"Matson!" cried the manager. "Has he----"

"Just a little soreness," said Boswell quickly, for that was all he
imagined it to be. He had not asked Joe how it happened, for which the
young pitcher was glad. "It'll be all right with a little more rubbing."
He knew Joe's hope, and wanted to do all he could to further it.

"All right. Announce Barter and Russell as the battery. And you look
after Matson; will you?"

"I sure will. I think Joe can pitch his head off if he gets the chance."

"I hope he doesn't lose his head," commented the manager grimly. "It's
going to be a hard game."

Which was the opinion of more than one that day.

Joe was taken in charge by Boswell, and in the clubhouse more attention
was given to the sore arm.

"How does it feel now?" asked the trainer, anxiously.

"Fine!" replied Joe, and really the pain seemed all gone.

"Then come out and warm up with me. You'll be needed, if I am any
judge."

To Joe's delight he found that he could send the ball in as swiftly as
ever, and with good aim.

"You'll do!" chuckled Boswell. "And just in time, too. There goes a home
run, and Barter's been hit so hard that we'll have to take him out."

It was the beginning of the third inning, and, sure enough, when it came
the turn of the Cardinals to bat, a substitution was made, and the
manager said:

"Get ready, Joe. You'll pitch the rest of the game."

Joe nodded, with a pleased smile, but, as he raised his arm to bend it
back and forth, a sharp spasm of pain shot through it.

"Whew!" whistled Joe, under his breath. "I wonder if the effects of that
liniment are wearing off? If they are, and that pain comes back, I'm
done for, sure. What'll I do?"

There was little time to think; less to do anything. Joe would not bat
that inning, that was certain. He took a ball, and, nodding to Rad, who
was not playing, went out to the "bull-pen."

"What's up?" asked Rad, cautiously.

"I felt a little twinge. I just want to try the different balls, and
find which I can deliver to best advantage to myself. You catch."

Rad nodded understandingly. To Joe's delight he found that in throwing
his swift one, the spitter, and his curves he had no pain. But his
celebrated fadeaway made him wince when he twisted his arm into the
peculiar position necessary to get the desired effect.

"Wow!" mused Joe. "I can't deliver that, it's a sure thing. Well, I'm
not going to back out now. I'll stay in as long as I can. But it's g