But Joe did not like to think about that. He was under a great nervous strain, not only because of the news concerning his father, but because of what his failure or success might mean to the club he had the honor to represent.
“I’ve just got to win!” said Joe to himself.
“Play ball!” called the umpire.
Joe had been holding himself a little in reserve up to now; that is, he had not used the last ounce of ability that he had, for he could see that the game was going to be a hard one, and that a little added “punch” at the last moment might make or break for victory.
The young pitcher had a good delivery of what is known as the “jump” ball. It is sent in with all the force possible, and fairly jumps as it approaches the plate. It is often used to drive the batsman away from the rubber. It is supposed to go straight for the plate, or the inside corner, and about shoulder high. A long preliminary swing is needed for this ball, and it is pitched with an overhand delivery.
Joe had practiced this until he was a fair master of it, but he realized that it was exhausting. Always after sending in a number of these his arm would be lame, and he was not good for much the next day. But now he thought the time had come to use it, varying it, of course, with other styles of delivery.
“I’ve got to hold ’em down!” thought Joe.
He realized that the attention of all was on him, and he wished he could catch the eyes of a certain girl he knew sat in the grandstand watching him. Joe also felt that Collin, his rival, was watching him narrowly, and he could imagine the veteran pitcher muttering:
“Why do they send in a young cub like that when so much depends on it? Why didn’t Gregory call me?”
But the manager evidently knew what he was doing.