Miles, the kingpin pitcher of the Pirates, was in the box, and that he was at the top of his form was evident by the way he whipped the ball over the plate, setting down the heavy hitters at the head of the Giant batting order in jig time.
A murmur went through the crowd as Joe pulled on his glove and walked out to the box. All knew the indifferent way in which he had been going of late, and they had not expected to see him pitch in the first game of the series.
Perhaps a new thrill was in store for them, the novelty of seeing the greatest pitcher of the national game knocked out of the box. Was the superman of baseball at last to be dethroned?
The majority of them thought so. The Pirates themselves were of the same opinion. Many a time they had suffered at Baseball Joe’s hands. He had put them through the hoops, made them roll over and play dead. He had been the one invincible obstacle to their winning of the coveted pennant. Now that they had caught him at a supposed disadvantage, they promised themselves sweet revenge.
“Send him to the showers, boys,” adjured Elwood. “Now’s your chance. Give it to him good and plenty.”
Platz, the heavy-hitting left fielder of the Pirates, swaggered to the plate and set himself to begin the slaughter.
“Trot out your stock and let me look it over,” he said, with a grin. “That is,” he added, “if you’re able to get the ball up to the plate.”
The next instant the ball fairly whistled past him as it cut the plate. Platz was so startled at the swift response to his gibe that he did not even offer at it.
“Strike one!” cried the umpire.
“Did it get up there?” asked Joe mockingly as the ball was returned to him.
“It won’t get past me again,” retorted Platz.
He set himself for another fast one, but this time the ball just drifted up, looking as big as a balloon when it left Joe’s hand but as small as a pea as it neared the plate. Platz nearly broke his back reaching for it.
“Hope you didn’t strain yourself,” said Joe solicitously.
Platz flushed and took a firmer foothold. This time the ball sped in a line until it was within three feet of the rubber. Then it took a sudden hop and Platz struck four inches under it.
“You’re out!” barked the umpire.
“Yes,” laughed Joe, “we have no base hits to-day.”
Platz went back raging to the bench.
“Thought you said that fellow was all in,” he growled to his manager.
“Just a flash in the pan,” declared Elwood. “We’ll have him hollering for help before long.”
But Joe was not just then displaying any SOS signals. The next two men whiffed the air, as had their predecessor, and the hearts of the Pirates and their supporters sank into their boots as the third man in succession went out on strikes.
Robbie’s face was like a full moon and McRae was jubilant as Joe came in to the bench.
“Glory hallelujah!” exulted Robbie. “’Tis the same old Joe once more.”
“You can’t keep a squirrel on the ground!” exclaimed McRae. “That was demon pitching, Joe. But for the love of Pete, old boy, don’t throw your arm out.”
“No fear,” laughed Joe happily. “I feel as though I could pitch all day. I just wanted to throw a scare into them at the start.”
“You did that all right,” grinned Robbie. “Now throw another one into them by cracking out a homer.”
“I’ll do my best,” promised Joe, as he picked up his bat and started for the plate.
“Got any curves you want straightened out?” Joe asked of Miles as he faced him.
“Try to straighten out this one,” challenged Miles, as he put over a fast incurve between knee and waist.
Joe caught it full and square and the ball sailed out between right and center. The fielders took one look at it and threw up their hands. It soared into the center field bleachers, where one of the fans pocketed it as a souvenir of one of the longest and cleanest home run clouts ever made on Forbes Field.
Joe slackened up as soon as he rounded first and just jogged around the bases while the Pittsburgh players looked at each other in consternation. Was this the man who rumor had said was ready for the toboggan?
Joe dented the rubber and came in flushed and smiling to the Giants’ dugout, to be mauled and pounded by his rejoicing mates.
“Joe, old boy, you’re a wonder!” exclaimed Jim as he threw his arms about him. “Those birds are standing on their heads. They don’t know where they’re at.”
“I hope they’ll feel that way all through the nine innings,” laughed Joe.
“They will,” predicted Jim confidently. “It’s your day, old boy, and you won’t be denied. I watched you while you were in the box. You’ve got the same easy swing, the same perfect control, the same mastery of the batsman that you had in the early part of the season.”
That Jim was right was demonstrated as the game progressed. Never did Joe justify more fully his great reputation. He had his opponents swinging like a gate. In vain did they resort to bunting, to kicking at the umpire’s decisions, to trying to get hit by the ball. They were one of the heaviest hitting teams in the league, but in that game Joe made them look like bushers.
Inning after inning went by while the spectators watched breathlessly. Man after man of the Pirates went up to the bat, only to be turned back by Joe’s wizardry of arm and brain. He outpitched them and outguessed them. They were as helpless as babes.
Elwood stormed and raged at his men, but all to no purpose. He put in pinch hitters until his batting order looked like a crazy quilt. Joe did the pinching. They did no hitting.
Miles was doing excellent work, but compared with Joe’s it was like a tallow candle to an electric light. He kept his hits fairly well scattered, but every now and then a run came over the plate until the Giants had accumulated four tallies while the Pittsburghs’ column showed nothing but goose eggs.
Joe’s batting eye ran a close race with his pitching arm. Three times he came to the bat, and three times he knocked out homers. After that, Miles kept the ball out of his reach, to the disappointment even of the Pittsburgh crowd, who were rooting by this time for him to knock out another and equal the record of Delehanty’s that had stood for years—four homers in a single game.
When at last Joe called it a day and put out the last man on strikes that hostile crowd surrendered and there was a tempest of tumultuous cheers that could not have been surpassed on the Polo Grounds.
As for the Giants, they were simply in delirium.
Their pitching ace was still supreme, still the king of twirlers, the master of all the famous boxmen that had illuminated the history of the game.
Baseball Joe had come back!