12 Sports Aces, May 1943 — page 34: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

32 12 SPORTS ACES What Pete said cannot be recorded on the printed page. But a week later, after two telegrams had no effect on Jig, he re- eeived another wire stating that he would be automatically fined two hundred dollars for every additional day he was absent from cump. Jig packed his suit- case that night. Jig could hear very well when anyone mentioned money, He arrived at the camp in due time. There was a cold breeze blowing over the diamond and the squad was hard at work, Jig walked out of the clubhouse, a wind- breaker over his uniform, and shivered in the cold. He went gloomily across to the bumpy makeshift diamond where the Bears were training this year. Pete Bland was waiting for him at the _ batting cage. He looked sourly at Jig Clayton and didn’t offer to shake hands. “Nice of you to show up,” Pete said surlily. “Half the squad’s in the Army; we can hardly put nine men on the field. You sure picked a fine year to hold out.” “T’li be ready,” Jig said. He nodded at his teammates. Batting practice was un- der way, and a moment later Jig shed his windbreaker and stepped to the right side of the plate. A rookie was on the mound, throwing fast balis down the alley. Jig sighted on the first one, fouled it off, then got his range. He had a loose and effortless swing. Three times the ball came in and three times it went over the left field bleachers. Jig dropped a bunt toward third and ambled casually around the bases and back to Pete Bland. “You see,” Jig said. “I’m in shape,” _ “Take second,” Pete said. “Let’s see if you can bend that beer-belly.” Jig started toward his position. All the past month he’d been working out with a semi-pro team in Florida. But they did- n’t need to know that. Jig grinned as he stepped into position. Big Slattery was holding down first, Mike Sabo third, both of them veterans. But at short was a newcomer, a sandy-haired kid from the minors, replacing Art Hammel, now in the Navy. He was a long-legged guy, clumsy looking and he had a loud mouth. “All right, Pete,” he yelled, “let’s go. We got the old pepper out here.” 180 DEB Deo 4 oe Gree Dos Sse Ds 1s De Des Boe Does nlyo+ Gore Oe Gee Brodre Greer Gos 0 Jig Ciayton did not like pop-off rookies. He scowled and then watched Manager Bland hit a ground ball to third. Mike swallowed it up, tossed to first. and the kid shortstop yelled, ““Attaboy, Mike.” Pete slammed one to short. The kid fell on his chin, but he got the ball and pegged a bullet across the diamond into Slattery’s big mitt. He got up. dirt on his uniform, and he was still yelling. ETE swung the light bat an« the ball hopped right for Jig Clayton He ran in three steps, then set himself, The in- field was rough, the ball hit a pebble and bounced high, Jig threw up his glove, the bali went off the fingers and shot out into right field. The shortstop yelled, “Make them easy for him, Pete. He’s been sittin’ on his tail in Florida.” “Shut your mouth, busher,” Jig yelled and set himself for the next grounder. Pete Bland, grinning, rapped a bard shot toward second base. Jig cut to his right, scooped, and the bail was in his viove. He was off balance, but the shortstop had upset his pride. He whirled with a snap throw to first. His arm wasn’t really loose yet, the ball went high over Slat- ' tery’s head toward the stands. The shortstop sounded off again. “Don’t make him chase it, Pete. He tried to throw that one all the way back to the sunny South.” Jig Clayton turned and walked over to the shortstop. “Listen, busher,” he said savagely, “I been the second sacker on this team for seven years. Now button that lip before 1 do it for you.” The kid had tossed his glove away. He was a head taller than Jig. He said, ‘You may be a star in the papers, but with me you're strictly a bum. Any ball- player who holds out a year like this is a tramp. If you don’t like it, start swing- ing.” Jig pushed the shortstop roughly. The kid swung a wild right hand and Jig stepped inside it. He threw his own right, drilling it straight to the chin, and the shortstop went over like a ladder in the wind. comichbook (E@)