Drawing away from the bag foot by foot, Joe watched his adversary. Again the pitcher’s hands touched his chest, and again, almost before the ball left his hand, Joe, with nearly half the distance already covered, was legging it to third.
This time he slid in, for the throw from catcher to third was much shorter than to second. But his hands were on the bag as Henderson bent down and stabbed at him frantically.
Axander by this time was clearly nervous. The big lead that Joe had got on him each time perplexed him. What was it that had told him so unerringly just the right time to steal? It must have been something in his pitching motions. But just what was it?
He motioned to his catcher, who went forward to meet him, and they held a brief conference while the crowd howled in derision.
“You’ve got his goat, Joe!”
“He’s up in the air!”
“Oh, you base stealer!”
The conference ended and the pitcher and catcher resumed positions.
But Larry’s position was now growing precarious and whatever was done must be done quickly. A strike had been called on him and two balls. He looked pleadingly toward Joe, but the latter again gave him the signal to wait.
Joe in the meantime, while the colloquy between Axander and Lange, his catcher, had been going on, had been chaffing Henderson, the third baseman. The latter was a good mechanical player, but a slow thinker and easily razzed.