The seventh inning came and passed and not a hit had been made by the Pirates. Then it began to be realized that Joe was out for a no-hit game, and the crowd rooted for him madly.
Joe himself was about the only cool man on the grounds. He measured every man that came to the plate and took his time about pitching to him. Man after man he fanned or made him hit feeble grounders to the infield. And that wonderful control of his forbade any passes. The Pirates did not dare to wait him out. It was a case of strike or be struck out, and so they struck at the ball, but usually struck only the empty air.
That ball! Sometimes it was a wheedling, coaxing ball, that sauntered up to the plate as though just begging to be hit. Again it was a vanishing ball that grew smaller from the time it left Joe’s hand until it became a mere pin point as it glinted over the rubber. Still again it was a savage ball that shot over the plate with a rush and a hiss that made the batter jump back. But always it was a deceptive ball, that slipped by, hopped by, loafed by, twisted by, dodged by, and the Pirate sluggers strained their backs as well as their tempers in trying to hit it.
McRae and Robbie on the bench watched with fascination and delight the work of their king pitcher.
“It’s magic, I tell you, John, just magic!” blurted out Robbie, as another victim went out on strikes and threw down his bat in disgust.
“It sure looks like it,” grinned McRae. “He has those fellows jumping through the hoops all right. I’m free to say I never saw anything like it.”
“He’s got the ball trained, I tell you,” persisted Robbie, rubbing his hands in jubilation. “It’s an educated ball. It does just what Joe tells it to.”
Almost uncontrollable excitement prevailed as the Pirates came in for their last inning. Their heaviest sluggers were coming to the bat, and now if ever was the time to do something. They figured that the strain must have told on Joe and that a crack was due.
Their hope grew dimmer, however, when Ralston, after fouling off two, fanned on the third strike. But it revived again when Baskerville rolled an easy one to Larry, that the latter fumbled for a moment and then hurled to first a fraction of a second too late.
There was a roar of glee from the Pirates, and they began to chatter in the hope of rattling the pitcher. Bemis, the next man up, came to the plate swinging three bats. He discarded two of them and glared at Joe.