But it was very little that the Silver Stars could accomplish. Two men went down to inglorious defeat. The third knocked a nice single but died on first when the Red pitcher with seeming ease struck out the fourth batter. And it was not due so much that the visiting boxman had speed or curves, as to the fact that he could fool the batters with easy b.a.l.l.s.

"We seem to have struck a hoodoo," said Darrell in despairing tones as they took the field again. "Sam, our only hope is in you. Not a run for us this inning and they got two."

"They won't get any more!" declared Sam savagely.

He made good his boast, for not a man got beyond second, and of those who performed this feat there was but one. A big circle went up in the Red's frame for the ending of the first half of the seventh inning.

But the Silver Stars fared no better, and for the next inning the result was the same, neither side being able to score. The tally was three runs to two in favor of the visitors when the ninth inning opened.

The Silver Stars didn't like to think of that inning afterward. There were numerous errors, wild throws and m.u.f.fs. Joe let a ball slip through his fingers when by holding it he might have prevented a run, but it happened to hit on the cut place, and the agony was such that he let out an exclamation of pain.

But he was not the only one who sinned. Sam was "rotten," to quote Tom Davis, and "issued a number of pa.s.ses." One man got to first by virtue of being hit and when the inning was over there were three runs in the Red's box.

"Six to two against us," murmured Darrell. "It looks bad, fellows--it looks bad."

Joe was first up to the bat.

"Do you think you can hit?" asked the captain anxiously.

"Oh, yes. I can hold my little finger away from the bat and I'll be all right."

"Then hit for all you're worth," begged Darrell. "We need all we can get."

Joe clenched his teeth grimly and made up his mind he would not be fooled as he had been several times before.

The Red pitcher was smiling in a tantalizing way and Joe felt himself almost hating him for it.

"I'm going to hit you! I'm going to hit you!" he found himself murmuring over and over again in his mind.

And hit Joe did. The first delivery was a ball, but the second Joe knew was just where he wanted it. With all his force he swung at it and as he sped away toward first, with all the power of his legs he saw the horsehide sailing on a clean hit in a long, low drive over the centre fielder's head.

Joe heard the ball strike the farther fence and a wild hope came into his heart that he might make a home run.

"I'm going to do it! I'm going to do!" he whispered to himself as he turned first and sped like the wind for second base. Could he beat the ball in? That was what he was asking himself. That was what hundreds of frantic fans were asking themselves.

CHAPTER XII

DISCONTENT

"Leg it, Joe! Leg it!"

"Keep on! Keep on!"

"He can't get you in time!"

"A home run! A homer, old man!"

"Keep a-going! Keep a-going!"

These and other frantic appeals and bits of advice were hurled at Joe as he dashed madly on. He had a glimpse of the centre fielder racing madly after the ball, and then he felt for the first time that he really had a chance to make a home run. Still he knew that the ball travels fast when once thrown, and it might be relayed in, for he saw the second baseman running back to a.s.sist the centre fielder.

"But I'm going to beat it!" panted Joe to himself.

The grandstand and bleachers were now a ma.s.s of yelling excited spectators. There was a good attendance at the game, many women and girls being present, and Joe could hear their shrill voices mingling with the hoa.r.s.er shouts of the men and boys.

"Keep on! Keep on!" he heard yelled encouragingly at him.

"That's the stuff, old man!" shouted Darrell, who was coaching at the third base line.

"Shall I go in?" cried Joe as he turned the last bag.

Darrell took a swift glance toward the field. He saw what Joe could not.

The centre fielder instead of relaying in the ball by the second baseman (for the throw was too far for him), had attempted to get it to third alone. Darrell knew it would fall short.

"Yes! Yes!" he howled. "Go on in, Joe! Go on in!"

And Joe went.

Just as the manager had antic.i.p.ated, the ball fell short, and the pitcher who had run down to cover second had to run out of the diamond to get it. It was an error in judgment, and helped Joe to make his sensational run.

He was well on his way home now, but the pitcher had the ball and was throwing it to the catcher.

"Slide, Joe! Slide!" yelled Darrell above the wild tumult of the other players and the spectators.

Joe kept on until he knew a slide would be effective and then, dropping like a shot, he fairly tore through the dust, feet first, toward home plate. His shoes covered it as the ball came with a thud into the outstretched hands of the catcher.

"Safe!" yelled the umpire, and there was no questioning his decision.

"Good play!" yelled the crowd.

"That's the stuff, old man!" exclaimed Darrell, rushing up and clapping Joe on the back.

"A few more like that and the game will either go ten innings or we'll have it in the ice-box for ourselves," commented Captain Rankin gleefully.

But the hopes of the Silver Stars were doomed to disappointment. Try as the succeeding men did to connect with the ball, the best that could be knocked out was a single, and that was not effective, for the man who did it was caught attempting to steal second and two others were struck out.

That ended the game, Joe's solitary run being the only one tallied up, and the final score was three to six in favor of the Red Stockings.

"Three cheers for the Silver Stars!" called the captain of the successful nine and they were given with right good feeling.

"Three cheers for the Red Stockings," responded Darrell. "They were too much for us," and the cheers of the losers were none less hearty than those of their rivals.

"And three cheers for the fellow who made the home run!" added a Red Stocking player, and our hero could not help blushing as he was thus honored.