore andhe says he didn't want none, because he wasn't goin' outnowheres. After breakfast he beat it up to the room again and puton his uniform. When I got up there he was lookin' in the glassat himself, and he done it all the time I was dressin'."When we got out to the park I got my first look at him. Prettygood-lookin' guy, too, in his unie--big shoulders and well puttogether; built somethin' like Heine himself. He was talkin' toJohn when I come up."What position do you play?" John was askin' him."I play anywheres," says Elliott."You're the kind I'm lookin' for," says John. Then he says: "Youwas an outfielder up there in Michigan, wasn't you?""I don't care where I play," says Elliott.John sends him to the outfield and forgets all about him for awhile. Pretty soon Miller comes in and says:"I ain't goin' to shag for no bush outfielder!"John ast him what was the matter, and Miller tells him thatElliott ain't doin' nothin' but just standin' out there; that heain't makin' no attemp' to catch the fungoes, and that he won'teven chase 'em. Then John starts watchin' him, and it was justlike Miller said. Larry hit one pretty near in his lap and hestepped out o' the way. John calls him in and ast him:"Why don't you go after them fly balls?""Because I don't want 'em," says Elliott.John gets sarcastic and says:"What do you want? Of course we'll see that you get anythin' youwant!""Give me a ticket back home," says Elliott."Don't you want to stick with the club?" says John, and thebusher tells him, no, he certainly did not. Then John tells himhe'll have to pay his own fare home and Elliott don't get sore atall. He just says:"Well, I'll have to stick, then--because I'm broke."We was havin' battin' practice and John tells him to go up andhit a few. And you ought to of seen him bust 'em!Lavender was in there workin' and he'd been pitchin' a little allwinter, so he was in pretty good shape. He lobbed one up toElliott, and he hit it 'way up in some trees outside thefence--about a mile, I guess. Then John tells Jimmy to putsomethin' on the ball. Jim comes through with one of his fastones and the kid slams it agin the right-field wall on a line."Give him your spitter!" yells John, and Jim handed him one. Hepulled it over first base so fast that Bert, who was standin'down there, couldn't hardly duck in time. If it'd hit him it'dkilled him.Well, he kep' on hittin' everythin' Jim give him--and Jim hadsomethin' too. Finally John gets Pierce warmed up and sends himout to pitch, tellin' him to hand Elliott a flock o' curve balls.He wanted to see if lefthanders was goin' to bother him. But heslammed 'em right along, and I don't b'lieve he hit more'n twothe whole mornin' that wouldn't of been base hits in a game.They sent him out to the outfield again in the afternoon, andafter a lot o' coaxin' Leach got him to go after fly balls; butthat's all he did do--just go after 'em. One hit him on the beanand another on the shoulder. He run back after the short ones and'way in after the ones that went over his head. He catched justone--a line drive that he couldn't get out o' the way of; andthen he acted like it hurt his hands.I come back to the hotel with John. He ast me what I thought ofElliott."Well," I says, "he'd be the greatest ballplayer in the world ifhe could just play ball. He sure can bust 'em."John says he was afraid he couldn't never make an outfielder outo' him. He says:"I'll try him on the infield to-morrow. They must be Some placehe can play. I never seen a lefthand hitter that looked so goodagin lefthand pitchin'--and he's got a great arm; but he actslike he'd never saw a fly ball."Well, he was just as bad on the infield. They put him at shortand he was like a sieve. You could of drove a hearse between himand second base without him gettin' near it. He'd stoop over fora ground ball about the time it was bouncin' up agin the fence;and when he'd try to cover the bag on a peg he'd trip over it.They tried him at first base and sometimes he'd run 'way over inthe coachers' box and sometimes out in right field lookin' forthe bag. Once Heine shot one acrost at him on a line and he nevertouched it with his hands. It went bam! right in the pit of hisstomach--and the lunch he'd ate didn't do him no good.Finally John just give up and says he'd have to keep him on thebench and let him earn his pay by bustin' 'em a couple o' times aweek or so. We all agreed with John that this bird would be awhale of a pinch hitter--and we was right too. He was hittin''way over five hundred when the blowoff come, along about thelast o' May.
