“It’s a shame to take the money!” yelled another.
“All aboard for the airship!” cried a third.
A flush of humiliation passed over Joe’s face.
He could see that Robson was hurrying a couple of the second string pitchers out into a corner of the field to warm up. It was a new experience for him and a bitter one.
“I’ll get them yet,” he said to McRae, and the latter noticed that his voice was thick. “Let me play the inning out.”
“Play ball!” called the umpire, and McRae walked back to the coaching line. Joe made a mighty effort, but the first ball he pitched was sent into left on a line, and the three men on bases scampered home.
“That’s enough,” cried McRae sharply, while the rejoicing Phillies held a jubilee at their bench. “Take off your glove and go to the clubhouse.”
Joe took off his glove and with his face scarlet walked unsteadily off the field. He had been batted out of the box in one of the crucial games of the season. What would his folks say when they read of it? What would Mabel say?
By this time his head was throbbing, and every bone had its own particular ache. The shower brightened him up a little, but in a few minutes he was worse than ever, and it was all he could do to get to his hotel. There he stumbled and would have fallen if it had not been for one of the attendants. He took him to his room, where he lay down upon the bed and fell into a stupor. There Jim found him when he returned and immediately called a physician. Together they worked over him until after a couple of hours the effects of the drug had been counteracted to a large extent, and although weak and white he began to feel more like his natural self.