CHAPTER XXI

EVENING UP THE SCORE

When the gong rang, the Giants started out as though they were going to sew up the game then and there.

Burkett set the ball rolling with a wicked drive through the box that got past Roth before he could gauge it. Larry followed suit with a smoking hit to left. A prettily placed sacrifice bunt by Denton advanced both men a base. Roth struck out Willis on three pitched balls, but Becker came to the rescue with a line drive over second that scored Burkett easily, though Larry was put out as he made a great slide for the rubber.

The net result was only one run, but the most encouraging feature of the inning was the exhibition of free hitting.

“Three clean hits in one time at bat is going some,” Robson exulted.

“The boys seem to have their batting clothes on for fair,” responded McRae, vastly pleased.

“I doubt if that bird will come again for more,” judged “Robbie.” “They’ll probably take him out and put Fraser in.”

Joe was in fine fettle, and he showed his appreciation of the lead his mates had given him by retiring the Red Sox without a man seeing first base.

Contrary to Robson’s prediction, the Boston manager elected still to pin his faith to Roth, who tightened up after his bad start and for the next three innings held the Giants scoreless.

He was helped in this by the superb support given him. Both the outfield and infield were on their toes all the time, and drives that ordinarily would have gone for hits were turned into outs in dazzling fashion.

One magnificent catch by Thompson, the Red Sox catcher, was the feature of the fourth inning. Iredell, who was at bat, sent up a sky-piercing foul. Thompson, Hobbs and Roth started for it.

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it!” yelled Thompson.

The others stopped and Thompson kept on.

The ball swerved toward the Boston dugout, where the substitutes and extra pitchers of the team were sitting.

A shout of warning went up, but Thompson did not falter. With his eye on the ball and his hands outstretched, he plunged ahead.

He grabbed the ball in a terrific forward lunge and went head over heels into the dugout, where his comrades caught him and saved him from injury. But he still clutched the ball as he was put on his feet, and a tempest of applause went up in which even the Giants and their partisans could not help joining.

“Suffering cats!” exclaimed McRae. “That was a miracle catch.”

“Never saw a better one in all my years on the ball field,” Robson conceded generously.

Thompson was forced to remove his cap again and again before the crowds would stop their cheering, and the play put still greater stiffness into the Boston’s defence.

But they needed something more than a stone wall defence. They had a lead of one run to overcome, and at the rate Joe was mowing them down, this seemed a tremendous obstacle.

Joe had never felt in better form. He had superb control and had not yet issued a pass. His mastery of the ball seemed almost uncanny. It seemed to understand him and obeyed his slightest wish.

His speed was dazzling, and the ball zipped over the plate as though propelled by a gun.

“Why don’t you line it out?” growled the Boston manager, as one of his players came back discomfited to the bench.

“How can I hit ’em if I can’t see ’em,” the player grunted in excuse.

But Joe did not rely wholly upon speed. Every once in a while he mixed in a slow one that looked as big as a balloon as it sailed lazily toward the plate. But when the batter almost broke his back in reaching for it, the ball would drop suddenly beneath the bat and go plunk into the catcher’s mitt.

“If I only dared to pitch that boy in all the remaining games of the Series!” thought McRae to himself. “He’s just making monkeys of those fellows.”

For six full innings the score remained unchanged.

Then the storm broke, and a perfect deluge of hits rained from the Giants’ bats.

Becker began it by whaling out a terrific drive to center that netted three bases. Iredell followed with a one cushion jolt between second and short that scored Becker. Joe pumped one to center that was good for a base; and on the futile throw made to third to catch Iredell, Joe by fast running got as far as second. Mylert went out on an infield fly, but the burly Burkett clouted a screaming triple to right, scoring both of his mates while he rested, grinning, at third.

Pandemonium broke loose among the Giant rooters. Roth, at a signal from his manager, drew off his glove, and Landers took his place.

But the Giants were on a batting spree and would not be denied. Larry and Denton cracked out singles. Willis went out on a long fly to right, but Curry pounded out a two-bagger that cleared the bases. A moment later he was caught stealing third and the inning ended.

It had netted the Giants six runs, and they were now in the lead by seven to nothing.

“Talk about a Waterloo!” shouted Jim, as he fairly hugged Joe in his delight.

“What do you think they’re doing around the bulletin boards in New York just now?” Joe laughed happily.

He was about to pull on his glove to go into the box when McRae stopped him.

“I guess you’ve done enough for to-day, Joe,” he said. “I want to save that arm of yours all I can, and with the lead we’ve got now the game seems to be cinched. I’m going to put Markwith in for the rest of it.”

Markwith had few superiors when it came to working for a few innings. His arm was fresh, and his terrific speed carried him through, although he was scored on once in the ninth.

The Giants, “just for luck,” added two more runs in the remaining innings, and when they gathered up their bats at the end of the game the score was nine to one in the Giants’ favor.

“This is the end of a perfect day,” chanted Jim as the hilarious team hurried from the field.

“Not quite perfect,” objected Larry with a grin.

“Why, what more do you want, you old glutton?” put in Willis.

“I’d like to have made it a goose egg for the Sox,” responded Larry.

“Some folks never know when they have enough,” remarked Joe. “I’m not kicking a single bit. That was mighty sweet hitting the boys did to-day,” he added.

“And mighty sweet pitching, too,” returned Larry. “Don’t forget that.”

The train did not leave until 11:30 P. M.; so that they had ample time for leisurely preparation. Joe and Jim dined with their party, who were quite as joyous over the result of the game as themselves. After dinner the young men took a quiet little stroll with Mabel and Clara and returned about nine.

The girls had left them to make ready for their trip, when Joe was summoned to the telephone.

“Hello, Joe,” came over the wire. “This is McRae talking.”

“Why, hello, Mac,” Joe answered. “I didn’t recognize your voice at first.”

“The connection isn’t very good, I guess,” was the answer. “But listen, Joe. I want you to do me a favor.”

“Sure thing,” replied Joe promptly. “What is it?”