keep my eyes closed. I opened them to
watch the Rube. I knew Spears felt the same as I, for he was blowing
like a porpoise and muttering to himself: "Mebee the Rube won't last
an' I've no one to put in!"

The Rube pitched with heavy, violent effort. He had still enough speed
to be dangerous. But after the manner of ball players Shultz and the
coachers mocked him.

"Take all you can," called Ellis to Shultz.

Every pitch lessened the Rube's strength and these wise opponents knew
it. Likewise the Rube himself knew, and never had he shown better head
work than in this inning. If he were to win, he must be quick. So he
wasted not a ball. The first pitch and the second, delivered breast
high and fairly over the plate, beautiful balls to hit, Shultz watched
speed by. He swung hard on the third and the crippled Ashwell dove for
it in a cloud of dust, got a hand in front of it, but uselessly, for
the hit was safe. The crowd cheered that splendid effort.

Carl marched to bat, and he swung his club over the plate as if he knew
what to expect. "Come on, Rube!" he shouted. Wearily, doggedly, the
Rube whirled, and whipped his arm. The ball had all his old glancing
speed and it was a strike. The Rube was making a tremendous effort.
Again he got his body in convulsive motion--two strikes! Shultz had
made no move to run, nor had Carl made any move to hit. These veterans
were waiting. The Rube had pitched five strikes--could he last?

"Now, Carl!" yelled Ellis, with startling suddenness, as the Rube
pitched again.

Crack! Carl placed that hit as safely through short as if he had
thrown it. McCall's little legs twinkled as he dashed over the grass.
He had to head off that hit and he ran like a streak. Down and forward
he pitched, as if in one of his fierce slides, and he got his body in
front of the ball, blocking it, and then he rolled over and over. But
he jumped up and lined the ball to Bogart, almost catching Shultz at
third-base. Then, as Mac tried to walk, his lame leg buckled under
him, and down he went, and out.

"Call time," I called to Carter. "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.