It was a monster, and gave him the appearance of having a lumpy jaw. Here came Steinfeldt, stopping on the way just long enough to bite off a fresh chew of tobacco. There were Spuds on second and first, but both had been passed, and hits were so scarce the fans were getting blue. They still lacked one to tie and there were two men gone. All the Spuds had to show for their efforts were three hits and two runs. But Christy Mathewson, seemingly at his best once more, stood solidly in their path for seven long innings. The Spuds, working like beavers, hanging on like bulldogs, had battled brilliantly to overcome a handicap of three runs put upon them by Jack Taylor's lack of control in the opening round. It all occurred in the last half of the eighth. and before the Giants recovered from that awful jolt it was 6 to 3. He did much more than that, for his three bagger turned the race for the National league pennant into a good, comfortable gallop for the Spuds instead of a grueling, grinding finish, as it might have been, by reversing the score in an instant from 3 to 2 in New York's favor to 4 to 3 in Chicago's.
Harry Steinfeldt, with one mighty swing of his bat, turned the west side baseball shop from a dame, funereal place, fit for a coroner's inquest, into a shrieking madhouse of wildly dancing maniacs just before the close of the final battle between Chicago and New York yesterday. Hit Comes at Time When Defeat Stares Locals in Face Taylor Steady Under Fire.
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