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20
ball ”
Joe touched the captain on the
shoulder cautiously. “See, here,
Jim, let me try once,” he said.
“Try what?” the captain shot
the words a* him like bullets.
“Well.” said Joe, “it aint going
to hurt now ; they have it all their
own wav anyhow. Let me pitch
one inning?”
The captain mopped the persp
iration from his forehead and
laughed in derision. “Them guys
has got enough on us now, with
out putting you out there to make
more fun for them,” he said.
Joe insisted. “It ain’t goin’ to
hurt nothing,” he said
“Well,” said Blakesly, the first-
baseman, “the game’s lost anyway ;
if we can’t win the game, let’s
have a little fun. Send him out.”
The captain suddenlv pushed
Joe. “Go to it,” he said curtly.
That was why, like the helmet
of King Henry of Navarre, Joe’s
head suddenly flamed in the pre
sence of the bleachers. Catterwails
commenced. One sarcastic young
sinner yelled, “Turn on the hose” ;
another said, “Johnson will now
deliver his famous fadeaway and
spit-bail combined.”
It was the beginning of the seven
th inning. Joe stood like Gibraltar,
while the fusilade of howls rol’ea
harmlessly off of him.
The score stood-Carletown, two;
Jonesboro, t welve ; Jonesboro at
the bac.
“Play ball,” said the umpire.
With a sprightly step, one of Jones
boro’s best batters took his position
at the plate; the fielders went far
ther out. Joe stood for an instant
teetering on his toes, then twisted
in three directions simultaneously
as it seemed, and delivered the
ball. The batter nearly dislocated
his spinal column in a fierce swing,
and then looked dazed as the b ill
curved cut without being touched.
“Strike one,” said the umpire.
The dawning of a great hope came
into the face of the Jonesboro cap
tain, and he rubbed his head as if
he thought he was dreaming. A
roar swelled up from the rooters
Then the confident air of the batter
returned; he adjusted himself with
alacrity. Joe went through the
second series of contortions. The
ball left his hand. The batter reach
ed far out and swung the bat with
a savage motion, but it was a major
league in-curve and the umpire
called sharply, “Strike t wo.” Then ]
pandemonium broke loose; sounds
like a steam caliope began; the
Jonesboro captain turned three
handsprings without stopping. Still
it might be accidental, and the
crowd watched almost breathless
while Joe introduced a new gyra
tion and sent in a “fadeaway”
ball that bewildered the batter the
third time, and he slammed the
bat down vehemently as the umpire
said. “Three strikes.” After this
crowning event of the day, long to
be remembered, Jonesboro got the
batting punch in them under this
I new inspiration, broke down the
Carletown pitcher’s guard, and
multiplied runs. Joe, with unfail
ing regularity and many new dis
tortions of his anatomy, placed
many unhitable balls around the
Carletown batters that they had
never dreamed could come from
any pitcher’s box. The air palpi
tated with the intensity of the
feeling The mayor of the town,
who was an interested spectator,
absent-mindedly put the lighted
end of his cigar down the neck of a
fat man who was too excited to
notice it.
It wa« the ninth inning, the score
stood, Jonesbore twelve; Carle
town twelve. It was the last half
of the inning; Carletown at the
bat. The third pitcher of the Jones
boro team, their last and only hope
was in the box. He steadied him
self and mystified the batters. Two
were struck out; the moment was
tense. Joe went to the bat. per
spiration streaked his neck ; his
shirt was saturated ; there were no
cat-calls now. But a single cry
rent the air, “You got to be a
life boat now, boy, and bring them
in.” Joe swung viciously at a slow
curve “Strike one.” said the
umpire Then the ball came in like
a projectile from a German forty-
two centimetre gun. The bat flew
out of Joe’s hand as he lunged at it
and missed. “Strike two,” said
the umpire. Joe grinned grimly
and spat on his hands and look a
death hold on the bat. The pitcher
smiled self-cotnpiacently. Jones
bore hitched up its belt and looked
pleased. The pitcher side stepped
and let the ball go. There was a
sound like an automatic going-off.
The center-fielder started to run
backward, looking upas he went,
but he could not look over the fence,
and that was where the “life boat”
THOUGHT
Has it ever struck you how your
thoughts have to do with you r
actions. If we, one and all, gave
more of our attentions to the
thoughts within us many a misdeed
would never have been perpetrated.
By this, of course, 1 mean the right
kind of attention; the kind that
prompts for good, the kind that
can see evil in all its hideousness
before a deed of wrong is brought
to a head. This is the kind of
attention we need in order to hold
ourselves in check.
When one is about to commit
crime, whether it be against the
laws of God or man ; he must
think of a necessity plan ahead.
Here, then is where attention
should be called—reason be used.
How much of misery would be
avoided if this advice were follow
ed? How much sorrow be elimin
ated from our lives? Undoubtedly
a great deal. Why, then, should
we not use this power, it is ours by
Divine right ; the opportunity to
use it is just as much under our
influence as is the opportunity to
blind ourselves to its blessing.
In a word, can be explained the
reason—why we do not practice it,
we submerge attention, we give
ear to everything but the still voice
of conscienc, we blind ourselves to
the good ana see pleasure only in
that which is evil, There is but one
inevitable result—vve suffer.
There is but one solution, we
must think ; we must look before
we leap, and in so doing avoid the
abysmal depths of depair and sor
row. —Mack in O P. News.
had landed the ball. Joe went like
an automobile from base to base,
and tore a section out of his iron
sers as he slid into the home plate
with the winning score.
No greater day than that has ever
been known in the history of Carl
etown. Joe had arrived; the town
was his. As a matter of fact, as one
of its leading business men, he to
day owns some part of it f and still
keeps his 1 ice set toward the goal
that God fixed for him m the
beginning, and presses through
the innings of life as one who
confidently expects an >ust to
make u heavenly home-run.
Can You Imagine A Time When Th* Cifire* WiD A Thing of The P*tt7—W #
