"I'm not going to admit that we'll lose," and Joe gritted his teeth.
"We're going to win."
Quickly he changed into his uniform, and while he was doing it the stand above him fairly shook with a mighty yell.
"Somebody's done something!" cried Joe aloud. "Oh, if I was only there to see!"
The yelling continued, and there was a sound like thunder as thousands of feet stamped on the stand above Joe's head.
"What is it? What is it?" he asked himself, feverishly, and his hands trembled so that he could hardly tie the laces of his shoes.
He rushed out to find the applause still continuing and was just in time to see Charlie Hall cross the rubber plate.
"He must have made a home run! That means two, for he brought in Bob!"
thought Joe.
He knew this was so, for, a moment later he caught the frantic shouts:
"Home-run Hall! Home-run Hall!"
"Did you do it, old man?" cried Joe, rushing up to him.
"Well, I just _had_ to," was the modest reply. "I'm not going to let you do all the work on this team."
Gregory was clapping the shortstop on the back.
"Good work!" he said, his eyes sparkling. "Now, boys, we'll do 'em! Get busy, Joe. Peters, you take him off there and warm up with him."
Charlie had caught a ball just where he wanted it and had "slammed" it out into the left field bleachers for a home run. It was a great effort, and just what was needed at a most needful time.
Then the game went on. Clevefield was not so confident now. Her pitcher, really a talented chap, was beginning to be "found."
Whether it was the advent of Joe, after his sensational race, or whether the Pittston players "got onto the Clevefield man's curves," as Charlie Hall expressed it, was not quite clear. Certainly they began playing better from that moment and when their half of the fifth closed they had three runs to their credit. The score was
PITTSTON 3 CLEVEFIELD 6
"We only need four more to win--if we can shut them out," said Gregory, as his men took the field again. He sat on the bench directing the game.
"Go to it, Joe!"
"I'm going!" declared our hero, grimly.
He realized that he had a hard struggle ahead of him. Not only must he allow as few hits as possible, but, with his team-mates, he must help to gather in four more tallies.
And then the battle of the diamond began in earnest.
Joe pitched magnificently. The first man up was a notoriously heavy hitter, and Joe felt tempted to give him his base on balls. Instead he nerved himself to strike him out if it could be done. Working a cross-fire, varying it with his now famous fade-away ball, Joe managed to get to two balls and two strikes, both the latter being foul ones.
He had two more deliveries left, and the next one he sent in with all the force at his command.
The bat met it, and for an instant Joe's heart almost stopped a beat.
Then he saw the ball sailing directly into the hands of Charlie Hall.
The man was out.
Joe did not allow a hit that inning. Not a man got to first, and the last man up was struck out cleanly, never even fouling the ball.
"That's the boy!" cried the crowd as Joe came in. "That's the boy!"
His face flushed with pleasure. He looked for Collin, but that player had disappeared.
The rest of that game is history in the Central League. How Pittston rallied, getting one run in the sixth, and another in the lucky seventh, has been told over and over again.
Joe kept up his good work, not allowing a hit in the sixth. In the seventh he was pounded for a two-bagger, and then he "tightened up," and there were no runs for the Clevefields.
They were fighting desperately, for they saw the battle slipping away from them. Pittston tied the score in the eighth and there was pandemonium in the stands. The crowd went wild with delight.
"Hold yourself in, old man," Gregory warned his pitcher. "Don't let 'em get your goat. They'll try to."
"All right," laughed Joe. He was supremely happy.
There was almost a calamity in the beginning of the ninth. Pittston's first batter--Gus Harrison--struck out, and there was a groan of anguish. Only one run was needed to win the game, for it was now evident that the Clevefield batters could not find Joe.
George Lee came up, and popped a little fly. The shortstop fumbled it, but stung it over to first. It seemed that George was safe there, but the umpire called him out.
"Boys, we've got a bare chance left," said Gregory. "Go to it."
And they did. It was not remarkable playing, for the Clevefields had put in a new pitcher who lost his nerve. With two out he gave Joe, the next man, his base. Joe daringly stole to second, and then Terry Hanson made up for previous bad work by knocking a three-bagger. Joe came in with the winning run amid a riot of yells. The score, at the beginning of the last half of the ninth:
PITTSTON 7 CLEVEFIELD 6
"Hold 'em down, Joe! Hold 'em down!" pleaded Gregory.
And Joe did. It was not easy work, for he was tired and excited from the auto run, and the close call he had had. But he pitched magnificently, and Clevefield's last record at bat was but a single hit.
No runs came in. Pittston had won the second game of the pennant series by one run. Narrow margin, but sufficient.
And what rejoicing there was! Joe was the hero of the hour, but his ovation was shared by Charlie Hall and the others who had done such splendid work. Pop Dutton did not play, much to his regret.
"Congratulations, old man," said the Clevefield manager to Gregory.
"That's some little pitcher you've got there."
"That's what we think."
"Is he for sale?"
"Not on your life."
"Still, I think you're going to lose him," went on Clevefield's manager.
"How's that?" asked Gregory in alarm.
The other whispered something.