“To give Joe a chance to rest up. He needs it.”
And the rain came. It lasted for two days, and a third one had to pass to let the grounds at Washburg dry up. It had been decided to play off the tie there, for the diamond was a fine one, and Washburg was centrally located, insuring a big attendance.
“We should have arranged this series to be the best three out of five in the beginning,” said Gregory. “We’ll know better next time. There’s too much uncertainty in a three out of four—it practically means five games anyhow.”
Reggie and Mabel saw every contest, and announced their intention of going to Washburg for the last. At least Mabel did, and Reggie could do no less than take her.
The rest had done Joe good, though of course it had also allowed his opponents to recuperate. Joe felt fit to play the game of his life.
The grandstands were filled—the bleachers overflowed—the band played—the crowds yelled and cheered. There was a riot of color—represented by ladies’ hats and dresses; there was a forest of darkness—represented by the more sober clothes of the men. It was the day of the final game.
“Play ball!” called the umpire, and Joe went to the mound, for Pittston had been lucky in the toss-up and could bat last.
Joe hardly knew whether he was more elated over his own chance of shining in this deciding game or over the fact that Pop Dutton was playing. The old pitcher had improved wonderfully, and Gregory said, was almost “big league stuff” again. So he had been put in centre field. His batting, too, was a bulwark for Pittston.
Just before the game Joe had received a letter from home, telling him news that disconcerted him a little. It was to the effect that an operation would be necessary to restore his father’s sight. It was almost certain to be successful, however, for a noted surgeon, who had saved many by his skill, would perform it. But the cost would be heavy.