little hard luck had dug up a slump--and now!
Day by day the team dropped in the race. When
we reached the second division the newspapers
flayed us. Worcester would never stand for a
second division team. Baseball admirers, reporters,
fans--especially the fans--are fickle. The
admirers quit, the reporters grilled us, and the
fans, though they stuck to the games with that
barnacle-like tenacity peculiar to them, made life
miserable for all of us. I saw the pennant slowly
fading, and the successful season, and the business
deal, and the cottage, and Milly----

But when I thought of her I just could not see
failure. Something must be done, but what? I
was at the end of my wits. When Jersey City
beat us that Saturday, eleven to two, shoving us
down to fifth place with only a few percentage
points above the Fall River team, I grew
desperate, and locking my players in the dressing
room I went after them. They had lain down on
me and needed a jar. I told them so straight and
flat, and being bitter, I did not pick and choose
my words.

``And fellows,'' I concluded, ``you've got to
brace. A little more of this and we can't pull out.
I tell you you're a championship team. We had
that pennant cinched. A few cuts and sprains
and hard luck--and you all quit! You lay down!