IIBefore the trainin' trip was over, Elliott had roomed with prettynear everybody in the club. Heine raised an awful holler afterthe second night down there and John put the bug in with Needham.Tom stood him for three nights. Then he doubled up with Archer,and Schulte, and Miller, and Leach, and Saier--and the wholebunch in turn, averagin' about two nights with each one beforethey put up a kick. Then John tried him with some o' theyoungsters, but they wouldn't stand for him no more'n the others.They all said he was crazy and they was afraid he'd get violentsome night and stick a knife in 'em.He always insisted on havin' the water run in the bathtub allnight, because he said it reminded him of the sound of the damnear his home. The fellers might get up four or five times anight and shut off the faucet, but he'd get right up after 'emand turn it on again. Carter, a big bush pitcher from Georgia,started a fight with him about it one night, and Elliott prettynear killed him. So the rest o' the bunch, when they'd sawCarter's map next mornin', didn't have the nerve to do nothin'when it come their turn.Another o' his habits was the thing that scared 'em, though. He'dbrought a razor with him--in his pocket, I guess--and he used todo his shavin' in the middle o' the night. Instead o' doin' it inthe bathroom he'd lather his face and then come out and stand infront o' the lookin'-glass on the dresser. Of course he'd haveall the lights turned on, and that was bad enough when a fellerwanted to sleep; but the worst of it was that he'd stop shavin'every little while and turn round and stare at the guy who wasmakin' a failure o' tryin' to sleep. Then he'd wave his razorround in the air and laugh, and begin shavin' agin. You canimagine how comf'table his roomies felt!John had bought him a suitcase and some clothes and things, andcharged 'em up to him. He'd drew so much dough in advance that hedidn't have nothin' comin' till about June. He never thanked Johnand he'd wear one shirt and one collar till some one throwed 'emaway.Well, we finally gets to Indianapolis, and we was goin' fromthere to Cincy to open. The last day in Indianapolis John comeand ast me how I'd like to change roomies. I says I was perfectlysatisfied with Larry. Then John says:"I wisht you'd try Elliott. The other boys all kicks on him, buthe seems to hang round you a lot and I b'lieve you could getalong all right.""Why don't you room him alone?" I ast."The boss or the hotels won't stand far us roomin' alone," saysJohn. "You go ahead and try it, and see how you make out. If he'stoo much for you let me know; but he likes you and I think he'llbe diff'rent with a guy who can talk to him like you can."So I says I'd tackle it, because I didn't want to throw Johndown. When we got to Cincy they stuck Elliott and me in one room,and we was together till he quit us.
IIII went to the room early that night, because we was goin' to opennext day and I wanted to feel like somethin'. First thing I donewhen I got undressed was turn on both faucets in the bathtub.They was makin' an awful racket when Elliott finally come inabout midnight. I was layin' awake and I opened right up on him.I says:"Don't shut off that water, because I like to hear it run."Then I turned over and pretended to be asleep. The bug got hisclothes off, and then what did he do but go in the bathroom andshut off the water! Then he come back in the room and says: "Iguess no one's goin' to tell me what to do in here."But I kep' right on pretendin' to sleep and didn't pay noattention. When he'd got into his bed I jumped out o' mine andturned on all the lights and begun stroppin' my razor. He says:"What's comin' off?""Some o' my whiskers," I says. "I always shave along about thistime.""No, you don't!" he says. "I was in your room one mornin' down inLouisville and I seen you shavin' then.""Well," I says, "the boys tell me you shave in the middle o' thenight; and I thought if I done all the things you do mebbe I'dget so's I could hit like you.""You must be superstitious!" he says. And I told him I was. "I'ma good hitter," he says, "and I'd be a good hitter if I nevershaved at all. That don't make no diff'rence.""Yes, it does," I says. "You prob'ly hit good because you shaveat night; but you'd be a better fielder if you shaved in themornin'."You see, I was tryin' to be just as crazy as him--though thatwasn't hardly possible."If that's right," says he, "I'll do my shavin' in themornin'--because I seen in the papers where the boys says that ifI could play the outfield like I can hit I'd be as good as Cobb.They tell me Cobb gets twenty thousand a year.""No," I says; "he don't get that much--but he gets about tentimes as much as you do.""Well," he says, "I'm goin' to be as good as him, because I needthe money.""What do you want with money? " I says.He just laughed and didn't say nothin'; but from that time on thewater didn't run in the bathtub nights and he done his shavin'after breakfast. I didn't notice, though, that he looked anybetter in fieldin' practice.
