He stooped carelessly to pick it up. Then like lightning he shot it to Larry at second, catching Blair flat-footed off the bag.
Nealon on third made a dash for the plate. Larry tagged Blair and returned the ball in a flash to Joe, who had run over to the third base line. Joe put the ball on Nealon and the side was out.
It had all happened in the twinkling of an eye. For an instant the crowd was paralyzed. Then it woke up and a perfect tempest of cheers swept over the field.
Robson, the rotund assistant manager, fairly shouted with glee as he brought his hand down with a resounding smack on McRae’s knee.
“Did you see that, John?” he roared. “Did you see that fake muff? Did you see that lightning throw? Did you ever see any foxier playing in all your life?”
“No, I didn’t,” grinned McRae. “But for the love of Mike, Robbie, keep that ham of a hand off my knee. Yes, that was some playing. I don’t know which is the greater, that boy’s arm or his head. They’re both wonders. Joe hasn’t his match in the baseball world.”
Joe came in smiling, to be mauled and pounded by his rejoicing comrades.
McRae and Robson beamed upon him.
“Great work, Joe,” said McRae. “Now if you hold them down in the next inning and our boys get busy with their bats we still have a chance to cop the game.”
But the Giants, although they got two men on bases in their half of the eighth, were unable to score, and the ninth opened with St. Louis still three runs ahead.