But Jimmie Lee, the diminutive first baseman, was up next, and perhaps the Harvard pitcher did not think him a worthy foeman. At any rate Jimmie caught a ball just where he wanted it, and rapped out a pretty two-bagger.
“That’s the way! Come on in!” was shouted at him, but Jimmie caught the signal to hug the half-way station, and stayed there. He stole third while they were throwing his successor out at first, and this made two down, with Jimmie ready to come in on half a chance. But the Harvard pitcher tightened up, and the fourth man succumbed to a slow twister on his final strike, making the third out, so that poor Jimmie expired on the last sack.
“Now, Joe, show ’em that we can do better than that,” begged Shorty, as he donned mask and protector. “Throw me a few and warm up. Then sting ’em in!”
Joe was a bit nervous as he went to the box, but he managed to control himself. He seemed to guess just what kind of a ball would fool the batter, and, after two balls had been called on him, sent over two in succession that were named strikes.
“That’s the way we do it!” yelled a Yale admirer, in a high-pitched voice. “One more and he’s done.”
But the one more did not come. Instead, apparently getting the ball just where he wanted it, the Harvard man swung on it to the tune of three sacks, amid a wild riot of cheers.
“Now we’ve got ’em going!” came Harvard’s triumphant yells, and Joe felt the hot blood rush to his face. Kendall saw it, and, guessing the pitcher’s state of mind, walked out to the box and whispered:
“Don’t mind. That was a fluke. It won’t happen again. Hold on to yourself—tighten up and we’ll get ’em.”
Joe felt better after that bit of advice, and was calmer when he wound up for the next batter. Though he had been told that Harvard would play a foxy game, he was hardly prepared for what followed. The next player up hit lightly, for a sacrifice, thinking to bring in the run. As it happened, Joe stumbled as he raced to pick up the twisting ball, and though he managed to recover himself, and throw home, while on his knees, the man racing from third beat the throw and the first run for Harvard was in. Then such cheering as there was!
Yale was nonplussed for the moment, and her rooters in the stands sat glum and silent. But the spirit of the blue could not long be kept down, and soon the Boola song came booming over the field. It cheered Joe mightily, even though he saw the sneering look on the face of Weston, who sat on the bench, hoping for a chance to supplant him.