The superb catch brought a yell of delight from the Hornets’ rooters, and seemed to brace Elgin amazingly. He took a long breath, and his nerves ceased to flutter as he surveyed the next batter. He felt a new confidence in himself in the realization that the team was behind him, ready to back him up with their wonderfully perfect organization. He lost instantly that sense of isolation he had been conscious of at first—the feeling that the entire weight and responsibility of the game lay on his shoulders. The boys were there, ready to cover any blunder or mistake he might make; and, though this did not bring about laxness in his pitching, it was infinitely consoling.
Again he took the signal from the big backstop, but this time the ball he put over had burning speed, and a little jump to it which completely fooled Pink Dalton, the Blue Stockings’ second baseman.
It was followed by an incurve that cut the corner of the plate.
Dalton fouled back of the pan.
Then came a couple of teasers which the batter ignored; and finally, with two and two, the Blue Stockings’ man hoisted a high fly into left field, which was easily caught by the guardian of that pasture.
The roaring approval of the crowd caused the blood to tingle in Elgin’s veins. Before the end of the game he meant to have them shouting his name as loudly as they had yelled for Russell, or Pop Jennings, or any other of the old favorites, on the opening day. It wasn’t such a hard matter, after all, to pitch in a Big League contest.
By carefully following Fargo’s signals, he struck out Brock, the visitors’ center fielder, and then walked toward the bench with a little, unconscious swagger. One or two of his fellow players told him how well he’d done. Brennan, even, added his approval.
Elgin fancied that he had made a very good start, indeed, and that there wasn’t a doubt of his form improving as the game progressed. He was quite satisfied with his cleverness in letting only three batters oppose him. He gave no thought to how much the man behind the pan had contributed to this result. Neither he nor any one else had the least conception of the fight which had gone on in Buck Fargo’s mind between loyalty to his team and the contempt and hatred he felt for the pitcher his brains and experience were helping so greatly.
The caustic comment and jeering criticism which had greeted Elgin’s appearance were as nothing to the disparaging chorus that arose when Lefty walked out into the diamond. Baseball fans are extremely partizan, and the supporters of the Hornets outnumbered those of their opponents ten to one.