IVIt rained one day in Cincy and they trimmed us two out o' theother three; but it wasn't Elliott's fault.They had Larry beat four to one in the ninth innin' o' the firstgame. Archer gets on with two out, and John sends my roomy up tohit--though Benton, a lefthander, is workin' for them. The firstthing Benton serves up there Elliott cracks it a mile overHobby's head. It would of been good for three easy--onlyArcher--playin' safe, o' course--pulls up at third base. Tommycouldn't do nothin' and we was licked.The next day he hits one out o' the park off the Indian; but wewas 'way behind and they was nobody on at the time. We copped thelast one without usin' no pinch hitters.I didn't have no trouble with him nights durin' the whole series.He come to bed pretty late while we was there and I told him he'dbetter not let John catch him at it. "What would he do?" he says."Fine you fifty," I says."He can't fine me a dime," he says, "because I ain't got it."Then I told him he'd be fined all he had comin' if he didn't getin the hotel before midnight; but he just laughed and says hedidn't think John had a kick comin' so long as he kep' bustin'the ball."Some day you'll go up there and you won't bust it," I says."That'll be an accident," he says.That stopped me and I didn't say nothin'. What could you say to aguy who hated himself like that?The "accident" happened in St. Louis the first day. We needed tworuns in the eighth and Saier and Brid was on, with two out. Johntells Elliott to go up in Pierce's place. The bug goes up andGriner gives him two bad balls--'way outside. I thought they wasgoin' to walk him--and it looked like good judgment, becausethey'd heard what he done in Cincy. But no! Griner comes backwith a fast one right over and Elliott pulls it down the rightfoul line, about two foot foul. He hit it so hard you'd ofthought they'd sure walk him then; but Griner gives him anotherfast one. He slammed it again just as hard, but foul. Then Grinergives him one 'way outside and it's two and three. John says, onthe bench:"If they don't walk him now he'll bust that fence down."I thought the same and I was sure Griner wouldn't give himnothin' to hit; but he come with a curve and Rigler calls Elliottout. From where we sat the last one looked low, and I thoughtElliott'd make a kick. He come back to the bench smilin'.John starts for his position, but stopped and ast the bug whatwas the matter with that one. Any busher I ever knowed would ofsaid, "It was too low," or "It was outside," or "It was inside."Elliott says:"Nothin' at all. It was right over the middle.""Why didn't you bust it, then?" says John."I was afraid I'd kill somebody," says Elliott, and laughed likea big boob. John was pretty near chokin'."What are you laughin' at?" he says."I was thinkin' of a nickel show I seen in Cincinnati," says thebug."Well," says John, so mad he couldn't hardly see, "that show andthat laugh'll cost you fifty."We got beat, and I wouldn't of blamed John if he'd fined him hiswhole season's pay.Up 'n the room that night I told him he'd better cut out thatlaughin' stuff when we was gettin' trimmed or he never would haveno pay day. Then he got confidential."Pay day wouldn't do me no good," he says. "When I'm all squaredup with the club and begin to have a pay day I'll only get ahundred bucks at a time, and I'll owe that to some o' youfellers. I wisht we could win the pennant and get in on thatWorld's Series dough. Then I'd get a bunch at once.""What would you do with a bunch o' dough?" I ast him."Don't tell nobody, sport," he says; "but if I ever get fivehundred at once I'm goin' to get married.""Oh!" I says. "And who's the lucky girl?""She's a girl up in Muskegon," says Elliott; "and you're rightwhen you call her lucky.""You don't like yourself much, do you?" I says."I got reason to like myself," says he. "You'd like yourself,too, if you could hit 'em like me.""Well," I says. "you didn't show me no hittin' to-day.""I couldn't hit because I was laughin' too hard," says Elliott."What was it you was laughin' at?" I says."I was laughin' at that pitcher," he says. "He thought he hadsomethin' and he didn't have nothin'.""He had enough to whiff you with," I says."He didn't have nothin'!" says he again. "I was afraid if Ibusted one off him they'd can him, and then I couldn't never hitagin him no more."Naturally I didn't have no