``McCall is
done. . . . Myers, you go to left an' for Lord's
sake play ball!''
Stringer and Bogart hurried to Mac and, lifting
him up and supporting him between them
with his arms around their shoulders, they led
him off amid cheers from the stands. Mac was
white with pain.
``Naw, I won't go off the field. Leave me on
the bench,'' he said. ``Fight 'em now. It's our
game. Never mind a couple of runs.''
The boys ran back to their positions and Carter
called play. Perhaps a little delay had been helpful
to the Rube. Slowly he stepped into the box
and watched Shultz at third and Carl at second.
There was not much probability of his throwing
to catch them off the base, but enough of a
possibility to make them careful, so he held them
close.
The Rube pitched a strike to Manning, then
another. That made eight strikes square over the
plate that inning. What magnificent control! It
was equaled by the implacable patience of those
veteran Bisons. Manning hit the next ball as
hard as Carl had hit his. But Mullaney plunged
down, came up with the ball, feinted to fool Carl,
then let drive to Gregg to catch the fleeting Shultz.
The throw went wide, but Gregg got it, and, leaping
lengthwise, tagged Shultz out a yard from the
plate.
One out. Two runners on bases. The bleachers
rose and split their throats.
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