“Make him give you the kind you want!”
“Here is where Pittsburgh chews the Giants up!”
“Maybe you can do it somewhere else, but you can’t do it here!”
“One, two, three, Dawley, remember.”
So the calls ran on as Joe waited for the pitcher to deliver the sphere again.
The Pittsburgh rooters thought they had Joe’s “goat” and they were prepared to make the most of it. They began a chorus of yells and groans that grew louder and louder.
They stopped suddenly as Joe caught the next ball about a foot from the end of his bat. There was a mighty crack and the ball soared up and up into the sky over right field. The fielders started to run for it and then stopped short in their tracks, throwing up their hands in despair. The ball cleared the bleachers, cleared the wall, and went through the window of a house on the other side of the street.
Joe had started running like a deer at the crack of the bat, but as he rounded first McRae shouted at him to take his time, and he completed the rest of his journey at a jog trot, Larry of course having preceded him. There was a wild jubilee at the plate. Robbie threw dignity to the winds and danced a jig, and Joe was sore from the thumping of his mates.
“The longest hit that’s ever been made on Forbes Field!” cried Larry exultingly.