Axander wound up and let one go straight for the plate. Curry caught it full and fair and the ball soared off toward left.
Weston, the Cub leftfielder, was off with the crack of the ball, running in the direction the latter was taking. It seemed like a hopeless quest, but he kept on, and just as the ball was going over his head he made a tremendous leap and caught it with one hand. He was off balance and turned a complete somersault, but when he came up he still had hold of the ball. It was a catch such as is seldom seen more than two or three times in a season.
The game was over, and the Cubs had triumphed by a score of 4 runs to 3. The crowd swarmed down on the diamond to surround and applaud their favorites, who had plucked victory from the very jaws of defeat, or, to put it more correctly, had accepted the game which the Giants had generously handed over to them.
It was a sore and dejected band of Giants that made their way to the clubhouse. The end had come so suddenly that they could hardly realize what had happened. Some were inclined to blame the “jinx,” but the more intelligent knew that their own errors and those of some of their comrades had alone brought about their downfall. The defeat was all the more exasperating, because they had had superb pitching throughout—pitching that would have won nine games out of ten and would certainly have won that one if their twirlers had been given half-way decent support.
“Hard luck, Jim,” was Joe’s greeting to his comrade, as the latter came in and made ready for the showers. “You pitched a dandy game. It’s tough when four runs come in without one of them being earned.”
“All in a day’s work,” replied Jim, affecting a cheerfulness that he was far from feeling. “But you’re the one I’m worrying about. How’s that leg and foot?”
“Dougherty says it will be all right in a week,” replied Joe. “He’s rubbed most of the soreness out of them, but I’ll have to favor them for a while.”
“Glory be!” exclaimed Jim with fervor. “If you were out of the game for a long time it would be all up with the Giants. Then they’d go to pieces for fair.”
“Not a bit of it,” disclaimed Joe. “It’s too great a team to be dependent on any one man. I’m only just one cog in a fine machine.”
“Looked like a rather wobbly machine this afternoon,” said Jim, ruefully.