comeback to that. I just sort o'gasped and got ready to go to sleep; but he wasn't through."I wisht you could see this bird!" he says."What bird?" I says."This dame that's nuts about me," he says."Good-looker?" I ast."No," he says; "she ain't no bear for looks. They ain't nothin'about her for a guy to rave over till you hear her sing. She surecan holler some.""What kind o' voice has she got?" I ast."A bear," says he.""No," I says; "I mean is she a barytone or an air?""I don't know," he says; "but she's got the loudest voice I everhear on a woman. She's pretty near got me beat.""Can you sing?" I says; and I was sorry right afterward that Iast him that question.I guess it must of been bad enough to have the water runnin'night after night and to have him wavin' that razor round; butthat couldn't of been nothin' to his singin'. Just as soon as I'dpulled that boner he says, "Listen to me!" and starts in on'Silver Threads Among the Gold.' Mind you, it was after midnightand they was guests all round us tryin' to sleep!They used to be noise enough in our club when we had Hofman andSheckard and Richie harmonizin'; but this bug's voice waslouder'n all o' theirn combined. We once had a pitcher namedMartin Walsh--brother o' Big Ed's--and I thought he could drowndout the Subway; but this guy made a boiler factory sound likeDummy Taylor. If the whole hotel wasn't awake when he'd howledthe first line it's a pipe they was when he cut loose, which hedone when he come to "Always young and fair to me." Them wordscould of been heard easy in East St. Louis.He didn't get no encore from me, but he goes right through itagain--or starts to. I knowed somethin' was goin' to happenbefore he finished--and somethin' did. The night clerk and thehouse detective come bangin' at the door. I let 'em in and theyhad plenty to say. If we made another sound the whole club'd becanned out o' the hotel. I tried to salve 'em, and I says:"He won't sing no more."But Elliott swelled up like a poisoned pup."Won't I?" he says. "I'll sing all I want to.""You won't sing in here," says the clerk."They ain't room for my voice in here anyways," he says. "I'll gooutdoors and sing."And he puts his clothes on and ducks out. I didn't make noattemp' to stop him. I heard him bellowin' 'Silver Threads' downthe corridor and dawn the stairs, with the clerk and the dickchasin' him all the way and tellin' him to shut up.Well, the guests make a holler the next mornin'; and the hotelpeople tells Charlie Williams that he'll either have to letElliott stay somewheres else or the whole club'll have to move.Charlie tells John, and John was thinkin' o' settlin' thequestion by releasin' Elliott.I guess he'd about made up his mind to do it; but that afternoonthey had us three to one in the ninth, and we got the bases full,with two down and Larry's turn to hit. Elliott had been sittin'on the bench sayin' nothin'."Do you think you can hit one today?" says John."I can hit one any day," says Elliott."Go up and hit that lefthander, then," says John, "and rememberthere's nothin' to laugh at."Sallee was workin'--and workin' good; but that didn't bother thebug. He cut into one, and it went between Oakes and Whitted likea shot. He come into third standin' up and we was a run to thegood. Sallee was so sore he kind o' forgot himself and tookpretty near his full wind-up pitchin' to Tommy. And what didElliott do but steal home and get away with it clean!Well, you couldn't can him after that, could you? Charlie getshim a room somewheres and I was relieved of his company thatnight. The next evenin' we beat it for Chi to play about twoweeks at home. He didn't tell nobody where he roomed there and Ididn't see nothin' of him, 'cep' out to the park. I ast him whathe did with himself nights and he says:"Same as I do on the road--borrow some dough same place and go tothe nickel shows.""You must be stuck on 'em," I says."Yes." he says; "I like the ones where they kill people--becauseI want to learn how to do it. I may have that job some day.""Don't pick on me," I says."Oh," says the bug, "you never can tell who I'll pick on."It seemed as if he just couldn't learn nothin' about fieldin',and finally John told him to keep out o' the practice."A ball might hit him in the temple and croak him," says John.But he busted up a couple o' games for us at home, beatin'Pittsburgh once and Cincy once.
