Next came Gallagher. “One ball.” “Two balls.”
“Wait him out,” yelled Evans. “He’s getting wild. He’s weakening. We’ll get him yet.”
“One strike.” “Two strikes.” “Three strikes.” “Out!”
Weston, the Chicago’s last hope, came third.
“One strike.” “Two strikes.” “Three strikes.” “Out!”
The greatest game that Chicago had seen for years was over, and the Giants had won by a score of 2 to 0.
Not a run had been scored by Chicago. Not a Cub had touched a base. Not a man had been passed to first on balls. Not a Cub had made a hit!
It was a no-hit game without a blemish, the greatest that Joe had pitched in his whole great career. And to cap it all, his own homer had brought the Giants out at the big end of the score.
The jubilation of McRae and Robson and the rest of the Giants, with the exception of Hupft and McCarney, was beyond description. Their most formidable foe had been humbled, and the Giants could go back to New York in a blaze of glory.