A STRAIGHT THROW
Joe had hopes of making a safe hit when he came up, but pitchers are
proverbially bad batsmen and our hero was no exception. I wish I could
say that he "slammed one out for a home run, and came in amid wild
applause," but truth compels me to state that Joe only knocked a little
pop fly which dropped neatly into the hands of the second baseman, and
Joe went back to the bench.
"Never mind," consoled Jimmie Mack, "you're not here to bat--we count on
you to pitch, though of course if you can hit the ball do it--every
time. But don't get nervous."
"I'm not," answered Joe.
And, to do him justice, his nerves were in excellent shape. He had not
played on the school and Yale nines for nothing, and he had faced many a
crisis fully as acute as the present one.
Then, too, the action of Collin must have had its effect. It was not
pleasant for Joe to feel that he had won the enmity of the chief pitcher
of the nine. But our hero resolved to do his best and let other matters
take care of themselves.
Whether it was the advent of Joe into the game, or because matters would
have turned out that way anyhow, was not disclosed, but Pittston seemed
to brace up, and that inning added three runs to their score, which put
them on even terms with the home team--the members of which were playing
phenomenal ball.
"And now we've got to go in and beat them!" exclaimed Manager Gregory,
as his men took the field. "Joe, I want to see what you can do."
Enough to make any young pitcher nervous; was it not? Yet Joe kept his
nerves in check--no easy matter--and walked to the box with all the ease
he could muster.
He fingered the ball for a moment, rubbed a little dirt on it--not that
the spheroid needed it, but it gave him a chance to look at Gregory and
catch his signal for a fast out. He nodded comprehendingly, having
mastered the signals, and wound up for his first delivery.
"Ball one!" howled the umpire.
Joe was a little nettled. He was sure it had gone cleanly over the
plate, curving out just as he intended it should, and yet it was called
a ball. But he concealed his chagrin, and caught the horsehide which
Gregory threw back to him--the catcher hesitating just the least bit,
and with a look at the umpire which said much.
Again came the signal for a fast out.
Joe nodded.
Once more the young pitcher threw and this time, though the batter swung
desperately at it, not having moved his stick before, there came from
the umpire the welcome cry of:
"Strike--one!"
Joe was beginning to make good.
I shall not weary you with a full account of the game. I have other, and
more interesting contests to tell of as we proceed. Sufficient to say
that while Joe did not "set the river afire," he did strike out three
men that inning, after a two-bagger had been made. But Joe "tightened
up," just in time to prevent a run coming in, and the score was still a
tie when the last man was out.
In the next inning Pittston managed, by hard work, and a close decision
on the part of the umpire, to add another run to their score. This
put them one ahead, and the struggle now was to hold their opponents
hitless. It devolved upon Joe to accomplish this.
And he did it.
Perhaps it was no great feat, as baseball history goes, but it meant
much to him--a raw recruit in his first professional league, "bush"
though it was. Joe made good, and when he struck out the last man (one
of the best hitters, too, by the way) there was an enthusiastic scene on
that little ball field.
"Good, Joe! Good!" cried Jimmie Mack, and even the rather staid Mr.
Gregory condescended to smile and say:
"I thought you could do it!"
Collin, suffering from his turn-down, sulked on the bench, and growled:
"I'll show that young upstart! He can't come here and walk over me."
"He didn't walk over you--he pitched over you," said George Lee, the
second baseman. "He pitched good ball."
"Bah! Just a fluke! If I hadn't strained my arm yesterday I'd have made
this home team look like a sick cat!"
"Post-mortems are out of style," said Lee. "Be a sport! It's all in the
game!"
"Um!" growled Collin, surlily.
The team played the game all over again at the hotel that night. Of
course it was not much of a victory, close as it was, but it showed of
what stuff the players were made, and it gave many, who were ignorant of
Joe's abilities, an insight into what he could do.
"Well, what do you think of my find?" asked Jimmie Mack of his chief
that night.
"All right, Jimmie! All right! I think we'll make a ball-player of him
yet."
"So do I. And the blessed part of it is that he hasn't got a swelled
head from his college work. That's the saving grace of it. Yes, I think
Joe is due to arrive soon."
If Joe had heard this perhaps he would have resented it somewhat.
Surely, after having supplanted a veteran pitcher, even though of no
great ability, and won his first professional game, Joe might have been
excused for patting himself on the back, and feeling proud. And he did,
too, in a sense.
But perhaps it was just as well he did not hear himself discussed.
Anyhow, he was up in his room writing home.
The next day was Sunday, and in the afternoon Joe went for a long
walk. He asked several of the men to go with him, but they all made
good-enough excuses, so Joe set off by himself.
It was a beautiful day, a little too warm, but then that was to be
expected in the South, and Joe was dressed for it. As he walked along
a country road he came to a parting of the ways; a weather-beaten
sign-post informed him that one highway led to North Ford, while the
other would take him to Goldsboro.
"Goldsboro; eh?" mused Joe. "That's where that 'R. V.' fellow lives, who
thought I robbed his valise. I wonder if I'll ever meet him? I've a
good notion to take a chance, and walk over that way. I can ask him if
he found his stuff. Maybe it's risky, but I'm going to do it."
He set off at a swinging pace to limber up his muscles, thinking of many
things, and wondering, if, after all, he was going to like professional
baseball. Certainly he had started in as well as could be expected, save
for the enmity of Collin.
Joe got out into the open country and breathed deeply of the sweet air.
The road swept along in a gentle curve, on one side being deep woods,
while on the other was a rather steep descent to the valley below. In
places the road approached close to the edge of a steep cliff.
As the young pitcher strode along he heard behind him the clatter of
hoofs. It was a galloping horse, and the rattle of wheels told that the
animal was drawing a carriage.
"Someone's in a hurry," mused Joe. "Going for a doctor, maybe."
A moment later he saw what he knew might at any moment become a tragedy.
A spirited horse, attached to a light carriage, dashed around a bend in
the road, coming straight for Joe. And in the carriage was a young girl,
whose fear-blanched face told that she realized her danger. A broken,
dangling rein showed that she had tried in vain to stop the runaway.
Joe formed a sudden resolve. He knew something of horses, and had more
than once stopped a frightened animal. He ran forward, intending to cut
across the path of this one, and grasp the bridle.
But as the horse headed for him, and caught sight of the youth, it
swerved to one side, and dashed across an intervening field, straight
for the steep cliff.
"Look out!" cried Joe, as if that meant anything.
The girl screamed, and seemed about to jump.
"I've got to stop that horse!" gasped Joe, and he broke into a run. Then
the uselessness of this came to him and he stopped.
At his feet were several large, round and smooth stones. Hardly knowing
why he picked up one, just as the horse turned sideways to him.
"If I could only hit him on the head, and stun him so that he'd stop
before he gets to the cliff!" thought Joe. "If I don't he'll go over
sure as fate!"
The next instant he threw.
Straight and true went the stone, and struck the horse hard on the head.
The animal reared, then staggered. It tried to keep on, but the blow had
been a disabling one. It tried to keep on its legs but they crumpled
under the beast, and the next moment it went down in a heap, almost on
the verge of the steep descent.
The carriage swerved and ran partly up on the prostrate animal, while
the shock of the sudden stop threw the girl out on the soft grass, where
she lay in a crumpled heap.
Joe sprinted forward.
"I hope I did the right thing, after all," he panted. "I hope she isn't
killed!"