The three men on the bases were dancing about like dervishes in the hope of rattling the newcomer. They did not know Joe.
Never cooler than when the strain was greatest and the need most urgent, Joe bent down to pick up the ball. As he did so, he touched it, apparently accidentally, against his right heel. 99
It was a signal meant for Denton, the third baseman, who was watching him like a hawk.
Joe took up his position in the box, took a grip on the ball, but instead of delivering it to the batter turned suddenly on his left heel, as though to snap it down to first. The Denver player at that bag, who had taken a lead of several feet, made a frantic slide back to safety.
But the ball never got to first, for Joe had swung himself all the way round and shot the ball like a bullet to Denton at third. The local player at third had been watching eagerly the outcome of the supposed throw to first and was caught completely unawares.
Down came Denton’s hand, clapping the ball on his back, while the victim stood dazed as though in a trance.
It was the prettiest kind of “inside work,” and even the home crowd went into convulsions of laughter as the trapped player came sheepishly in from third to the bench.
McRae was beaming, and Robbie’s rubicund face became several degrees redder under the strain of his emotion.
“Say, is that boy class, John?” Robbie gurgled, as soon as he could speak.
“Never saw a niftier thing on the ball field,” responded McRae warmly. “When that boy thinks, he runs rings around lightning.” 100