the outfield. I sat there listening to my men, and reveled in a moment
that I had long prayed for.

"Now you're pitching some, Rube. Another strike! Get him a board!"
called Ashwell.

"Ding 'em, Rube, ding 'em!" came from Capt. Spears.

"Speed? Oh-no!" yelled Bogart at third base.

"It's all off, Rube! It's all off--all off!"

So, with the wonderful pitching of an angry rube, the Worcester team
came into its own again. I sat through it all without another word;
without giving a signal. In a way I realized the awakening of the
bleachers, and heard the pound of feet and the crash, but it was the
spirit of my team that thrilled me. Next to that the work of my new
find absorbed me. I gloated over his easy, deceiving swing. I rose
out of my seat when he threw that straight fast ball, swift as a
bullet, true as a plumb line. And when those hard-hitting, sure
bunting Bisons chopped in vain at the wonderful drop, I choked back a
wild yell. For Rube meant the world to me that day.

In the eighth the score was 8 to 6. The Bisons had one scratch hit to
their credit, but not a runner had got beyond first base. Again Rube
held them safely, one man striking out, another fouling out, and the
third going out on a little fly.

Crash! Crash! Crash! Crash! The bleachers were making up for many
games in which they could not express their riotous feelings.

"It's a cinch we'll win!" yelled a fan with a voice. Rube was the
first man up in our half of the ninth and his big bat lammed the first
ball safe over second base. The crowd, hungry for victory, got to
their feet and stayed upon their feet, calling, cheering for runs. It
was the moment for me to get in the game, and I leaped up, strung like
a wire, and white hot with inspiration. I sent Spears to the coaching
box with orders to make Rube run on the first ball. I gripped McCall
with hands that made him wince.

Then I dropped back on the bench spent and panting. It was only a
game, yet it meant so much! Little McCall was dark as a thunder cloud,
and his fiery eyes snapped. He was the fastest man in the league, and
could have bunted an arrow from a bow. The foxy Bison third baseman
edged in. Mac feinted to bunt toward him then turned his bat inward
and dumped a teasing curving ball down the first base line. Rube ran
as if in seven-league boots. Mac's short legs twinkled; he went like
the wind; he leaped into first base with his long slide, and beat t