“Foul!” yelled the umpire, and there was a groan of disappointment.
Joe was a little nervous, so it is no wonder that he was called for a ball on his next delivery. But following that he sent in as neat an out curve as could be desired. The batter missed it by a foot, and throwing his stick down in disgust walked to the bench.
“Only two more, old man!” called Gregory encouragingly. “Only two more. We’ve got their number.”
Then came an attempt on the part of the crowd, which naturally was mostly in sympathy with their home team, to get Joe’s “goat.” He was hooted at and reviled. He was advised to go back to college, and to let a man take his place. Joe only grinned and made no answer. The nervous strain under which he was playing increased. He wanted, no one perhaps but Gregory knew how much, to get away and take a train for home, to be with his suffering father.
But there were two more men to put out. And Joe did it.
That is, he struck out the next man. The third one singled, and when the best batter of the opposing team came up, Joe faced him confidently.
After two balls had been called, and the crowd was at the fever point of expectancy, Joe got a clean strike. It was followed by a foul, and then came a little pop fly that was easily caught by the young pitcher, who hardly had to move from his mound.
“Pittston wins!”
“Pittston is up head!”
“Three cheers for Joe Matson!”