The game was to begin at two.
Baseball Joe leaped into a taxicab with orders to scorch up the pavements in a mad dash to the Polo Grounds. Then the clubhouse, into which Joe tumbled, covered with grime and cinders, amid the frantic exclamations of the rubbers and attendants. Then the cooling shower and a quick shift into his uniform, after which Joe, cool, collected, thoroughly master of himself, strolled out on the field where the whole Giant team forgot their practice and made a wild rush for him.
He had fought a good fight. He had kept the faith.
[CHAPTER XXX]
A GLORIOUS VICTORY
There was a mad scramble and Joe was almost pulled to pieces by his relieved and exulting mates. Then came a torrent of questions which Joe good-naturedly parried.
“After the game, boys, I’ll tell you all about it,” he said, “but just now I want to get a little practice in tossing them over.”
“Didn’t I tell you that nothing could stop that boy from getting here?” crowed Robson, gleefully.
“I thought so myself,” answered McRae, “but when they ’phoned up to me that he hadn’t come in on that regular morning train, I thought our goose was cooked.”