VThey give me a great big room at the hotel in Pittsburgh; so thefellers picked it out for the poker game. We was playin' alongabout ten o'clock one night when in come Elliott--the earliesthe'd showed up since we'd been roomin' together. They was onlyfive of us playin' and Tom ast him to sit in."I'm busted," he says."Can you play poker?" I ast him."They's nothin' I can't do!" he says. "Slip me a couple o' bucksand I'll show you."So I slipped him a couple o' bucks and honestly hoped he'd win,because I knowed he never had no dough. Well, Tom dealt him ahand and he picks it up and says:"I only got five cards.""How many do you want?" I says."Oh," he says, "if that's all I get I'll try to make 'em do."The pot was cracked and raised, and he stood the raise. I says tomyself: "There goes my two bucks!" But no--he comes out withthree queens and won the dough. It was only about seven bucks;but you'd of thought it was a million to see him grab it. Helaughed like a kid."Guess I can't play this game!" he says; and he had me fooled fora minute--I thought he must of been kiddin' when he complained ofonly havin' five cards.He copped another pot right afterward and was sittin' there withabout eleven bucks in front of him when Jim opens a roodle potfor a buck. I stays and so does Elliott. Him and Jim both drawedone card and I took three. I had kings or queens--I forget which.I didn't help 'em none; so when Jim bets a buck I throws my handaway."How much can I bet?" says the bug."You can raise Jim a buck if you want to," I says.So he bets two dollars. Jim comes back at him. He comes rightback at Jim. Jim raises him again and he tilts Jim right back.Well, when he'd boosted Jim with the last buck he had, Jim says:"I'm ready to call. I guess you got me beat. What have you got?""I know what I've got, all right," says Elliott. "I've got astraight." And he throws his hand down. Sure enough, it was astraight, eight high. Jim pretty near fainted and so did I.The bug had started pullin' in the dough when Jim stops him."Here! Wait a minute!" says Jim. "I thought you had somethin'. Ifilled up." Then Jim lays down his nine full."You beat me, I guess," says Elliott, and he looked like he'dlost his last friend."Beat you?" says Jim. "Of course I beat you! What did you think Ihad?""Well," says the bug, "I thought you might have a small flush orsomethin'."When I regained consciousness he was beggin' for two more bucks."What for?" I says. "To play poker with? You're barred from thegame for life!""Well," he says, "if I can't play no more I want to go to sleep,and you fellers will have to get out o' this room."Did you ever hear o' nerve like that? This was the first nighthe'd came in before twelve and he orders the bunch out so's hecan sleep! We politely suggested to him to go to Brooklyn.Without sayin' a word he starts in on his 'Silver Threads' and itwasn't two minutes till the game was busted up and the bunch--allbut me--was out o' there. I'd of beat it too, only be stoppedyellin' as soon as they'd went."You're same buster!" I says. "You bust up ball games in theafternoon and poker games at night.""Yes," he says; "that's my business--bustin' things." And beforeI knowed what he was about he picked up the pitcher of ice-waterthat was on the floor and throwed it out the window--through theglass and all.Right then I give him a plain talkin' to. I tells him how near hecome to gettin' canned down in St. Louis because he raised somuch Cain singin' in the hotel."But I had to keep my voice in shape," he says. "If I ever getdough enough to get married the girl and me'll go out singin'together.""Out where?" I ast."Out on the vaudeville circuit," says Elliott."Well," I says, "if her voice is like yours you'll be wastin'money if you travel round. Just stay up in Muskegon and we'llhear you, all right!"I told him he wouldn't never get no dough if he didn't behavehimself. That, even if we got in the World's Series, he wouldn'tbe with us--unless he cut out the foolishness."We ain't goin' to get in no World's Series," he says, "and Iwon't never get a bunch o' money at once; so it looks like Icouldn't get married this fall."Then I told him we played a city series every fall. He'd neverthought o' that and it tickled him to death. I told him thelosers always got about five hundred apiece and that we wereabout due to win it and get about eight hundred. "But," I says, "we still got a good chance for the old pennant; and if I was youI wouldn't give up hope o' that yet--not where John can hear you,anyway.""No," he says, "we won't win no pennant, because he won't letmime play reg'lar; but I don't care so long as we're sure o' thatcity-series dough.""You ain't sure of it if you don't behave," I says."Well," says he, very serious, "I guess I'll behave." And hedid--till we made our first Eastern trip.
