The Argosy, September 1915 — page 213: what you’re looking at

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

THE SNEEZE PLAY: burdened with excess baggage in the way of intellect; McNabb himself thought Skirm was not worth the stuffing in a bubble, and something of this kind got embedded in the occiputs of the fans. But still Skirm stuck. He was the butt of all sorts of jokes; a compulsory dealer in staple and fancy trouble; the favorite of every rye-balled spirit that had the price multitudinously. He had little chance to show his ability, but he made good as a rescue pitcher on sev- eral occasions, and everybody went right on busily liking him. Skirm was endowed with a royal in- stinct for serving others to the utmost of his powers, doing this as a simple matter of course, feeling only that all he could do was much less than what was needed. The one ruling idea that governed his whole life was to work where he was placed and to obey those in authority. And he worked always as if bodily needs or material comforts did not exist. On two or three occasions he asked McNabb to let him start a game. Tom- my requested him explosively to go to thunder. Then, one fine afternoon, when Skirm complained that he felt like a supernumerary standing in the wings and watching the development of the drama, McNabb sent him in to pitch against the hard-hitting Ball- busters. In the first inning a batter reached first base after two men had been re- tired. Skirm took a long wind-up, and almost before he pitched the runner raced to second, getting such a lead the catcher could not have potted him with a Krupp gun. When Skirm struck out the batter and came in to the bench Tommy McNabb, arms waving, de- manded hotly: ‘Why didn’t you catch that fellow on first base? ”’ “What fellow on first, boss?” “That guy that stole second.” ‘No one told me there was a runner on first, boss,” replied Skirm. McNabb was dazed for an instant. 427 Then he turned on his infield and shouted angrily: “ Here you, Knight, Tolin, Murphy —all of you! There's one thing I want understood right now. Hereafter whenever a runner reaches first or second or third bases, you fellows tell Skirm about it. I won't have any more of these secrets on the team, and I mean what I say, an’ don’t you guys forget it!” Skirm took the first opportunity to whisper to the choking infielders: “Don’t mind Tommy, if he was a little hard on you; I'll keep my eyes peeled, too, after this.” It seemed never to enter his aead that McNabb’s biting sarcasm could even remotely apply to himself. He was, in short, the inimitable, illimit- able limit. Warmed as if with a divine torrent of joy, Skirm went resolutely ahead with his game, won it handily, and shook hands with McNabb in pure, sublimated ignorance. And not one of his teammates collaborated in a laugh at his expense. Skirm’s first full-game victory was to him sweeter than May honey. It convinced him that he was making comfortable progress. Doing rescue- work was all right in its place, but now he felt that he was not in a place for it. McNabb took him on the first trip West, and did not let him start in a single game. Two of his most relia- ble pitchers were on the sick-list, and why he didn’t use Skirm was, as Dun- dreary said: “ One of those things no fellow can find out.” No word of protest came from Skirm; he did not so much as ask for another chance at the common enemy. He dressed and undressed with the team, warmed up a little every day, discussed the game after the evening meal, and continued to make himself a friend and a philosopher. Verdantly he allowed them to convince him that Lake Erie was the Mississippi, and the Indian pitcher who always beat the Guerrillas a North Carolina negro. In EOPMIG KOOKS (E@)