“We’ll have to hold ’em,” said the captain glumly. “We get one more chance.”
Randall went into the pitcher’s box amid a storm of cheers from the Fardale bleachers. The Southerner realized that he had been outclassed, but he was resolutely trying to hold his self-control.
“All right, Randall!” cried Crockett. “We’re all with you, old man!”
“Yah, ve vos all mit you,” piped up Villum. “But I vish dot Merry vos mit us, like plazes!”
As the first Franklin man came up, Fardale redoubled its cheers. It was the first of the ninth. If Franklin could be held to its four runs, there was still a slim chance that Peters might be pounded in the next half. But every one admitted that the chance was too slim to be hoped for. Peters had everything.
The batter fell on Randall’s first ball, and cracked out a neat single. The next batter tried for a sacrifice, but he was unable even to put himself out. The ball rolled down to third, and the third baseman made a wild throw to first. Both men were safe, and the Franklin cheers redoubled.
It was too much for Randall. In his anger he sent a fast one at the plate, and Peters himself landed on it. The ball streaked down toward first, but the unhappy substitute, playing Clancy’s position, muffed it. By the time he got through booting it around, the bases were filled, not a man was out, and Franklin seemed fated to run up a tremendous score.
The next man advanced to the plate with a wide grin at Randall. The heavy end of Franklin’s batting order was up. At this instant, however, a shrill yell ascended from the gate.
The yell rose to a roar. Men rose in the bleachers, stamping and waving their hats. Every one knew of Merriwell’s unexplained absence. Randall went white, and would have delivered the ball had not the umpire stopped him.
Across the field careered a dust-white _Hornet_, with three uniformed figures clinging to it. Ted Crockett turned with a wild yell as Clancy drew up behind third.
“Get in the game!” he shouted. “Merry, pitch! Take first, Clan! Catch, Billy!”
A renewed storm of yells swept the field as the sudden shift of players was comprehended. Randall, white-faced, tried to protest, but Crockett waved him off the field. The three friends had made shift to don their uniforms as they rode into town, not without difficulty. Coming through the village they had heard how the game was going, and had hastened on to the field.