CHAPTER XXVI
A SORE ARM
Yale won the toss and chose to go to the bat last--always an advantageit seems--so Joe had to go on the mound as soon as practice wasconcluded. The usual practice of the home team batting last did notprevail on this occasion.
The stands were filled with a mass of spectators, in which pretty girlsseemed to predominate. At least Joe assumed that they were pretty forthey had escorts who looked on them with eyes that seemed to bearwitness to this designation. Many of them were "stunning," to quote DeVere, who took a position in the outfield during practice.
"Just so he could be nearer some of the girls," declared Jimmie Lee, whohad the reputation of being a "woman hater."
"Some crowd," remarked Joe to Spike.
"Yes, and a good one, too," declared Joe's room-mate. "It isn't allhowling for Yale blood. There are a lot of old grads. here to-day, aswell as a lot of army men, and we've got our friends with us. You'vegot to play for all you're worth."
"I intend to," declared Joe, "but----"
"Now there you go!" interrupted his chum. "Getting doubtful of yourself.Stop it, I tell you! Just make up your mind that you're going to makegood and you will. These fellows are only human, and, though they've gotthe game down to a fine point, and play together like machinery, onaccount of their drill practice, yet baseball is always uncertain. Yaleluck is bound to turn up sooner or later."
"It had better be sooner then," remarked Joe, with a grim smile. "Twodefeats, hand running, would about put me out of business. I'd resign."
"Nonsense!" declared Spike. "You can make good all right. Remember thatWeston is just hankering for a chance to displace you, so don't give itto him. Hold on to the mound."
"I intend to. And yet I heard something that set me thinking," and Joerelated what he had inadvertently listened to, adding:
"I may be taken out after two innings."
"Not much!" declared Spike emphatically. "I see what's going on. Westonis trying to work his society pull and get the trainers to pitch him.The cad!"
"Well, I can't find the heart to blame him," said Joe, softly.
"I can," snapped Spike. "He's putting himself above the team."
"Well, maybe it will all come out right," said Joe, but his tone did notsupport his words, for he ended with a doleful sigh.
"Oh, you get out!" cried Spike cheerfully. "You've got the losingbugaboo in a bad form. Cheer up--the worst is yet to come."
"Yes, a defeat," murmured Joe, and then Spike hit him such a thump inthe back that the pitcher had to gasp to recover his breath, and indoing so he forgot some of his gloomy thoughts.
The practice went on over the field, until the umpire called thecaptains together for the final conference, and an agreement on theground rules. These were adjusted satisfactorily, and once more theinspiring cry rang out:
"Play ball!"
"Get 'em over, Joe," advised Shorty Kendall, as the young pitcher walkedout to his place. "Shoot 'em in good and hard, but keep 'em over theplate. I know this umpire. He's fair, but he's careful. You'll have towork for all the strikes you get."
"And I'm willing to," declared Joe.
Somehow his confidence was coming back, and as he caught the new ballwhich the umpire tossed to him, he felt that he could pitch as he neverhad before. He was aware of the scowling glance of Weston, who sat onthe bench, and, as Joe stooped over to rub some dirt on the ball, torender it less slippery, he wondered if the deposed pitcher had somanaged to "pull strings" as to gain his end.
"Anyhow, I'll pitch as long as I can," thought Joe with grimdetermination.
The game started. There was nothing remarkable about it, at least atfirst, so I shall not weary you with details of the strikes, balls, thesliding for bases, the decisions, and the runs. Sufficient to say thatat first neither side could score. Joe and the rival pitcher were ingood form, and, aside from scattering hits, which were usually only goodfor a single bag, little was done.
For four innings neither side scored a run, though on one decision ofthe umpire, when Joe came sliding home on a sacrifice by Jimmie Lee, andwas called out, there was a howl of protest.
"Robber!"
"Blind man!"
"He was safe by a yard!"
"Don't give it!" were some of the mildest epithets and expressions ofopinion hurled at the umpire.
"Hold on! That isn't Yale's way," said the captain quietly. "It's allright," and the decision stood, though had it been otherwise it wouldhave meant a run for Yale.
And so the game went on until the eighth inning, which put West Pointone run ahead. There was excitement on the part of the army and itssupporters, for in the last half of it Yale had been unable to score,and it looked as if she might lose.
"We've got to get 'em!" declared Captain Hatfield grimly, as he and hismen took the field for the beginning of the ninth. "Don't let one getpast you, Joe, and then we'll bat out two runs."
The young pitcher nodded, but he did not smile. He was a little in doubtof himself, for there was a strange numb feeling in his right arm, andhe knew that the muscles were weakening. He had worked himself to thelimit, not only in this game, but the one with Harvard, and now he beganto pay the penalty.
Once or twice as he wound up to deliver he felt a sharp twinge thatalarmed him. He had not asked to have one of the professional rubberswith the team massage him, for fear the rumor would get out that Yale'spitcher was weakening. So he bore it as best he could. But his arm wassore.
Joe had struck out one man, and then he was found for a two-bagger. Thisman was a notorious base stealer and managed to get to third, while theplayer following him, who was the heaviest hitter on the team, had beenpassed by Joe on a signal from the captain, who did not want to takechances.
"He's afraid!" came the taunt, and Joe was beginning to get nervous,especially as his pain increased.
With two on bases, and only one out, Joe saw come to the bat a man whowas an expert bunter. He could lay the ball almost anywhere he wantedto, and our hero realized that he was in for a bad few minutes. It wouldnot do to walk another. He must get this man.
What he had feared came to pass. The player bunted and the ball camelazily rolling toward the pitcher. Joe and Kendall started for it, andthen Joe yelled:
"I'll get it--go back!"
He felt himself slipping on a pebble, but recovered with a wrench thatstrained his sore arm. With an effort he managed to get the ball. Heknew that if he threw it from the unnatural and disadvantageous positionhe had assumed in recovering it, he would make his sore arm worse. Butthere was no help for it.
The man on third had started for home. Joe, with a mighty effort, threwto Kendall, who caught it and tagged his quarry.
"Out!" called the umpire. One run was saved.
Then, like a flash the catcher threw to third, for the man who had beenon first, having reached second, rather imprudently tried for anotherbag. He was tagged there by as neat a double play as could be desired,and the West Pointers had finished, with but the one run to theiradvantage.
"We need one to tie and two to win," exclaimed Shorty to Joe, as hetossed his big mitt into the air. "Why," he added, "what's the matterwith your arm?" for he saw it hanging down limp.
"A strain," replied Joe shortly. "I'm all right."
"You are not! McLeary must look at you. We'll play somebody else thisinning. You go get rubbed." And Joe was glad enough to do so.