There was little time to think; less to do anything. Joe would not bat that inning, that was certain. He took a ball, and, nodding to Rad, who was not playing, went out to the "bull-pen."
"What's up?" asked Rad, cautiously.
"I felt a little twinge. I just want to try the different balls, and find which I can deliver to best advantage to myself. You catch."
Rad nodded understandingly. To Joe's delight he found that in throwing his swift one, the spitter, and his curves he had no pain. But his celebrated fadeaway made him wince when he twisted his arm into the peculiar position necessary to get the desired effect.
"Wow!" mused Joe. "I can't deliver that, it's a sure thing. Well, I'm not going to back out now. I'll stay in as long as I can. But it's going to hurt!"
He shut his teeth, and, trying to keep away from his face the shadow of pain, threw his fadeaway to Rad again.
The pain shot through his arm like a sharp knife.
"But I'll do it!" thought Joe, grimly.