AIR-TIGHT PITCHING
O’Connor had a big reputation throughout the league as a heavy batter,
and he was. But Joe and Jim had noticed that he invariably swung at
comparatively low balls. High ones he did not like, so, of course, Jim
was careful to give him nothing but high balls. O’Connor waited grimly
for one to come across that was to his liking, but he waited in vain.
Two strikes had been called on him, with no balls, and he realized that
the time for waiting had gone by. The next one that Jim pitched was a
high fast one that just clipped the corner of the plate. “Str-r-rike
three,” chanted the umpire, and O’Connor threw his bat to the ground
and walked over to the dugout.
“What’s the matter?” inquired Mylert, as the discomfited batsman passed
him. “It looked as though you were standing there waiting for next
Christmas to come. I thought you said you were going to win this game.”
O’Connor glared at him, but could not think of a fitting reply. The
next man to face Jim was Jenkins. Jenkins was not a heavy batter, but
when he did connect with the ball he was so fast on the bases that he
often stretched an ordinary one base hit into a two-bagger. But his
speed availed him little to-day, for he never got away from the home
plate. Three times he swung wildly at the whispering breezes, and then
retired sheepishly to the bench. The next man up fouled to Mylert for
an easy out, and the Pittsburghs’ half of the inning was over, with no
runs scored by either side.
“Good work, Jim,” chortled Robson. “Hold ’em down tight, and in a
little while we’ll blow their pitcher out of the box. The kid’s good,
all right, but he lacks steadiness. If we can once get a man or two
on the sacks, he’ll blow up with a bang that they can hear over in
Hoboken.”
But it was not an easy thing to “get a man or two on the sacks.” Miles
seemed to get better and better as the innings began to mount up, and
the game settled down into a spectacular pitchers’ duel. As the end of
the fourth inning the score still stood nothing to nothing, and bade
fair to stay that way. The mightiest batsmen on both sides were mowed
down one after the other.
In spite of the gnawing anxiety that bit at his heart whenever he
thought of his missing chum, Jim was pitching the game of his life.
At first he had hoped against hope that Joe had only been delayed,
and would show up at the ball field after all, but as inning followed
inning this hope faded out. But Jim was determined to win that game,
for he considered that he stood in Joe’s place and that he owed it to
his absent friend to chalk up a victory, as he was sure Joe would have
done had he been there.
Moreover, the thrill and tingle of the game were in his blood, his
brain, his pitching arm. No matter what emergency of the game might
arise, he had supreme confidence that he would be equal to it.
In the first half of the fifth inning O’Connor, the captain of the
Pittsburgh team, drove a vicious twisting grounder directly at Jim,
a ball that fairly smoked as it traveled. But Jim picked it off the
ground with a movement so swift that the eye could hardly follow
it and tossed the runner out at first with a big margin of safety.
When Burkett, the Giants’ first baseman, was forced far off from his
position by a high fly between first and second base, Jim covered first
base on the chance that Burkett might drop the ball. It was a difficult
ball to handle, and while the first baseman managed to knock it down
with his glove, he was unable to hold on to it. He made a snappy
recovery, however, and tossed to Jim, putting the runner out. Had the
Giant pitcher not been right where he was, the runner would have been
safe.
But the big test came in the eighth inning. Up to this time, so perfect
had been Jim’s pitching, that neither McCarney nor Hupft had had
anything to do. Jim knew that if any break came in the Giant defense,
it would in all probability be because of some error, intentional or
otherwise, on the part of one of the two men.
This break came in the first half of the eighth inning. Ralston, of
the Pittsburghs, swung wildly at a fast, straight ball, after two
strikes had been called on him, and more by luck than good management
connected squarely with it. The ball whistled straight over Jim’s head
and almost into the hands of Hupft, who was playing center-field. But
Hupft, instead of waiting for the ball, which was all he had to do, ran
in on it instead, and the ball passed over his head. At the last second
he made an ineffectual leap for it, but to no avail. The ball bounded
along the grass until it was finally retrieved by Curry. But by this
time the runner had reached third base and would probably have made the
home sack had not Curry made a wonderful long throw to Jim, which made
the runner think better of the attempt.
Still the Pittsburghs had not scored, but they had a man on third base,
with only one out. Baskerville was the next man at bat, and he made a
sacrifice bunt in the direction of third base. It was McCarney’s ball,
and he picked it up in snappy style, and threw to Mylert to keep the
runner at third from reaching home. It was an easy play, but McCarney
threw wild, so wild that Mylert, in spite of a back-breaking reach for
it, was unable to connect. Throwing aside his mask he dashed after the
ball, recovered it, and seeing that it was too late to nail Ralston at
home, he made a superb toss to Larry Barrett, who nailed Baskerville at
second. Jim struck out the next batter with three pitched balls, which
shot over the plate so fast that the batter seemed dazed when he walked
back to the dugout.
But the Pittsburghs had scored, and that lone run looked pretty big
at this stage of the game. The Giants had only two chances left to
overcome it, and Miles seemed to be pitching better at this time than
when he started.
Larry was the first Giant batter to face the Pittsburgh pitcher, and
the grim look on his usually jovial face showed that he appreciated the
gravity of the situation.
“Knock the cover off that pill, Barrett, and I’ll buy you a new one
covered with ten dollar bills,” said McRae, as Larry started for the
plate.
“Shure, an’ I’ll do ut, thin,” promised Larry, with a flash of his
usual happy grin. “This’ll be an expensive wallop for you, Mac.”
Larry did his best, but luck was against him. He poled a hot grounder
between first and second base, but the Pittsburgh shortstop smothered
it and pitched Larry out at first.
“Good night!” he exclaimed, as he reached the bench. “Thim
Pittsburghers has more luck than brains. Shure, it wuz a lovely hit,
and I had your money spint already, Mac, whin that spalpeen tuck it
away from me.”
“Well, it’s the safe ones that count,” remarked the manager. “Anybody
can hit them at the fielders.”
Allen was next at bat, and his team mates sat tense, waiting to see
what he would do. The chances of the Giants winning the game were
getting poor, and already many of the more pessimistic rooters were
leaving the stands. Allen was not noted as a slugger, and Jim followed
him. Many thought that McRae would substitute a pinch hitter for Jim,
as a pitcher is not supposed to be a very heavy slugger, and Jim had
not the reputation in that line that Joe possessed.
Two strikes were called on Allen, when the Pittsburgh pitcher loosed a
wild throw that struck the batter on the arm. This sent Allen to first
base and put the next move up to Jim. To many of the fans it seemed as
though McRae should put in his heaviest slugger at this point, but the
manager, with that knowledge of men’s hearts and minds that had made
him famous in the game, thought otherwise. He understood Jim’s desire
to win this game above all others, and he believed that Jim, backed by
that desire, would be more apt to slam out a hit than any other man on
the team.
“Go in and win your own game, Jim,” he admonished his young pitcher.
“Make the crooks wish that they’d let Joe pitch this game. Show them
that dirty work doesn’t pay.”
“That’s exactly what I hope to do,” said Jim, with a grim set to his
square jaw. “I’d be willing to give my next year’s pay to win this
game.”
Miles seemed a trifle rattled by hitting Allen, and the first two balls
he pitched were wide of the plate. The next was a low, fast one, and
Jim scooped it up, sending it whistling straight at Miles. The ball
came so fast that the pitcher was unable to hang on to it, but he
succeeded in stopping it, and it rolled along a few feet toward first
base.