It was not Worcester's
day. The umpire could not see straight; the boys
grumbled and fought among themselves; Spears
roasted the umpire and was sent to the bench;
Bogart tripped, hurting his sore ankle, and had
to be taken out. Henderson's slow, easy ball
baffled my players, and when he used speed they
lined it straight at a Providence fielder.
In the sixth, after a desperate rally, we crowded
the bases with only one out. Then Mullaney's
hard rap to left, seemingly good for three bases,
was pulled down by Stone with one hand. It was
a wonderful catch and he doubled up a runner at
second. Again in the seventh we had a chance
to score, only to fail on another double play, this
time by the infield.
When the Providence players were at bat their
luck not only held good but trebled and
quadrupled. The little Texas-league hits dropped
safely just out of reach of the infielders. My boys
had an off day in fielding. What horror that of
all days in a season this should be the one for
them to make errors!
But they were game, and the Rube was the
gamest of all. He did not seem to know what
hard luck was, or discouragement, or poor support.
He kept everlastingly hammering the ball
at those lucky Providence hitters. What speed he
had! The ball streaked in, and somebody would
shut his eyes and make a safety.
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