The cheering of the crowd died away. Disappointment and apprehension brought silence, save for the confident chattering of the Wolf coachers and the attempted encouragement of the players behind the southpaw. Hope began to sicken and wilt.
Cool and unruffled, Brick King smiled. “An accidental hit and a pass won’t count in the result to-day,” he said. “Show Kipper the ball in your hand. He won’t see it again.”
Kipper whiffed three times without making as much as a foul tip. The crowd began to wake up again.
Herman Brock sauntered out. Frazer had given him Bob Courtney’s position in the batting order, the “clean-up” place. No man knew Herman better than Lefty, and the efforts of the German were quite as futile as those of Kipper.
The crowd was cheering again as Brock retired disgustedly. Confidence had been restored suddenly.
“Oh, you Lefty!” was the cry. “You’re there!”
Locke easily forced the following batter to pop to the infield. He had settled into his stride. If he could keep it up, the shouting throng knew he had indeed “come back” as strong as ever. Already they were telling one another what that meant. With three first-string pitchers like Lefty and Jones and Savage, the team would have a fighting chance. The principal question was whether the southpaw could “go the distance.”
Not only did Lefty make it, but as the game progressed he seemed to take it more and more easily. The desperate Wolves could not get at him effectively. He certainly had everything he had ever possessed; some claimed that he had more. His arm showed no sign of weakening. But he used his head quite as much as his arm. With the support of a catcher who also had brains, and who worked with him perfectly, he made the snarling, snapping Wolves appear about as dangerous as tame rabbits. Before the ninth inning was reached he knew that in Brick King he had found the one catcher with whom he could do the best work of his career.
The Blue Stockings won by a score of two to nothing. What fortune the season brought them in their fight for the pennant is told in the following volume of the Big League Series, which is entitled, “Guarding the Keystone Sack.”
The moment it was over Locke made a dash for the clubhouse, getting away from the furiously rejoicing fans who came pouring down upon the field. Jones was there ahead of him. As he panted in, Lefty saw the man of mystery standing in a peculiar attitude not far from the closed door of Charles Collier’s office. He seemed to be listening. Involuntarily the southpaw paused and listened himself.