Part 34 (2/2)
”Did you ever hear the like, Mr. Eschenbach?” Birsky exclaimed as the philanthropist elbowed his way through the crowd. ”The feller don't know the first thing about the game, understand me, and he kicks yet that he wants to be pitcher!”
Golnik flapped the air with his right hand.
”Never mind I don't know nothing about the game!” he declared. ”Not only I am president of the society, but I am the designer in your place--ain't it? And if you think it's _bekovet_ you are giving this _Aleer_ to Kanef, which he is only a s.h.i.+pping clerk, understand me, I think differencely.”
”But what is the honour about being a pitcher?” Eschenbach protested.
”There's a whole lot of pitchers which they couldn't sign their names even.”
”That's all right, too,” Golnik declared. ”Might I don't know nothing about this here baseball, Mr. Eschenbach, but I could read in the papers, understand me; and an up-to-date, high-grade pitcher is getting his ten thousand a year yet.”
”_Schmooes_, ten thousand a year!” exclaimed Eschenbach. ”What does a pitcher amount to anyway? Supposing a pitcher gets fresh with the umpire, _verstehst du mich_, and the umpire orders the pitcher he should get off the field, y'understand--he da.s.sent give him no back talk nor nothing. He must got to go, _verstehst du_, because in baseball the pitcher is nothing and the umpire everything.”
”Umpire?” Golnik replied. ”What is that--an umpire?”
”The umpire is a kind of a foreman,” Eschenbach continued, ”only bigger yet--which if you would be umpire, that's an honour; _aber_ a pitcher is nothing.”
Here he winked furtively at Louis Birsky.
”And I says to Mr. Birsky only the other day,” he went on, ”I says, 'We must make the designer the umpire,' I says; 'because such an _Aleer_ really belongs to the designer.' _Aber_ if you are so stuck on being pitcher, understand me, we would make you the pitcher, and the s.h.i.+pping clerk will be the umpire.”
Golnik shrugged his shoulders.
”It don't make no difference to me one way or the other,” he said; ”so I am content I should be the umpire.”
”_Schon gut!_” Eschenbach cried as he laid down a heavy valise he had brought with him. ”And now, boys, let's get busy.”
He opened the valise and produced a catcher's mask and mitt, a bat, and three b.a.l.l.s.
”Here, you!” he said, throwing one of the b.a.l.l.s to Kanef.
During the discussion with Golnik, Kanef had maintained the bent and submissive att.i.tude becoming in a s.h.i.+pping clerk toward his superior; but when Eschenbach flung the ball at him he straightened up immediately and, to the surprise and delight of the philanthropist, he caught it readily with one hand.
”Well, well!” Eschenbach exclaimed. ”I see you played ball already.”
”Used to was shortstop with the Scammel Field Club,” Kanef murmured.
”We was champeens of the Eighth Ward.”
”Good!” Eschenbach cried. ”Might we would got another ballplayer here?”
”Sure,” Kanef replied, pointing to a short, thick-set presser who stood grinning among the spectators. ”That feller there, by the name Max Croplin, he plays second base already.”
”You don't say so!” Eschenbach exclaimed. ”Well, supposing Max Croplin catches and you pitch, understand me, and I would go on the bat and give them fellers here a sample play already.”
He threw the mask and mitt to Croplin, who proceeded to put them on amid the murmured plaudits of his fellow workmen, while Eschenbach seized the bat and planted himself firmly over the home plate.
Meantime, Kanef proceeded to the pitcher's box and, wiping his right hand in the dirt, he struck a professional att.i.tude that made Eschenbach fairly beam with delight.
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