“Slam it out, Johnson!”
The batter had his friends as well as Joe.
But the battle was not half won yet. There were two men to be taken care of after this one was disposed of, and he still had his chances.
Joe signalled to his catcher that he would slip in a “teaser” now, and the man in the wire mask nodded his understanding. The batter smiled, in anticipation of having a “ball” called on him, but was amazed, not to say angry, when he heard from the umpire the drawling:
“Strike—two!”
Instantly there came a storm of protest, some from the crowd, a half-uttered sneer from the batter himself, but more from his manager and team-mates on the players’ bench.
“Forget it!” sharply cried the umpire, supreme master that he was. “I said ‘strike,’ and a strike it goes. Play ball!”
Joe was delighted. It showed that they were now to have fair treatment from the deciding power, though during the first part of the game the umpire’s decisions had not been altogether fair to Pittston.
The crowd was breathlessly eager again, as Joe wound up once more. Then there was a mad yell as the batter hit the next ball.
“Go on! Go on! You——”