“Nothing so bad as that,” answered Joe, summoning up a smile. “Guess it’s only a sprain. But I’m afraid it puts me out of the running for to-day. I can scarcely bear my weight on it.”
The club trainer, Dougherty, ran his hands over Joe with the dexterity of an expert.
“No breaks,” he pronounced. “But a wrench to the leg and the ankle sprained. No more work for you, Joe, for a week, at least. Here, some of you fellows help me get him over to the clubhouse.”
“Maybe after a little rest and rubbing I can go on with the pitching,” suggested Joe.
“Nothing doing,” replied Dougherty, laconically. “Get that right out of your noddle. Your work’s done for the day.”
A rookie was put on second to run for Joe, and the latter was assisted to the clubhouse, where Dougherty and his assistants set to work on the leg and ankle at once.
Gloom so thick that it could have been cut with a knife came down on the Giants’ bench. Here was another proof that the “jinx” was still camping on their trail.
But there was no time for grizzling then, for the game had to go on. Jim and Markwith were sent out to warm up, while the Giants finished their half of the inning.
Joe’s hit had not gone for nothing, for Ledwith, the rookie, got to third on a fielder’s choice, and came home on a long sacrifice fly to center. Iredell swung viciously at the ball and sent up a towering skyscraper that Axander was waiting for when it came down. The inning was over, and, despite the injury to their star pitcher, another run had been stowed away in the Giants’ bat bag.
McRae selected Jim to finish the game in his chum’s place.