“Give the ball a ride!”
“Another homer, Joe!”
“Give the ball a passport and send it out of the country!”
These and other encouraging cries greeted Joe as he waited for the ball. Albaugh looked at him with some apprehension. His respect for him as a batter had grown considerably since the beginning of the game.
Joe refused to offer at the first ball, which was high and wide. Menken caught it and instead of returning it to the pitcher shot it down to second. Denton had taken too long a lead off the base and was trapped. His first impulse was to slide back to the bag, but he saw that he was too late for that and set out for third. The whole Boston infield joined in running him down, and despite his doubling and twisting, he was run down and put out near third. During the fracas, Allen reached second, but this was poor consolation, for now two men were out.
Albaugh grinned as he picked up the ball and stepped on the mound. Baseball Joe resolved to knock that grin off his face.
The ball came toward the plate like a bullet. Joe timed it perfectly, and poled a tremendous hit out toward center.
“A homer! A homer!” yelled the crowd, wild with excitement.
By the time Allen had galloped over the plate, Joe had rounded second, running like a frightened jackrabbit. But in the meantime, Mitchell, by a herculean effort, had managed to knock down the ball, after it had struck the ground and was speeding toward the fence. He straightened up and threw it in a line to third. It came plump into the waiting hands of the guardian of the bag. But Joe had already pulled up there, panting a little, but with his heart full of exultation.
“Jumping Jehoshaphat, how that boy can hit!” cried McRae, while Joe’s comrades jigged about and threw their caps into the air.