[CHAPTER XXV]
LINING THEM OUT
The pain in his injured hand was intense that night, and Joe paced the floor for hours before he was able to get to sleep. By morning, however, the hand had yielded to treatment, and the swelling had greatly decreased. At the earliest hour possible Joe, accompanied by Jim, was at the surgeon’s office.
The doctor’s face expressed his satisfaction, as, after an examination, he rendered his verdict.
“It isn’t as bad as I feared,” he said while he deftly rebandaged the injured member. “This dislocation is slight and you’ll soon be as right as ever. But you’ve got to take good care of it. It will be some time before you can pitch.”
“But how about batting?” asked Joe anxiously. “That isn’t a steady strain, as I’d only have to do it three or four times in the course of the game.”
“I don’t know,” replied the doctor with a smile. “I’m not familiar enough with the game to tell where the strain comes in that case. I can imagine, however, that it would be chiefly in the arm and shoulder. It’s possible that you may be able to bat before you can pitch. But I can tell more about that later on, as I see how your hand mends. For the present, you’ll have to go slow.”
The sporting writers had no reason to complain of the dullness of news for that day’s issue. The papers were ringing with the stirring events of the day before. Columns of space were devoted to the story of the game, and there was unstinted praise of Joe for his wonderful exploit.
But mingled with the jubilation was a strain of apprehension. The accident that had befallen the great pitcher was a subject of the keenest anxiety. It was recognized that a great blow had been struck at the Giants’ hope for the pennant. To have the greatest twirler of the team put out of the game just in the hottest part of the fight was a disaster that might prove fatal. Pittsburgh stock took a decided upward bound in consequence.