The Rube insisted on pitching Monday's game
against the Torontos, and although poor fielding
gave them a couple of runs, they never had a
chance. They could not see the ball. The Rube
wrapped it around their necks and between their
wrists and straight over the plate with such
incredible speed that they might just as well have
tried to bat rifle bullets.
That night I was happy. Spears, my veteran
captain, was one huge smile; Radbourne quietly
assured me that all was over now but the shouting;
all the boys were happy.
And the Rube was the happiest of all. At the
hotel he burst out with his exceeding good
fortune. He and Nan were to be married upon the
Fourth of July!
After the noisy congratulations were over and
the Rube had gone, Spears looked at me and I
looked at him.
``Con,'' said he soberly, ``we just can't let him
get married on the Fourth.''
``Why not? Sure we can. We'll help him get
married. I tell you it'll save the pennant for us.
Look how he pitched today! Nan Brown is our
salvation!''
``See here, Con, you've got softenin' of the
brain, too. Where's your baseball sense? We've
got a pennant to win. By July Fourth we'll be
close to the lead again, an' there's that three
weeks' trip on the road, the longest an' hardest
of the season. We've just got to break even on
that trip.
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