Mount Placid, and Greenwood too, was cheering lustily now, and the coachers were adding their turmoil to the total of sound. With two strikes and one ball on Smith, Porter let down and handed out a base. With a man on first and second, Walters flied out to Mr. Gifford, who held the runners. Then Mr. Connell, one of the councillors, and third baseman, found Porter for a long fly into right, which George Meldrum badly misjudged, and two runs trickled across. Mr. Connell took third on the throw-in. Mr. Phillips scored him a minute later when he landed a Texas Leaguer behind first base. There was still but one out. Sam walked down and whispered to Porter. He had nothing to say to the pitcher, for George was pitching coolly and well, but he seemed to be planning all sorts of strategies, and The Wigwam cheered and the rivals indulged in the usual humourous remarks held sacred to such occasions: “That’s right, talk it over!” “Let’s all hear it!” “I’ll bet it’s a good story!” “They’re changing the signals. It’s all up now!” “Play ball, Wigwam! Tell him about it afterwards!”
Mr. York cautioned Sam that he was taking too much time, and Sam, nodding untroubledly, donned his mask again and stooped behind Hanford, the Mount Placid catcher. Hanford liked a low ball and Sam saw that he didn’t get one. A strike, breast-high, went over. Then an out-shoot that might have been a strike or ball, and was judged by the umpire as the latter. Then another ball, much too high. Then a waister, that the batter struck at and missed, was followed by a foul. Sam, pulling his mask down again, laid one finger against the back of his big mitt. Porter rubbed the back of his head reflectively and, had anyone been regarding Steve Brown attentively, he would have seen that player turn slightly toward second base. Then Porter stepped forward and the ball whizzed to the plate. It was one of George’s fast, straight ones, and, while it actually crossed the centre of the plate lower than Sam wanted it to, it did the business. Hanford swung too late and missed it by inches. It thumped into Sam’s glove, was plucked forth instantly and sent, fast and true, to second. Steve was already awaiting it. Almost with one motion he caught the throw, knee-high, and swept the ball to the left. Mr. Phillips, sliding feet-first, was out by a yard! And some thirty blue-shirted youths cheered and capered!