CHAPTER XXIV
A CRUSHING BLOW
The play had been so swift that the eye could scarcely follow the ball,and it was a few seconds before the majority of the spectators couldgrasp what had happened.
Then a tremendous shout went up that rolled across the field inincreasing volume as the crowds realized that they had seen what wouldprobably never be seen again in a single game. They had seen the NewYork team break its own record for straight wins, and in addition theyhad witnessed that rarest of pitching exploits, a no-hit game. Not evena scratch hit had marred Joe's wonderful performance, nor had he givena single base on balls. It was a red-letter day for the Giants and forJoe, and the people who had been there would talk about that game foryears.
If any one should have been elated by the marvelous result of thatday's work, it was Joe. He had never stood on a higher pinnacle,except perhaps when he had won the last game of the World Seriesthe preceding year. He was more than ever a hero in the eyes of thebaseball public of New York, and within five minutes after the gamewas over the wires had flashed the news to every city of the country.But despite his natural pride in his achievement and his pleasure inknowing that he had won this critical game for his team, it was a verysubdued and worried Joe that hurried to the clubhouse after the gamewas over. There his mates gathered, in the seventh heaven of delight,and there was a general jubilee, in which McRae and Robson joined.
"We did it, we did it!" cried Robbie, bouncing about like a rubber ballin his excitement. "We broke the record! Twenty-seven games in a row!"
"Where do you get that 'we' stuff, you old porpoise," grinned McRae,poking him jovially in the ribs. "Seems to me that Joe had something todo with it. Put it there, Matson," he went on, extending his hand. "Youpitched a game that will go down in baseball history and you saved ourwinning streak from going up in smoke."
Joe put out his left hand, and McRae looked a little surprised. Thenhe glanced down at Joe's right hand, and a look of consternation sweptover his face.
"Great Scott!" he cried. "What's the matter with your hand? It'sswelled to twice its usual size."
"GREAT SCOTT!" HE CRIED. "WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH YOURHAND?"]
"It was that drive of Bemis', I guess," replied Joe. "When I nabbed it,I seemed to feel something crack in the hand. Perhaps, though, it'sonly strained. It will probably be all right by to-morrow."
"To-morrow!" roared McRae, as all crowded around anxiously. "There'llbe no waiting till to-morrow. That hand is worth a half million dollarsto the New York club, to say nothing of its worth to yourself. Where'sthe trainer? Where's the doctor? Jump, some of you fellows, and getthem here quick!"
There was a general scurrying around, and in a few minutes both ofthose men were examining the injured hand with the greatest solicitude.They looked grave when they had finished.
"It's hard to tell just what has happened until the swelling has beenreduced," pronounced the doctor, as he busied himself with splints andlotions. "I'm afraid, though, that it's more than a sprain. When itswells as much as that it generally means that a bone has been broken."
There was a general groan.
"That means, does it, that he will be out of the game for the rest ofthe season?" asked McRae, in notes of despair.
"Oh, I wouldn't say that," the doctor hastened to reassure him. "It maybe only a trifling fracture, and in that case he will have to be outonly for a short time. But for the next few weeks anyway, he isn'tlikely to do any more pitching."
"Who's the best specialist in New York?" demanded McRae.
The doctor named a surgeon of national reputation.
"'Phone him to come at once," commanded McRae. "Or, better yet, Joe,you'd better come right with me now. My car's outside and I'll get youup there in fifteen minutes. Every minute counts now."
Joe hurriedly finished dressing, and McRae bundled him into hisautomobile. It was a speedy machine, and it was to be feared that thetraffic laws were not strictly observed as it made its way downtown.But the traffic policemen all knew McRae and Joe, and there was nothingto prevent their getting to their destination in record time.
A telephone call from the clubhouse had already notified the eminentsurgeon that the pair were coming, and he was waiting for them. Withouta moment's delay, they were ushered into his inner office, where hestripped off the bandages from the hand and made a thorough examination.
"There is a small dislocation," he said when he had finished. "But Ithink it will yield readily to treatment. It will not be a permanentinjury, and in a little while the hand will be as good as ever."
Both drew a sigh of immense relief.
"A little while," repeated McRae. "Just what do you mean by that,Doctor? You know we're fighting for the pennant, and we're depending onthis king pitcher of ours more than on any one else to win out. Everyday he's out of the race weakens our chances."
"I can't tell that definitely until to-morrow morning," the doctorreplied. "But offhand I should say for two or three weeks at least."
"Two or three weeks!" repeated McRae in tones of mingled dismay andrelief. "In those two or three weeks we may lose the flag. But thankheaven it's no worse."
After making an appointment for the next morning, McRae drove Joe tohis hotel.
"It's bad enough, Joe," he said to him in parting. "I don't know howwe're going to spare you while we're in the thick of the fight. Butwhen I think of what it would mean to the team if you were knocked outaltogether, I've got no kick coming. We're ahead of the Pittsburghsnow, anyway, thanks to your splendid work, and if we can just hold ourown till you get back, we'll pull out all right yet."
Joe found Jim waiting for him, full of anxiety and alarm. But his facelighted up when he learned that the injury was not a permanent one.
"It would have been a mighty sight better to have lost the gameto-day than to have bought it at such a price," he said. "But afterall, nothing matters as long as your hand is safe. That hand is yourfortune."
"To-day was my unlucky day," remarked Joe ruefully, as he looked at hisbandaged hand.
"In one sense it was," replied Jim, "but in another it wasn't. To-dayyou hung up a record. You saved the Giants' winning streak and youpitched a no-hit game!"