[IT DARTED TOWARD THE PLATE, BREAKING INTO A WIDE OUTCURVE.]
“Strike one!” called the umpire, and a cheer went up.
The next two were balls at which the batter declined to “bite.”
“Strike two!” called the umpire as the next one cut the plate.
The next was a ball.
“He’s in the hole now!” yelled the Boston coachers. “He can’t get it over. He’s going up.”
Joe did his best to get the next one over the rubber, but he had not warmed up enough yet to get perfect control, and the umpire waved the batter down to first. He ran down, laughing derisively, while his comrades moved up to second and third.
“All over now but the shouting,” was the cry that went up from the enemy’s coaching lines. “We don’t need to hit the ball. Just leave him alone and he’ll win the game for us.”
Larry came in from second, ostensibly to consult with Joe, but really to give him a moment’s breathing space.
“Keep your nerve, old man,” he counseled. “We’ll get them yet. We’re all with you.”