“I’ve got to strike him out!” decided the young pitcher. “I’ve got to make good!”
His heart was fluttering, and his nerves were not as calm as they ought to have been. He stooped over and made a pretence of tying his shoe-lace. When he straightened up he had, in a measure, gained a mastery of himself. He felt cool and collected.
In went the ball with certain aim, and Joe knew that it was just what he had intended it should be.
“Strike!” called the umpire, though the batter had not moved. There was some laughter from the grandstand, and the batter tapped the plate nervously. Joe smiled.
“Good work!” called Gregory from the bench.
Again the ball went sailing in, but this time Joe’s luck played him a shabby trick, or perhaps the umpire was not watching closely. Certainly Joe thought it a strike, but “ball” was called. Joe sent in the next one so quickly that the batter was scarcely prepared for it. But it was perfectly legitimate and the umpire howled:
“Strike two!”
“That’s the boy!”
“Good work!”