VIwent to Boston first, and that crazy bunch goes out and piles upa three-run lead on us in seven innin's the first day. It was thepitcher's turn to lead off in the eighth, so up goes Elliott tobat for him. He kisses the first thing they hands him for threebases; and we says, on the bench: "Now we'll get 'em!"--because,you know, a three-run lead wasn't nothin' in Boston."Stay right on that bag!" John hollers to Elliott.Mebbe if John hadn't said nothin' to him everythin' would of beenall right; but when Perdue starts to pitch the first ball toTommy, Elliott starts to steal home. He's out as far as from hereto Seattle.If I'd been carryin' a gun I'd of shot him right through theheart. As it was, I thought John'd kill him with a bat, becausehe was standin' there with a couple of 'em, waitin' for his turn;but I guess John was too stunned to move. He didn't even seem tosee Elliott when he went to the bench. After I'd cooled off alittle I says:"Beat it and get into your clothes before John comes in. Then goto the hotel and keep out o' sight."When I got up in the room afterward, there was Elliott, lookin'as innocent and happy as though he'd won fifty bucks with a pairo' treys."I thought you might of killed yourself," I says."What for?" he says."For that swell play you made," says I."What was the matter within the play?" ast Elliott, surprised."It was all right when I done it in St. Louis.""Yes," I says; "but they was two out in St. Louis and we wasn'tno three runs behind.""Well," he says, "if it was all right in St. Louis I don't seewhy it was wrong here.""It's a diff'rent climate here," I says, too disgusted to arguewith him."I wonder if they'd let me sing in this climate?" says Elliott."Na," I says. "Don't sing in this hotel, because we don't want toget fired out o' here--the eats is too good.""All right," he says. "I won't sing." But when I starts down tosupper he says: "I'm li'ble to do somethin' worse'n sing."He didn't show up in the dinin' roam and John went to the boxin'show after supper; so it looked like him and Elliott wouldn't runinto each other till the murder had left John's heart. I was glado' that--because a Mass'chusetts jury might not consider itjustifiable hommercide if one guy croaked another for givin' theBoston club a game.I went down to the corner and had a couple o' beers; and thencame straight back, intendin' to hit the hay. The elevator boyhad went for a drink or somethin', and they was two old ladiesalready waitin' in the car when I stepped in. Right along afterme comes Elliott."Where's the boy that's supposed to run this car?" he says. Itold him the boy'd be right back; but he says: "I can't wait. I'mmuch too sleepy."And before I could stop him he'd slammed the door and him and Iand the poor old ladies was shootin' up."Let us off at the third floor, please!" says one o' the ladies,her voice kind o' shakin'."Sorry, madam," says the bug; "but this is a express and we don'tstop at no third floor."I grabbed his arm and tried to get him away from the machinery;but he was as strong as a ox and he throwed me agin the side o'the car like I was a baby. We went to the top faster'n I everrode in an elevator before. And then we shot dawn to the bottom,hittin' the bumper down there so hard I thought we'd be smashedto splinters.The ladies was too scared to make a sound durin' the first trip;but while we was goin' up and down the second time--even faster'nthe first--they begun to scream. I was hollerin' my head off athim to quit and he was makin' more noise than the three ofus--pretendin' he was the locomotive and the whole crew o' thetrain.Don't never ask me how many times we went up and dawn! The womenfainted on the third trip and I guess I was about as near it asI'll ever get. The elevator boy and the bellhops and the waitersand the night clerk and everybody was jumpin' round the lobbyscreamin'; but no one seemed to know how to stop us.Finally--on about the tenth trip, I guess--he slowed down andstopped at the fifth floor, where we was roomin'. He opened thedoor and beat it for the room, while I, though I was tremblin'like a leaf, run the car down to the bottom.The night clerk knowed me pretty well and knowed I wouldn't donothin' like that; so him and I didn't argue, but just got towork together to bring the old women to. While we was doin' thatElliott must of run down the stairs and slipped out o' the hotel,because when they sent the officers up to the room after him he'dblowed.They was goin' to fire the club out; but Charlie had a goodstand-in with Amos, the proprietor, and he fixed it up to let usstay--providin' Elliott kep' away. The bug didn't show up at theball park next day and we didn't see no more of him till we goton the rattler far New York. Charlie and John both bawled him,but they give him a berth--an upper--and we pulled into the GrandCentral Station without him havin' made no effort to wreck thetrain.
