"Get out there and pitch! Pitch whatever Kennedy signals for, and if you don't"——
"I'll try, Bill. But if"——
"There are no ifs," snarled the manager, half rising.
Williams walked to his position, a glare of terror in his eyes, as if he contemplated flight. He was wild and erratic at the start. Two balls sailed wide from the plate, and Swanson ran to him.
"Get that next one over or I'll signal Clancy," he said.
Williams put every ounce of power into his throwing arm, and the ball cut the heart of the plate, jumping.
"The old hop on it!" yelled McCarthy. "That's pitching, Adonis; that's pitching."
Williams stood staring toward him as if dumfounded. A grateful look came into his eyes.
"Now the old hook, Adonis," yelled McCarthy. "Something on every one to-day, remember!"
An outburst of cheering arose from the crowd. Those who had heard or read the stories and rumors of the enmity between the two thought they recognized the magnanimity of the third baseman and admired him. Another strike whizzed over the plate, and a fast ball hopped while the batter swung. The strike out was greeted with a howl of applause. Williams glanced toward the stands. His eyes met those of Edwards fixed upon him, and his nerve broke. He pitched without looking to see what Kennedy signaled, and "Sacred" White, the center fielder of the Blues, drove the ball to left center for three bases. Kennedy gave a quick glance at Clancy, who sat staring straight ahead. Swanson rushed upon Williams, who, trembling with fear, waved him back. He pitched desperately, but Wertheim hit a long fly to center and "Sacred" White scampered home.