"I didn't do it, Bill. Honestly, I didn't," pleaded Williams, as he returned to the bench and resumed his seat next to the manager.
"Williams," said Clancy coldly, "you pitched without a signal. I've got men in the stands to pass circulars telling exactly what you have done. If that happens again I'll signal them, and when the crowd gets you, may the Lord have mercy"——
"I'll pitch—I was trying," begged the pitcher. "Don't turn the crowd loose on me. They'll kill me."
"Then win," ordered Clancy.
The fifth came with the score 1 to 0 and Wiley pitching at his best. Williams had lost some of his nervousness. Either he had made up his mind to betray Edwards, and strive to win, or he was pitching, as he thought, for his life. His fast ball was cutting the plate, and even when the Blues hit it they popped the ball into the air for easy outs. The last half of the fifth started. Williams, glancing toward the stand as he walked out to the slab, saw Edwards. Edwards made a quick signal with his hand and turned his face away. Williams went to the slab entirely unnerved. He was wild, and a base on balls gave the Blues another opening. Instantly Swanson charged upon him and renewed his threats, and Williams, after pitching two more balls wild, got one over the plate, and Henderson sacrificed, putting Hickman on second. Kirkpatrick drove a hard bounder at Norton, who fumbled, recovered, threw wild and Malone scored.
McCarthy was feeling deadly weary. The racking ride in the automobile, the injuries received at the hands of Edwards and his prize-fighter employe, the loss of sleep and the anxiety, added to the strain of the game, had sapped his youthful vitality. Williams, under the dire threats of Clancy, Kennedy and Swanson, was pitching steadily. He was inspired now by a new hope: That he might lose the game and not be blamed for defeat and at the same time escape the vengeance of Edwards by pretending he lost it purposely.
"We ought to get at him this time, boys," called Swanson, as the Bears opened their eighth inning. "We've got to. Look out there—at the score board—the Panthers are winning, 4 to 1, and it means the pennant."
Suddenly Noisy Norton, the silent man, sprang to his feet and rushed to the coaching lines.
"Wow! Little of the old pep, boys!" he yelled.
"Whoop! We've got it won now. Noisy is coaching. Come on, boys—get at them!" yelled Swanson.