"Speed 'em in, Joe. Vary your delivery, and don't forget the signals," advised Mullin, as the two were warming up. "And don't get nervous. You'll do all right."
"I'm sure I hope so," responded Joe.
He was getting more confidence in himself, but at that, when he stood on the mound, and had the ball in his hand he could not help a little twinge of "stage fright," or something akin to it.
The batter stepped back, to allow the usual interchange of balls between pitcher and catcher, and then, when Joe nodded that he was ready, moved up to the plate, where he stood, swinging his bat, and waiting for the first one.
The catcher, Russell, signalled for a swift, straight one, and, though Joe would rather have pitched his fadeaway, he nodded his head to show that he accepted.
The ball whizzed from Joe's hand, and he felt a wave of apprehension, a second later, that it was going to be slammed somewhere out over the centre field fence. But, to his chagrin, he heard the umpire call:
"Ball one!"
The batter grinned cheerfully at Joe.
"That won't happen again!" thought our hero fiercely.
This time the catcher signalled for a teasing curve, and again Joe signified that he would deliver it. He did, and successfully, too. The batter made a half motion, as though he were going to strike at it, and then refrained, but the umpire called, in tones that were musical to Joe's ear: