In some mysterious way, though McRae had tried to keep it a profound secret, the news had got abroad that something had occurred that would keep Matson out of the game, and the crowds that had put their chief reliance on that mighty arm of his had been restless and fearful. So when they recognized him the stands rocked and thundered with applause, and the general relief was not much less than that felt by the Giants themselves at the return of their crack pitcher.
But it was toward an upper box that Joe’s eyes first turned. There was a wild flutter of handkerchiefs and clapping of hands. Mabel and Clara were leaning far out and waving to him. But Mrs. Matson’s face was hidden by her handkerchief, and Joe saw his father quietly slip his arm around her. Joe did not dare to look any longer for he suddenly felt a dimness come over his own eyes, and he hastily turned to the tremendous task that confronted him.
For that afternoon he was fighting against odds. His head was still aching from the effects of the blow and the chloroform. The rocking of the engine had made his legs unsteady. And the only food he had had since the night before was a sandwich he had sent for while he was slipping into his uniform.
But it is just such circumstances that bring out the thoroughbred strain in a man, and as Baseball Joe took his place in the box and looked around at the enormous crowd and realized the immense responsibility that rested on him, he rose magnificently to the occasion. Gone was weariness and pain and weakness. His nerves stiffened to the strain, and the game he pitched that afternoon was destined to become a classic in baseball history.
The first ball he whipped over the plate went for a strike. A second and a third followed. And from that time on Joe knew that he held the Bostons in the hollow of his hand.
There are times when to feel invincible is to be invincible. Joe was in that mood. [He was a glorious figure of] athletic [young manhood] as he stood there with forty thousand pairs of eyes riveted upon him. He had discarded his cap because the band hurt his head where he had been struck, and his brown hair gleamed in the bright sun as he hurled the ball with deadly precision toward the batter. Like a piston rod his arm shot out untiringly and the ball whistled as it cut the plate.
“Gee whiz, see that ball come over!” muttered McRae.
“He’ll wear himself out,” said Robson, anxiously. “It isn’t in flesh and blood to keep up that gait for nine innings.”
Fraser was in the box for the Bostons, and he, too, was pitching first-class ball. But the Giants by the end of the fourth inning were beginning to solve his delivery. The hits were getting a sharper ring to them and going out more on a line. But superb fielding helped the Bostonian out of several tight places and he “got by” until the fifth.
Then the Giants broke the ice. Larry sent a corking single out to center. Denton whaled out a tremendous hit that had all the earmarks of a home run. But Walters, by a wonderful sprint, got under it and Larry, who had rounded second, had all he could do to get back to first before the throw in.