“I wonder why he didn’t pitch me?” mused Joe.
“Play ball!” called the umpire, and the hearts of all were eager for the battle of stick and horsehide to begin. Cornell went to the bat first, and Weston faced his man. There was a smile of confidence on the pitcher’s face, as he wound up, and delivered a few practice balls to Kendall. Then he nodded as if satisfied, and the batter stepped up to the plate.
“Strike!” called the umpire, at the first delivery, and there was a murmur of amazement. The batter himself looked a bit confused, but made no comment. The ball had gone cleanly over the plate, though it looked as if it was going to shoot wide, and the player had thought to let it pass. Weston smiled more confidently.
He was hit for a foul, but after getting three and two he struck the batter out, and there was a round of applause.
“I couldn’t have done it any better myself,” said Joe, with honest praise for his rival.
“Wait,” advised Spike. “Weston’s got to last over eight more innings to make good, and he’ll never do it.”
But when he struck out the next man, and the third had retired on a little pop fly, Yale began to rise in her might and sing the beginning of a song of victory.
“Oh, we’ve got the goods!” her sons yelled.
“How’s that for pitching?” demanded someone.
Joe joined in the cheer that was called for Weston, but his heart was still sore, for he felt that those cheers might have been for him. But he was game, and smiled bravely.