To make the contest a little more even the St. Louis team were to bat first, giving the visitors the advantage of coming up last in the ninth inning.
"Doolin up!" called the score keeper, and the lanky left-handed hitter strolled up to the plate, while Riordan, who was on deck, took up a couple of bats, swinging them about nervously to limber his arms.
"Strike one!" bawled the umpire, at the first delivery of the visiting pitcher.
Doolin turned with a look of disgust and stared at the arbiter, but said nothing. There was an exchange of signals between catcher and pitcher, and Joe watched to see if he could read them. But he could not.
"Ball," was the next decision, and this time the pitcher looked pained.
It got to be three and two, and the St. Louis team became rather interested.
Doolin swung at the next with vicious force—and missed.
"Strike three—batter's out!" announced the umpire, as the ball landed with a thud in the deep pit of the catcher's mitt.
Doolin threw down his bat hard.
"What's he got?" whispered Riordan, as he went forward.