Once more he looked at it. Time was ticking on, and they still had several miles to go. The game must have been called by this time, and Joe was not there. He clenched his hands, and shut his teeth tightly.
"We'll do it--or bust!" declared Reggie.
His car was not a racer, but it was capable of good speed. He did not dare use all that was available, on account of the traffic. Many autos were taking spectators to the game, and they were in a hurry, too.
Amid dust clouds they sped on, the engine whining and moaning at the speed at which it was run. But it ran true and "sweet," with never a miss.
"They're playing now!" spoke Joe, in a low voice. In fancy he could hear the clang of the starting gong, and hear the umpire cry:
"Play ball!"
And he was not there!
"We'll do it!" muttered Reggie.
He tried to pass a big red car that, unexpectedly, swerved to one side.
Reggie, in desperation, as he saw a collision in prospect, whirled the steering wheel to one side. His car careened and almost went over. Joe clung to the seat and braced himself.
An instant later there was a sharp report, and the car, wobbling from side to side, shot up a grassy bank at the side of the road.
"A blow-out!" yelled Reggie, and then, as he managed to bring the car to a sudden stop, the vehicle settled over on one side, gently enough, tossing Joe out on the grass with a thud.
CHAPTER XXIX
A DIAMOND BATTLE
Confusion reigned supreme for a moment. Several autos that were passing stopped, and men and women came running up to be of assistance if necessary.
But neither Joe nor Reggie was hurt.
Slowly the young pitcher picked himself up, and gazed about in some bewilderment. For a moment he could not understand what had happened.
Then he saw Reggie disentangling himself from the steering wheel.
"Hurt?" asked Joe, anxiously.
"No. Are you?"
"Not a scratch."
"Rotten luck!" commented Reggie. "Now you'll never get to the game on time."
"Lucky you weren't both killed," commented an elderly autoist. "And your car isn't damaged to speak of. Only a tire to the bad. That grassy bank saved you."
"Yes," assented Reggie. "All she needs is righting, but by the time that's done it will be too late."
"Where were you going?" asked another man.
"To the game," answered Reggie.
"I'm on the Pittston team," said Joe. "I'm supposed to be there to pitch if I'm needed. Only--I won't be there," he finished grimly.
"Yes you will!" cried a man who had a big machine. "I'll take you both--that is, if you want to leave your car," he added to Reggie.
"Oh, I guess that will be safe enough. I'll notify some garage man to come and get it," was the reply.
"Then get into my car," urged the gentleman. "I've got plenty of room--only my two daughters with me. They'll be glad to meet a player--they're crazy about baseball--we're going to the game, in fact.
Get in!"
Escorted by the man who had so kindly come to their assistance, Joe and Reggie got into the big touring car.
The other autoists who had stopped went on, one offering to notify a certain garage to come and get Reggie's car. Then the young pitcher was again speeded on his way.
The big car was driven at almost reckless speed, and when Joe reached the ball park, and fairly sprang in through the gate, he was an hour late--the game was about half over.
Without looking at Gregory and the other players who were on the bench, Joe gave a quick glance at the score board. It told the story in mute figures.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 PITTSTON 0 0 0 0 CLEVEFIELD 1 0 2 3
It was the start of the fifth inning, and Pittston was at bat. Unless she had made some runs so far the tally was six to nothing in favor of Clevefield. Joe groaned in spirit.
"Any runs?" gasped Joe, as he veered over to the bench where his mates sat. He was short of breath, for he had fairly leaped across the field.
"Not a one," said Gregory, and Joe thought he spoke sharply. "What's the matter? Where have you been?"
Joe gaspingly explained. When he spoke of the slow watch he looked at Collin sharply. For a moment the old pitcher tried to look Joe in the face. Then his eyes fell. It was enough for Joe.
"He did it!" he decided to himself.
"How many out?" was Joe's next question.
"Only one. We have a chance," replied Gregory. "Get into a uniform as fast as you can and warm up."
"Are you going to pitch me?"
"I guess I'll have to. They've been knocking Collin out of the box."
Gregory said the last in a low voice, but he might as well have shouted it for it was only too well known. Collin himself realized it. He fairly glared at Joe.
As Joe hurried to the dressing room--his uniform fortunately having been left there early that morning--he looked at the bases. Bob Newton was on second, having completed a successful steal as Joe rushed in. Charlie Hall was at bat, and Joe heard the umpire drone as he went under the grandstand:
"Strike two!"
"Our chances are narrowing," thought Joe, and a chill seemed to strike him. "If we lose this game it practically means the loss of the pennant, and----"
But he did not like to think further. He realized that the money he had counted on would not be forthcoming.