oing
to hurt!"

He shut his teeth, and, trying to keep away from his face the shadow of
pain, threw his fadeaway to Rad again.

The pain shot through his arm like a sharp knife.

"But I'll do it!" thought Joe, grimly.

CHAPTER XXV

IN NEW YORK

"That's good," called Rad, as he caught a swift one. "You'll do, Joe."

But only the young pitcher knew what an effort it was going to cost him
to stay in that game. And stay he must.

It was time for the Cardinals to take the field. The Phillies were two
runs ahead, and that lead must be cut down, and at least one more tally
made if the game were to be won.

"Can we do it?" thought Joe. He felt the pain in his arm, but he ground
his teeth and muttered: "I'm going to do it!"

The play started off with the new pitcher in the box. The news went
flashing over the telegraph wires from the reporters on the ground to
the various bulletin boards through the country, and to the newspaper
offices. Baseball Joe was pitching for the Cardinals.

But Joe was not thinking of the fame that was his. All he thought of was
the effort he must make to pitch a winning game.

Fortunately for him three of the weakest batters on the Phillies faced
him that inning. Joe knew it, and so did the catcher, for he did not
signal for the teasing fadeaway, for which Joe was very glad.

Joe tried a couple of practice balls, but he did not slam them in with
his usual force, at which the man in the mask wondered. He had not heard
of Joe's lame arm, and he reasoned that his partner was holding back for
reasons best known to himself.

"Ball one!" yelled the umpire when Joe had made his first delivery to
the batter. Joe winced, partly with pain, and partly because of the
wasted effort that meant so much to him.

"The next one won't be a ball!" he muttered fiercely. He sent in a
puzzling curve that enticed the batter.

"Strike one!"

"That's better!" yelled Boswell, from the coaching line. "Serve 'em some
more like that, Joe."

And Joe did. No one but himself knew the effort it cost him, but he kept
on when it was agony to deliver the ball. Perhaps he should not have
done it, for he ran the chance of injuring himself for life, and also
ran the chance of losing the game for his team.

But Joe was young--he did not think of those things. He just
pitched--not for nothing had he been dubbed "Baseball Joe."

"You're out!" snapped the umpire to the first batter, who turned to the
bench with