It was Delaney's pride, as it was
also his trouble.
Red Gilbat was nutty--and his batting average
was .371. Any student of baseball could weigh
these two facts against each other and understand
something of Delaney's trouble. It was not possible
to camp on Red Gilbat's trail. The man was
a jack-o'-lantern, a will-o'-the-wisp, a weird, long-
legged, long-armed, red-haired illusive phantom.
When the gong rang at the ball grounds there
were ten chances to one that Red would not be
present. He had been discovered with small boys
peeping through knotholes at the vacant left field
he was supposed to inhabit during play.
Of course what Red did off the ball grounds
was not so important as what he did on. And
there was absolutely no telling what under the sun
he might do then except once out of every three
times at bat he could be counted on to knock the
cover off the ball.
Reddy Clammer was a grand-stand player--the
kind all managers hated--and he was hitting .305.
He made circus catches, circus stops, circus
throws, circus steals--but particularly circus
catches. That is to say, he made easy plays
appear difficult. He was always strutting, posing,
talking, arguing, quarreling--when he was not
engaged in making a grand-stand play. Reddy
Clammer used every possible incident and artifice
to bring himself into the limelight.
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