The game started. There was nothing remarkable about it, at least at first, so I shall not weary you with details of the strikes, balls, the sliding for bases, the decisions, and the runs. Sufficient to say that at first neither side could score. Joe and the rival pitcher were in good form, and, aside from scattering hits, which were usually only good for a single bag, little was done.
For four innings neither side scored a run, though on one decision of the umpire, when Joe came sliding home on a sacrifice by Jimmie Lee, and was called out, there was a howl of protest.
“Robber!”
“Blind man!”
“He was safe by a yard!”
“Don’t give it!” were some of the mildest epithets and expressions of opinion hurled at the umpire.
“Hold on! That isn’t Yale’s way,” said the captain quietly. “It’s all right,” and the decision stood, though had it been otherwise it would have meant a run for Yale.
And so the game went on until the eighth inning, which put West Point one run ahead. There was excitement on the part of the army and its supporters, for in the last half of it Yale had been unable to score, and it looked as if she might lose.
“We’ve got to get ’em!” declared Captain Hatfield grimly, as he and his men took the field for the beginning of the ninth. “Don’t let one get past you, Joe, and then we’ll bat out two runs.”