“I am. I think Joe is going to make one of the finest ball players we’ve ever had at Yale. He hasn’t found himself yet, of course, and he needs more judgment. But he’s got a future. I think we’ll hear of him somewhere else besides on a college team, too.”
“I understand he has professional ambitions,” admitted Mr. Benson. “But he’s got a hard life ahead of him.”
“Oh, he’ll make good!” declared Mr. Hasbrook.
And it seemed that Joe was going to in this game. He was pitching wonderfully well, and Harvard only found him for scattering hits.
On her part Yale was doing very well. Harvard had tried another pitcher when she found that her first one was being pounded, but it availed little, and when the ninth inning closed, as far as the wearers of the blue were concerned, they were two runs ahead.
“We’ve got ’em! We’ve got ’em!” yelled Shorty with delight, capering about Joe. “All you’ve got to do is to hold ’em down!”
“Yes—all—but that’s a lot,” declared the pitcher. “They’re going to play fierce now.”
“But they need three runs to win. You can hold ’em down!”
“I’ll try,” promised Joe, as he went to the mound.
It looked as if he was going to make good, but luck, that element that is always present in games, especially in baseball, deserted the blue for the red. The first man up knocked a long, high fly to deep centre. So sure was he, as well as everyone else, that it would be caught, that the player hardly ran, but the ball slipped through the fingers of Ed. Hutchinson as if it had been greased, and the man was safe on second.