VIII'd studied the thing pretty careful, but hadn't come to noconclusion. I was sure he wasn't no stew, because none o' theboys had ever saw him even take a glass o' beer, and I couldn'tnever detect the odor o' booze on him. And if he'd been a dopeI'd of knew about it--roomin' with him.There wouldn't of been no mystery about it if he'd been alefthand pitcher--but he wasn't. He wasn't nothin' but a whale ofa hitter and he throwed with his right arm. He hit lefthanded, o'course; but so did Saier and Brid and Schulte and me, and Johnhimself; and none of us was violent. I guessed he must of beenjust a plain nut and li'ble to break out any time.They was a letter waitin' for him at New York, and I took it,intendin' to give it to him at the park, because I didn't thinkthey'd let him room at the hotel; but after breakfast he come upto the room, with his suitcase. It seems he'd promised John andCharlie to be good, and made it so strong they b'lieved him.I give him his letter, which was addressed in a girl's writin'and came from Muskegon."From the girl?" I says."Yes," he says; and, without openin' it, he tore it up andthrowed it out the window."Had a quarrel?" I ast."No, no," he says; "but she can't tell me nothin' I don't knowalready. Girls always writes the same junk. I got one from her inPittsburgh, but I didn't read it.""I guess you ain't so stuck on her," I says.He swells up and says:"Of course I'm stuck on her! If I wasn't, do you think I'd begoin' round with this bunch and gettin' insulted all the time?I'm stickin' here because o' that series dough, so's I can gethooked.""Do you think you'd settle down if you was married?" I ast him."Settle down?" he says. "Sure, I'd settle down. I'd be so happythat I wouldn't have to look for no excitement."Nothin' special happened that might 'cep' that he come in theroom about one o'clock and wake me up by pickin' up the foot o'the bed and droppin' it on the floor, sudden-like."Give me a key to the room," he says."You must of had a key," I says, "or you couldn't of got in.""That's right!" he says, and beat it to bed.One o' the reporters must of told Elliott that John had ast forwaivers on him and New York had refused to waive, because nextmornin' he come to me with that dope."New York's goin' to win this pennant!" he says."Well," I says, "they will if some one else don't. But what ofit?""I'm goin' to play with New York," he says, "so's I can get theWorld's Series dough.""How you goin' to get away from this club?" I ast."Just watch me!" he says. "I'll be with New York before thisseries is over."Well, the way he goes after the job was original, anyway. Rube'dhad one of his good days the day before and we'd got a trimmin';but this second day the score was tied up at two runs apiece inthe tenth, and Big Jeff'd been wobblin' for two or three innin's.Well, he walks Saier and me, with one out, and Mac sends forMatty, who was warmed up and ready. John sticks Elliott in inBrid's place and the bug pulls one into the right-field stand.It's a cinch McGraw thinks well of him then, and might of wentafter him if he hadn't went crazy the next afternoon. We're tiedup in the ninth and Matty's workin'. John sends Elliott up withthe bases choked; but he doesn't go right up to the plate. Hewalks over to their bench and calls McGraw out. Mac tells usabout it afterward."I can bust up this game right here!" says Elliott."Go ahead," says Mac; "but be careful he don't whiff you."Then the bug pulls it."If I whiff," he says, "will you get me on your club?""Sure!" says Mac, just as anybody would.By this time Bill Koem was hollerin' about the delay; so up goesElliott and gives the worst burlesque on tryin' to hit that youever see. Matty throws one a mile outside and high, and the bugswings like it was right over the heart. Then Matty throws one athim and he ducks out o' the way--but swings just the same. Mattymust of been wise by this time, for he pitches one so far outsidethat the Chief almost has to go to the coachers' box after it.Elliott takes his third healthy and runs through the field downto the clubhouse.We got beat in the eleventh; and when we went in to dress he hashis street clothes on. Soon as he seen John comin' he says: "Igot to see McGraw!" And he beat it.John was goin' to the fights that night; but before he leaves thehotel he had waivers on Elliott from everybody and had sold himto Atlanta."And," says John, "I don't care if they pay for him or not." Myroomy blows in about nine and got the letter from John out of hisbox. He was goin' to tear it up. but I told him they was news init. He opens it and reads where he's sold. I was still sore athim; so I says:"Thought you was goin' to get on the New York club?""No," he says. "I got turned down cold. McGraw says he wouldn'thave me in his club. He says he'd had Charlie Faust--and that wasenough for him."He had a kind o' crazy look in his eyes; so when he starts up tothe room I follows him."What are you goin' to do now?" I says."I'm goin' to sell this ticket to Atlanta," he says, "and go backto Muskegon, where I belong.""I'll help you pack," I says."No," says the bug. "I come into this league with this suit o'clothes and a collar. They can have the rest of it." Then he sitsdawn on the bed and begins to cry like a baby. "No series doughfor me," he blubbers, "and no weddin' bells! My girl'll die whenshe hears about it!"Of course that made me feel kind o' rotten, and I says:"Brace up, boy! The best thing you can do is go to Atlanta andtry hard. You'll be up here again next year.""You can't tell me where to go!" he says, and he wasn't cryin' nomore. "I'll go where I please--and I'm li'ble to take you withme."I didn't want no argument, so I kep' still. Pretty soon he goesup to the lookin'-glass and stares at himself for five minutes.Then, all of a sudden, he hauls off and takes a wallop at hisreflection in the glass. Naturally he smashed the glass all topieces and he cut his hand somethin' awful.Without lookin' at it he come over to me and says: "Well,good-by, sport!"--and holds out his other hand to shake. When Istarts to shake with him he smears his bloody hand all over mymap. Then he laughed like a wild man and run out o' the room andout o' the hotel.
