“That’s the boy!”
“That’s the way to do it!”
“You’re all right, Matson!”
These were only a few cries that resounded. Joe felt a warm glow in his heart, but he knew the battle had only begun.
If he had hoped to pitch a no-hit, no-run game he was vastly disappointed, for the batters began to find him after that for scattering pokes down the field. Not badly, but enough to show to Joe and the others that he had much yet to learn.
I am not going to describe that practice game in detail, for there are more important contests to come. Sufficient to say that, to the utter surprise of the ’varsity, the scrub not only continued to hold them well down, but even forged ahead of them. In vain the coaches argued, stormed and pleaded. At the beginning of the ninth inning the scrubs were one run ahead.
“Now if we can shut them out we’ll win!” yelled Billy Wakefield, the scrub captain, clapping Joe on the back. “Can you do it?”
“I’ll try, old man,” and the pitcher breathed a trifle faster. It was a time to try his soul.
He was so nervous that he walked the first man, and the ’varsity began to jeer him.
“We’ve got his goat! Play tag around the bases now! Everyone gets a poke at it!” they cried.