When Pat Donahue, the veteran manager of
the team came out, Madge greeted him with a
smile. She had always gotten on famously with
Pat, notwithstanding her imperious desire to
handle the managerial reins herself upon occasions.
Pat beamed all over his round ruddy face.
``Miss Madge, you weren't to the park yesterday
an' we lost without our pretty mascot. We
shure needed you. Denver's playin' at a fast
clip.''
``I'm coming out today,'' replied Miss Ellston,
thoughtfully. ``Pat, what's a knocker?''
``Now, Miss Madge, are you askin' me that
after I've been coachin' you in baseball for
years?'' questioned Pat, in distress.
``I know what a knocker is, as everybody else
does. But I want to know the real meaning, the
inside-ball of it, to use your favorite saying.''
Studying her grave face with shrewd eyes Donahue
slowly lost his smile.
``The inside-ball of it, eh? Come, let's sit over
here a bit--the sun's shure warm today. . . .
Miss Madge, a knocker is the strangest man
known in the game, the hardest to deal with an'
what every baseball manager hates most.''
Donahue told her that he believed the term
``knocker'' came originally from baseball; that in
general it typified the player who strengthened
his own standing by belittling the ability of his
team-mates, and by enlarging upon his own
superior qualities.
Pages:
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146