The House of Daniel by Harry Turtledove Read Free Book Online Page A

HOUSE OF DANIEL! the poster said, in letters bigger even than the ones for BALLGAME TODAY! In smaller type, it went on, Today, the world-famous touring baseball team comes to your town! Be there to enjoy the show! More handwriting said they were playing the Ponca City Greasemen at the Conoco Ball Park, and that it’d cost fifty cents to get in.
    The House of Daniel! I knew who they were. Any semipro ballplayer would have, and does to this day. They were the best of our bunch, like the New York Hilltoppers are in the big leagues. They’re based in a little churchy town up in Wisconsin or somewhere like that, but they barnstorm the whole country. They play the year around, too. For the winter, they head on out to the West Coast, where the weather stays good. Or they go south of the border, or take ship to the Sandwich Islands.
    They beat the St. Louis Archdeacons once. They’ve barnstormed alongside big-leaguers, and had ’em on their team once they got too old to stick in the majors. They’ve played against the top colored teams, too, in places where the laws let you do that.
    They aren’t part of a league or anything—never have been. So they’re semipros, just like the Enid Eagles. But they’re semipro royalty, and the Eagles … ain’t.
    Funny how none of the Greasemen said anything to us about this game. Or not so funny, I guess. They didn’t want us to know, for fear we’d make our own matchup with the House of Daniel. This way, they got the bragging rights and their share of the big gate, and they left us with hind tit.
    No, not us . I wasn’t an Enid Eagle any more. It hadn’t sunk in yet. I didn’t realize till that moment how much it hadn’t sunk in.
    I started west and south, back toward the Conoco Ball Park. I didn’t know downtown Ponca City real well, but by gum I knew how to get to the field. I wanted to see how the Greasemen stood up against the House of Daniel, and I wanted to see those traveling hotshots go through their paces.
    And … I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, my mouth falling open. I stopped again, at the roominghouse, and stuck my spikes and glove and uniform in a sack I begged from the widow woman. If I could somehow sweet-talk the House of Daniel into taking me along with ’em, I’d go so far and so fast, Big Stu’d never catch up with me. Even if they said no, which they likely would, how was I worse off? You got to try in this old world, or nothing happens a-tall.

 
    (III)
    â€œWhat you got in there?” The ticket-seller pointed at my sack when I gave him four bits. “Don’t want nobody chuckin’ bottles or nothin’ at the House of Daniel guys. Could be they wouldn’t come back here no more.” That would’ve hurt Ponca City where it lived—right in the old wallet.
    â€œAin’t gonna chuck this stuff at ’em.” I showed him my baseball gear.
    He recognized the uniform, even from the little bit he saw. “Oh. You’re one o’ them damn Eagles.” His lip kinda curled up. “Well, go on in. They won’t be lookin’ for no riffraff like you.”
    In I went, scared he was right and hoping he was wrong. I sat down in the second row back of the first-base dugout, the one the visitors used—the one I’d been in the day before. I sat there, and I watched the House of Daniel loosen up.
    The more I watched, the more it looked like the guy who took my two quarters had it pegged. I’d already played with and against some pretty fair ballplayers. The general rule was, the better you were, the smoother you seemed. Oh, not always, but that’s how to bet. Takes somebody who knows what he’s doing and who’s done it a million times to make it look easy.
    Those House of Daniel fellas, they made it look so easy, it was like the ball wasn’t even there. I needed longer’n I should have to see that part of the