CHAPTER VIIIHITTING A HOMER
As Maley crossed the plate a tremendous chorus of cheers rose from the Brooklyn rooters while his comrades rushed from their dugout and surrounded him, dancing and shouting in jubilation.
Maley himself looked a little sheepish at the congratulations showered upon him, for after all it was by the sheerest luck that his feeble little pop-up had slipped through the hands of Renton, to be followed by two wild throws that had brought him around the bases.
But after all it was a run, and more than that, the tying run, and it counted just as much in the score as though it had been the fruit of a homer. It put the Brooklyns again in the running just at the time that the Giants seemed to have the game stowed away in their bat bags.
Probably the most disgusted men on the grounds were Renton and Burkett, whose faces were flushed to a fiery red and who carefullyavoided looking toward the bench where McRae sat, his eyes flashing with anger.
Joe, however, was as cool as an icicle. Many a pitcher would have lost either his temper or his nerve or both at such a slip-up on the part of his support. But Joe, though naturally chagrined, let not a trace of irritation betray itself in his bearing. He was his old confident self as he sauntered easily to the box.
The Brooklyn coaches hurried down to the side lines and began a line of unceasing chatter designed to rattle the pitcher.
“He’s just about ready for the showers,” gibed one.
“Up in the air for fair,” called out another.
“We’ve just been stalling so far,” declared the first. “Now watch our smoke!”
In the natural order, Reis would have been the next to bat, but Thompson took him out and sent in Hines, his pinch hitter, in his place. But the jockeying for advantage did no good, for the first two balls that Joe sent over were so mystifying and bewildering that Hines, though he offered at them, missed them by inches and in despair of lining it out tried a baby bunt on the next ball pitched.
Joe had guessed his intention by the way he shortened his hold on the bat, and by an imperceptible signal had called in his infield. So whenHines laid down his bunt Renton ran in on it, gathered it in and sent it down to Burkett like a flash for an out.
Trench, the shortstop of the Dodgers, refused to bite at the first two that Joe sent up, and as they were outside the plate they went as balls. Encouraged by this, Trench decided to wait, in the hope that Joe would pass him. Guessing his intention, Joe split the plate with a beauty that Trench let pass for a strike. The next one followed, just cutting the corner of the plate for strike two.
The waiting for balls did not seem so good to Trench then, and he stooped to rub his hands in the dirt so that he might take a firmer hold of the stick. Before he could get fairly straightened out Joe whizzed across his hop ball. Trench, flurried, made a desperate stab at it, but Mylert’s hands closed on the ball even as he swung.
It was classy pitching, head and arm working in perfect unison, and the Giant rooters split the welkin with their cheers as Joe pulled off his glove and walked in to the bench.
“That’s what you call choking a rally before it has fairly got started,” chuckled Robbie.
“Trust Joe to clap the kibosh on them when they get too frisky,” said McRae, with a sigh of relief. “That doesn’t alter the fact though that those gazabos have tied the score, thanks to thosesandlot throws of Renton and Burkett. Now, when we ought to be running to the clubhouse with the game chalked up to our credit, we’re just where we were when we started.”
Burkett was the first man up and he went to the plate in a hurry, glad to get away from the tongue lashing that poor Renton was already getting for his share in the mishap.
Determined to atone for his misplay, he crouched at the plate, watching Rance like a hawk. The latter cut the corner of the plate with an outcurve that Burkett thought was too wide. But it went for a strike just the same.
The next was a fast straight one, a little high, but Burkett caught it full and lined out a beautiful single to center. It looked at first as though it might be stretched, but Maley made such a quick pick-up and throw to second that Burkett was held at first.
Larry was next, and was exhorted by the crowd, now in a high state of excitement, to line it out. A shout of delight went up as he hit the first ball pitched and the pellet started on its journey toward left.
It seemed a sure hit, as it was well over the shortstop’s head. But Trench made a stupendous leap and collared the ball with his gloved hand.
Burkett had started toward second, thinking the ball was safe, and before he could get backto the bag Trench had sent the ball whistling down to first, completing the snappiest double play of the day.
It was one of the miraculous stops that make baseball the most fascinating game in the world, and though it killed their hopes, the Giant supporters were as generous in their applause as the partisans of the team from across the bridge.
Joe was the next at bat, and the air became a medley of sounds as he took up his position at the plate.
“Win your own game, Joe!”
“Knock the cover off the ball!”
“Give it a ride!”
“Show them where you live!”
Rance looked Joe over with exceeding care. At that juncture he would rather have had any other man in the league facing him.
“Sizing me up, Dizzy?” asked Baseball Joe, with a grin. “Don’t you know it’s impolite to stare at a man that way? It makes me feel as though I were a suspicious character.”
“You won’t feel so gay when I strike you out,” retorted Rance as he took up his position in the box. But Rance’s grin was a little forced.
“I would have a queer feeling,” admitted Joe, “for you’ve never done it yet and I don’t know just how it would seem.”
Rance shot one over that would surely havecaught Joe full in the head if he had not dropped like a flash to the ground.
“Trying to bean me?” he inquired, as he picked up his bat and resumed his position.
“Sorry,” said Rance, with evident sincerity.
“That’s all right, old man,” said Joe, who knew that Rance never resorted to dirty tricks. “But now give me a good one and I’ll lose it for you.”
The next was a sharp drop that Joe swung at and missed. Two balls followed in succession.
Then Joe suddenly swung himself around so that he was in the position of a left-handed batter.
A shout of astonishment rose not only from the crowd but from the Giants’ bench, for Joe had never batted left-handed in his life.
Rance was so astonished that he stood with his mouth gaping wide open.
“What’s the matter?” grinned Joe. “Paralyzed? Oh, well, if you’re going to feel that way about it I’ll bat the other way,” and instantly he swung around again to his normal position.
The whole thing had taken place with kaleidoscopic suddenness and Rance was clearly rattled. He felt foolish, and his annoyance deprived him of his usual control.
So when the next ball came over it was minus the usual “stuff” and Joe timed it perfectly,“leaned” against it with his mighty shoulders, and the ball started out like a bullet between right and center, rising as it went.
Maley and Hines cast one startled look at it and then turned and ran in the direction of the ball.
Joe had started at the crack of the bat and was down to first like a flash.As he rounded the bag he saw that the ball would clear the heads of the fielders. But he also saw that in all probability it would strike the low fence that separated the field from the bleachers and bound back, thus lessening the distance the fielders would have to run for it.
Out of the corner of his eye, as he turned second, he saw Maley setting himself to get the ball as it rebounded. He knew the power of Maley’s arm, who was famous for his long throws to the plate. Could he beat the ball on the throw in?
Now he was running as he had never run before. The wind whistled in his ears. He could hear the thunderous voices of the crowds, who had risen to their feet and were cheering like maniacs.
Jim had run out to the third base coaching line and was yelling encouragement at him.
“Come on, you Joe!” he shouted. “Come on, old man, come on!”
Joe rounded third and streaked it for the plate.
Down the stretch he tore. He seemed to be flying.
But the ball was flying, too, coming fast. He knew it by the shouts of the Brooklyn players, by the look in the eyes of Tighe, the catcher, as he set himself to receive it.
When within twenty feet of the plate, Joe launched himself in the air and slid. He heard the ball thud in Tighe’s mitt. He swung himself in a sweeping slide away from the catcher, his outstretched fingers touching the plate a fraction of a second before the ball was brought down upon him.
“Safe!” cried the umpire.