JOE’S RUN
“Water here! Bring some water!” yelled Smart, who was holding down second base for the Reds. “He’s fainted I guess.”
There was a rush of players toward Joe, and Darrell was the first to reach him.
“What’s the matter, old man?” he asked sympathetically.
“I’m afraid I spiked him,” answered Smart, ruefully. “I jumped for the ball, and came down on his hand I guess.”
“Too bad,” murmured Darrell.
They turned Joe over, for he was lying on his face, and saw his left hand covered with blood.
“Where’s that first-aid kit?” called Tom Davis, who had rushed on the field on seeing his friend hurt.
“Here it is,” answered Rodney Burke, who acted as the amateur surgeon on the few times his services had been required. “I’ll bandage it up. Had we better get a doctor?”
Meanwhile some water had been sprinkled in Joe’s face and some forced between his lips. He opened his eyes as the others were washing the blood from his hand.
“I—I’m all right,” he murmured, as he strove to rise.
“Now that’s all right—you just lie still,” commanded Darrell. “Look at it Rod, and see how bad it is.”
Fortunately the wound was not as serious as had at first seemed and when cleansed of dirt and blood it was seen to be a long cut, lengthwise of the finger.
“I’ll have that done up in a jiffy,” remarked Rodney, who was not a little proud of his skill. His father was a physician, and had shown the son how to make simple bandages. The wound was cleansed with an antiseptic solution and wrapped in the long narrow strips of bandage cloth. Joe got to his feet while this was being done, and, after a little water containing aromatic spirits of ammonia had been given to him, he declared that he was all right.
“Are you sure?” asked Darrell anxiously.
“Sure, I’ll bring in a run yet if some one knocks the ball far enough,” said Joe with a smile, though it was rather a feeble one.
“Nonsense, you can’t run after that,” exclaimed Murphy, the Red captain. “Give him a man,” he added generously to his rival. “We don’t care.”
“I think I had better send Newton down to run for you,” said Captain Rankin.
“But I’m going to play,” insisted Joe.
“Yes, next inning,” he was assured, and the game went on.
However, even the substitution of a runner in Joe’s place availed nothing, as the side was soon afterward retired with the men expiring on bases, and the one run was all the Silver Stars could gather in. Still that made the score two to one in their favor.
There was a big surprise in the next inning. The Reds came to bat full of confidence, and the first man up rapped out as pretty a three bagger as had been pulled off that day. It went to deep right field, for which Joe was thankful, as even with his finger protected by a bandage and a heavy glove on his hand, he felt that he would wince at catching a swift ball, and might possibly muff it. That was what the right fielder did, though he managed to pick it up quickly enough to prevent the player from going on in to home.
Whether the fact of being hit for a long poke made Sam lose his temper, or the knowledge that part of his support consisted of a wounded player made him nervous, was not manifest, but the fact remains that the pitcher “went up in the air” after that. He gave one man his base on balls, and when the next player came up, and rapped out a two bagger the man at third went on in, and there was a man holding down third while one on second nearly made the bases full.
“Easy now,” cautioned Darrell to Sam. “Hold ’em down.”
“Um!” grunted Sam, and what he meant by it might be imagined, but he did strike out the next two men. Then came a single which resulted in a tally being made, being the second run of the inning. Sam shut his teeth grimly. There were now two out and two men on bases and Sam felt his nerve leaving him. But by a strong effort he braced himself, and did the trick to the next man, stopping the winning streak of the Reds just in time.
“Three to two against us,” murmured Darrell as he looked at the score board when he and his mates came in for their turn at the bat. “That isn’t going as I’d like to see it. Say, fellows, we’ve got to knuckle down if we want to pull this game out of the fire.”
“That’s what,” murmured George Rankin, and, perhaps involuntarily, he glanced at Sam.
“Oh, I know what you fellows mean without you saying so!” snapped the pitcher. “I wish you’d keep your remarks to yourselves. I can pitch all right.”
“No one said you couldn’t,” declared Darrell gently.
But it was very little that the Silver Stars could accomplish. Two men went down to inglorious defeat. The third knocked a nice single but died on first when the Red pitcher with seeming ease struck out the fourth batter. And it was not due so much that the visiting boxman had speed or curves, as to the fact that he could fool the batters with easy balls.
“We seem to have struck a hoodoo,” said Darrell in despairing tones as they took the field again. “Sam, our only hope is in you. Not a run for us this inning and they got two.”
“They won’t get any more!” declared Sam savagely.
He made good his boast, for not a man got beyond second, and of those who performed this feat there was but one. A big circle went up in the Red’s frame for the ending of the first half of the seventh inning.
But the Silver Stars fared no better, and for the next inning the result was the same, neither side being able to score. The tally was three runs to two in favor of the visitors when the ninth inning opened.
The Silver Stars didn’t like to think of that inning afterward. There were numerous errors, wild throws and muffs. Joe let a ball slip through his fingers when by holding it he might have prevented a run, but it happened to hit on the cut place, and the agony was such that he let out an exclamation of pain.
But he was not the only one who sinned. Sam was “rotten,” to quote Tom Davis, and “issued a number of passes.” One man got to first by virtue of being hit and when the inning was over there were three runs in the Red’s box.
“Six to two against us,” murmured Darrell. “It looks bad, fellows—it looks bad.”
Joe was first up to the bat.
“Do you think you can hit?” asked the captain anxiously.
“Oh, yes. I can hold my little finger away from the bat and I’ll be all right.”
“Then hit for all you’re worth,” begged Darrell. “We need all we can get.”
Joe clenched his teeth grimly and made up his mind he would not be fooled as he had been several times before.
The Red pitcher was smiling in a tantalizing way and Joe felt himself almost hating him for it.
“I’m going to hit you! I’m going to hit you!” he found himself murmuring over and over again in his mind.
And hit Joe did. The first delivery was a ball, but the second Joe knew was just where he wanted it. With all his force he swung at it and as he sped away toward first, with all the power of his legs he saw the horsehide sailing on a clean hit in a long, low drive over the centre fielder’s head.
Joe heard the ball strike the farther fence and a wild hope came into his heart that he might make a home run.
“I’m going to do it! I’m going to do!” he whispered to himself as he turned first and sped like the wind for second base. Could he beat the ball in? That was what he was asking himself. That was what hundreds of frantic fans were asking themselves.