Adventure Magazine Cover, October 1911 — page 112: what you’re looking at

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

1058 of good twirlers in the middle of the season and so, doing the next best, he had spent all the time possible coaching those he had. Rowan’s long swing, persisted in with men on bases, had enabled runners to steal on him almost at will. In time he was taught to cut it down to a snappicr delivery, but this he acquired at the expense of control. The pitcher who is liberal with passes seldom wins pennants. Coppinger was erratic and, though he often did brilliant work for a number of in- nings, he could rarely be depended on to hold down a hitting team throughout an entire game. Whipple seemed to be a wonder; besides winning the most of his own games, he was often able, when the enemy had them “‘on the run,” to step in and save games for his fellow twirlers. He became the joy of the fans and the pride of every Sahagan baseball enthusiast. In coaching, Pennington pitched a great deal himself. He was compelled, mostly, to use an underhand ball or a side-arm swing, for that “kink” clung obstinatcly to his shoulder. Nevertheless in time he began to perceive that he was gradually working it out; but, though he occasionally tried an overhand throw, he was cautious not to put snap and steam into it. However, he slowly developed an elusive underhand rise and something resembling a ““fade-away.” Recalling the experience of Mathewson, who, after scemingly doing his arm permanent injury, had acquired a new style of delivery and a new batter- baffling twist, Pen began to think it possible his pitching days might not be ended. Toward the close of the season, after the Comets had set all Sahagan delirious by tying Ashburg and then beating the Champs in a twelve-inning game for the lead, Pen- nington, fearing for Whipple’s overworked arm, went on to the slab himself in the final Innings of two games when his regular pitchers were being slaughtered. He saved one game, the other being lost through no fault of his. ' A FULL week before the season ) ended Sahagan had the champion- ship practically nailed and the proud - little city figuratively belonged to the ball- players. It was then that the team direc- tors suggested that the manager should try to arrange for a game with the Big League Indians. The year before, Ashburg had Adventure secured such a game, but now, proving what bad losers they were, the citizens of that place were giving their team such poor sup- port that doubtless the necessary guarantee would not be forthcoming. It was Sahagan’s opportunity and, as John Morgan, manager of the Comets, Pen- nington proceeded to get into communica- tion with Bill Dugan. The Indians, having played off the most of their double-headers, found themselves hopelessly sandwiched in the middle of the second division. They were able and willing to play in Sahagan on a certain date, although the guarantee they asked, rain or shine, made it a risk for the ‘bushers and would leave them only the small end of the finances under the most favorable circumstances. Nevertheless, as is often the case with such places, Sahagan, as a city, fancying it had the fastest team outside the Big Leagues, wanted the game and got it. Although the grounds were the roomiest in the Northern League, the crowd that poured in through the gates that bright Sep- tember day packed every available foot of seating space and made it necessary to rope off the field. The Indians came in on the one-o’clock train, had dinner and, wearing their suits, rode out to the park ina barge. They were naturally mildly amused by the yells of some whooping youngsters who jeeringly proph- esied that the Comets would take their scalps. The bushers were practising on the field and Dugan immediately called for their manager. He was surprised when Penning- ton, in a Sahagan uniform, responded. “Hullo!” grinned Dugan, after relieving himself of a mouthful of tobacco-juice. ‘So you’re playin’ with this bunch o’ tall grass wonders. How’s the heart these days? I wanter see your manager.” “I’m the manager,” replied Pen, again fighting a fierce desire to plant a bunch of fives on that sneering mouth. “Huh! You?” grunted Dugan manager’s name’s Morgan.” _ “That’s the name I’m known by here.” “Oh, I see,” said the Big League man slowly. “Same old game; swell ideas, fam’ly pride an’ that rot, eh? Didn’t make you special pop’ler with my men while =e you stayed. Hear you’ve gut a wiz by the name o’ Whipple. Goin’ t’ pitch him t’-day?”’ “He'll start the game.” CO MICLOOKS C©