The young pitcher nodded, but he did not smile. He was a little in doubt of himself, for there was a strange numb feeling in his right arm, and he knew that the muscles were weakening. He had worked himself to the limit, not only in this game, but the one with Harvard, and now he began to pay the penalty.
Once or twice as he wound up to deliver he felt a sharp twinge that alarmed him. He had not asked to have one of the professional rubbers with the team massage him, for fear the rumor would get out that Yale’s pitcher was weakening. So he bore it as best he could. But his arm was sore.
Joe had struck out one man, and then he was found for a two-bagger. This man was a notorious base stealer and managed to get to third, while the player following him, who was the heaviest hitter on the team, had been passed by Joe on a signal from the captain, who did not want to take chances.
“He’s afraid!” came the taunt, and Joe was beginning to get nervous, especially as his pain increased.
With two on bases, and only one out, Joe saw come to the bat a man who was an expert bunter. He could lay the ball almost anywhere he wanted to, and our hero realized that he was in for a bad few minutes. It would not do to walk another. He must get this man.
What he had feared came to pass. The player bunted and the ball came lazily rolling toward the pitcher. Joe and Kendall started for it, and then Joe yelled:
“I’ll get it—go back!”
He felt himself slipping on a pebble, but recovered with a wrench that strained his sore arm. With an effort he managed to get the ball. He knew that if he threw it from the unnatural and disadvantageous position he had assumed in recovering it, he would make his sore arm worse. But there was no help for it.
The man on third had started for home. Joe, with a mighty effort, threw to Kendall, who caught it and tagged his quarry.