It looked like the possible beginning of a rally, and instantly all was commotion on the Giants’ bench. McRae himself ran out to the coaching line near first, while he sent Jim over to third. The Giant players began a line of chatter designed to rattle the Cub pitcher.
But Axander only smiled as he took up his position in the box. He was too much of a veteran to let his opponents get him fussed. But his smile, though it did not entirely disappear, lost some of its brightness when he saw that Baseball Joe was the next man to face him.
Cries of encouragement rose from Joe’s mates and from the Giant rooters in the stands.
“Oh, you home-run slugger!”
“Give the ball a ride!”
“Show him where you live!”
“Send it to kingdom come!”
Amid the babel of cries, Joe took up his position at the plate. His brain was alert and his nerves like steel.
“Sorry, Matson, but I’ll have to strike you out,” said Axander, with a grin. “All Giants look alike to me to-day. Giant killer is my middle name.”
“Don’t waste any sympathy on me,” retorted Joe. “You can send flowers to my funeral later on. But first give me a chance at the ball.”