later, "do as
exact an imitation of the sphinx as you know how. The tip was no good."

The trick of talking to the hitter is an old one. The idea is for the
catcher to give a wrong sign, for his benefit, after having flashed the
right one, induce the batter, usually a youngster, to look down at it, and
then have the pitcher shoot one over the plate while he is staring in the
glove.

"Steve" Evans, the St. Louis right-fielder, tells a story of a fan who sat
in the same box at the Cardinals' park every day and devoted most of his
time to roasting him (S. Evans). His favorite expressions in connection
with Evans were "bone dead," "wooden head," and so on. He loudly claimed
that "Steve" had no knowledge of the game and spoiled every play that
Bresnahan tried to put through. One day, when the Giants were playing in
St. Louis, some one knocked up a high foul which landed in this orator's
box. He saw it coming, tried to dodge, used poor judgment, and, realizing
that the ball was going to strike him, snatched his hat off, and took it
full on an immodestly bald head. "Steve" Evans was waiting to go to the
bat. He shifted his chew to his other cheek and exclaimed in a voice that
could not have been heard more than two miles away:

"That's the 'gink' who has been calling me a 'bone head.'"

"Steve" got a great laugh from the crowd, but right there the St. Louis
club lost a patron, for the bald-headed one has never been seen at the
grounds since, according to Evans, and his obituary has not been printed
yet, either.

"Al" Bridwell, formerly the Giants' shortstop, was one of the cleverest
men at the "inside" game that ever broke into the Big Leagues, and it was
this that made him valuable. Then suddenly his legs went bad, and he
slowed up. It was his speed and his ability to bunt and his tireless
waiting at the plate to make all toilers in the box pitch that had made
him a great player. He seldom swung at a bad ball. As soon as he slowed
up, McGraw knew he would have to go if the Giants were to win the pennant.
He deeply regretted letting the gritty, little shortstop, whose legs had
grown stiff in his service, leave the club, but sentiment never won any
pennants.

"Al," he said to Bridwell, "I'm going to let you go to Boston. Your legs
will be all right eventually, but I've got to have a fast man now while
you are getting back your old speed."

"That's all right, 'Mac,'" replied Bridwell. "It's all part of the game."

He d