In the seventh a temporary case of rattles among the youngsters let in three runs, putting the Regulars one ahead.
Then Joe, who, in accordance with his plan to give his fielders exercise, had made few attempts for strike-outs, settled down and pitched the brand of ball that had made him famous. In the eighth and ninth he struck out six men in succession, not giving them, as Larry complained, “even a sniff at the ball.”
Still the Regulars were a run ahead, and that run loomed large as the Yannigans came in for their last time at bat.
The first man up struck out, and a groan went up from the bench as the rookies saw their hopes go glimmering. But the next moment a cheer arose as young Thompson laced out a clean single to center. Gloom resumed its sway, however, when Markwith put on steam and struck out Bailey.
It was Joe’s turn next, and he came to the bat with a gleam of determination in his eyes that made Markwith uneasy. He had seen that look too often not to recognize what it meant. He knew the execution the old wagon tongue that Joe swung was capable of. So he promptly decided to play safe and take his chance with the next batter.
He signaled to Mylert and sent up a ball that was six feet off from the plate.
“Be a sport, Markwith,” pleaded Joe.
“Not a chance,” grinned Markwith. “I’d rather be a live coward than a dead hero.”
It was the highest kind of a compliment, but Joe was not looking for compliments just then. The one thing he craved was to get that ball within reach.
Another impossible one came over in the track of the first.