CHAPTER IX
SKIRTING THE EDGE
The game was won, won at the last moment by the mighty hit that rounded out Joe’s marvelous exhibition of pitching skill. The Giants had got the jump by capturing the first game of the season.
The instant Joe rose to his feet he made for the clubhouse, intent upon evading the rush of the excited fans who were already beginning to swarm over the field to surround him and hoist him upon their shoulders.
Before he could reach that haven of refuge he had fairly to fight his way through the mob of admirers that blocked his path, eager to touch their idol.
But he was inside at last and could draw a free breath as he hastily stripped for the shower. Jim was close behind him, and soon the place was filled with hilarious Giants, jubilant over the game that had been plucked from the fire.
McRae and Robbie were there, too, their faces beaming with gratification.
“Wonderful work, Joe,” congratulated McRae, as he slapped the captain of the team on the shoulder. “That old wing of yours was never in better shape. And that homer was a beauty.”
“And here we were worrying our hearts out about that arm of yours,” grinned Robbie, happy beyond expression. “Sure, that fire down in the training camp has done you good rather than harm. Some of the other boys ought to get a dose of it.”
“That left-handed batting stunt of yours was a peach,” laughed McRae. “I’ll admit I was startled when I saw you take up that position. It looked for a minute like suicide. Then I tumbled.”