Grim and pale he faced them. At every long step
and swing he tossed his shock of light hair. At
the end he was even stronger than at the beginning.
He still had the glancing, floating airy
quality that baseball players call speed. And he
struck out the last three batters.

In the tumult that burst over my ears I sat
staring at the dots on my score card. Fourteen
strike outs! one scratch hit! No base on balls
since the first inning! That told the story which
deadened senses doubted. There was a roar in
my ears. Some one was pounding me. As I struggled
to get into the dressing room the crowd
mobbed me. But I did not hear what they yelled.
I had a kind of misty veil before my eyes, in
which I saw that lanky Rube magnified into a
glorious figure. I saw the pennant waving, and
the gleam of a white cottage through the trees,
and a trim figure waiting at the gate. Then I
rolled into the dressing room.

Somehow it seemed strange to me. Most of the
players were stretched out in peculiar convulsions.
Old Spears sat with drooping head. Then
a wild flaming-eyed giant swooped upon me. With
a voice of thunder he announced:

``I'm a-goin' to lick you, too!''