and Kling scored, leaving men
on second and third bases. Still we had a Mongolian's chance with them
only one run ahead of us. Frank Chance, with his under jaw set like the
fender on a trolley car, caught a curved ball over the inside corner of
the plate and pushed it to right field for two bases. That was the most
remarkable batting performance I have ever witnessed since I have been in
the Big Leagues. A right-handed hitter naturally slaps a ball over the
outside edge of the plate to right field, but Chance pushed this one, on
the inside, with the handle of his bat, just over Tenney's hands and on
into the crowd. The hit scored Evers and Schulte and dissolved the game
right there. It was the "break." Steinfeldt fanned.

None of the players spoke to one another as they went to the bench. Even
McGraw was silent. We knew it was gone. Merkle was drawn up behind the
water cooler. Once he said:

"It was my fault, boys."

No one answered him. Inning after inning, our batters were mowed down by
the great pitching of Brown, who was never better. His control of his
curved ball was marvellous, and he had all his speed. As the innings
dragged by, the spectators lost heart, and the cowbells ceased to jingle,
and the cheering lost its resonant ring. It was now a surly growl.

Then the seventh! We had our one glimmer of sunshine. Devlin started with
a single to centre, and McCormick shoved a drive to right field. Recalling
that Bridwell was more or less of a pinch hitter, Brown passed him
purposely and Doyle was sent to the bat in my place. As he hobbled to the
plate on his weak foot, said McGraw:

"Hit one, Larry."

The crowd broke into cheers again and was stamping its feet. The bases
were full, and no one was out. Then Doyle popped up a weak foul behind the
catcher. His batting eye was dim and rusty through long disuse. Kling went
back for it, and some one threw a pop bottle which narrowly missed him,
and another scaled a cushion. But Kling kept on and got what he went
after, which was the ball. He has a habit of doing that. Tenney flied to
Schulte, counting Devlin on the catch, and Tinker threw out Herzog. The
game was gone. Never again did we have a chance.

It was a glum lot of players in the clubhouse. Merkle came up to McGraw
and said:

"Mac, I've lost you one pennant. Fire me before I can do any more harm."

"Fire you?" replied McGraw. "We ran the wrong way of the track to-day.
That's all. Next year is another se