[CHAPTER XXIV]
PLOTTING MISCHIEF
The feeling in Boston was in marked contrast to that in the metropolis, when the news was flashed over the wires that for the second day in succession the Red Sox had lost.
To be sure they were by no means out of it, and a victory the next day would leave the clubs even up. But the odds now were on the New York side, especially as it was certain that Baseball Joe would pitch in one of the games.
The Red Sox stood in no particular fear of Markwith, although his ability was freely recognized. Still he could be handled. But they had the profoundest respect for Joe, not to say dread, and they had begun to share the feeling that he had the game won when he appeared upon the mound.
Perhaps by none was this conviction felt more keenly than by two men who sat at a table in a café. A groan had just arisen from a throng surrounding the ticker and in that groan the two men read defeat.
“That makes three games the Giants have won,” growled Connelly. “One more and the Series is theirs.”
“But they haven’t won that other one yet,” suggested Fleming, whose face by this time had renewed more nearly its usual appearance, “and it’s up to us to see that they don’t.”
“That sounds good,” growled Connelly. “But so did our other plan sound good. But you see what came of it.”