Now he was running as he had never run before. The wind whistled in his ears. He could hear the thunderous voices of the crowds, who had risen to their feet and were cheering like maniacs.
Jim had run out to the third base coaching line and was yelling encouragement at him.
“Come on, you Joe!” he shouted. “Come on, old man, come on!”
Joe rounded third and streaked it for the plate.
Down the stretch he tore. He seemed to be flying.
But the ball was flying, too, coming fast. He knew it by the shouts of the Brooklyn players, by the look in the eyes of Tighe, the catcher, as he set himself to receive it.
When within twenty feet of the plate, Joe launched himself in the air and slid. He heard the ball thud in Tighe’s mitt. He swung himself in a sweeping slide away from the catcher, his outstretched fingers touching the plate a fraction of a second before the ball was brought down upon him.
“Safe!” cried the umpire.