VIIIWell, boys, my sleep was broke up for the rest o' the season. Itmight of been because I was used to sleepin' in all kinds o'racket and excitement, and couldn't stand for the quiet afterhe'd went--or it might of been because I kep' thinkin' about himand feelin' sorry for him.I of'en wondered if he'd settle down and be somethin' if he couldget married; and finally I got to b'lievin' he would. So when wewas dividin' the city series dough I was thinkin' of him and thegirl. Our share o' the money--the losers', as usual--was twelvethousand seven hundred sixty bucks or somethin' like that. Theywas twenty-one of us and that meant six hundred seven bucksapiece. We was just goin' to cut it up that way when I says:"Why not give a divvy to poor old Elliott?"About fifteen of 'em at once told me that I was crazy. You see,when he got canned he owed everybody in the club. I guess he'dstuck me for the most--about seventy bucks--but I didn't carenothin' about that. I knowed he hadn't never reported to Atlanta,and I thought he was prob'ly busted and a bunch o' money mightmake things all right for him and the other songbird.I made quite a speech to the fellers, tellin' 'em how he'd criedwhen he left us and how his heart'd been set on gettin' marriedon the series dough. I made it so strong that they finally fellfor it. Our shares was cut to five hundred eighty apiece, andJohn sent him a check for a full share.For a while I was kind o' worried about what I'd did. I didn'tknow if I was doin' right by the girl to give him the chance tomarry her.He'd told me she was stuck on him, and that's the only excuse Ihad for tryin' to fix it up between 'em; but, b'lieve me, if shewas my sister or a friend o' mine I'd just as soon of had hermanage the Cincinnati Club as marry that bird. I thought tomyself:"If she's all right she'll take acid in a month--and it'll be myfault; but if she's really stuck on him they must be somethin'wrong with her too, so what's the diff'rence?"Then along comes this letter that I told you about. It's fromsome friend of hisn up there--and they's a note from him. I'llread 'em to you and then I got to beat it for the station:Dear Sir: They have got poor Elliott locked up and theyare goin' to take him to the asylum at Kalamazoo. Hethanks you for the cheek, and we will use the money tosee that he is made comf'table.When the poor boy came back here he found that his girlwas married to Joe Bishop, who runs a soda fountain.She had wrote to him about it, but he did not read herletters. The news drove him crazy--poor boy--and hewent to the place where they was livin' with a baseballbat and very near killed 'em both. Then he marched downthe street singin' 'Silver Threads Among the Gold' atthe top of his voice. They was goin' to send him toprison for assault with intent to kill, but the jurydecided he was crazy.He wants to thank you again for the money.Yours truly, Jim--I can't make out his last name--but it don't make no diff'rence.Now I'll read you his note:Old Roomy: I was at bat twice and made two hits; but Iguess I did not meet 'em square. They tell me they areboth alive yet which I did not mean 'em to be. I hopethey got good curve-ball pitchers where I am goin'. Isure can bust them curves--can't I, sport?Yours,B. Elliott.P.S.--The B stands for Buster.That's all of it, fellers; and you can see I had same excuse fornot hittin'. You can also see why I ain't never goin' to roomwith no bug again--not for John or nobody else!
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