Amesville howled with disappointment and, in the ardour of the moment, jeered Sam as he walked back to the bench. Tom, passing on his way to the plate, smiled reassuringly and murmured, “Hard luck, Sam!” Sam thought so, too.
On third the runner was dancing back and forth along the path to the plate, and everyone was talking as Tom tapped the end of his bat on the ground, rubbed his hands reflectively on his trouser legs, and then faced the pitcher. Smith was recovering now from his brief and disastrous slump, and Tom secretly had slight hopes of success. But he looked confident enough and smiled as he said something to the Lynton catcher and received a scowl in reply. The first delivery whizzed past at lightning speed and Tom knew it was a strike before the umpire opened his mouth. Then came a drop that he refused to bite at, although it looked good until the last moment. Again he let one go by, a high one that might have been good or bad, and proved bad. From the bench came encouraging cries, “You’ve got him in a hole, Tom!” “Stick to him!” “He’s got to pitch ’em!” “Here’s the one, Tom! Baste it!”
Smith was holding the ball under his chin, watching the catcher’s fingers. He shook his head. The catcher signalled again. Smith threw back his arm, raised his foot, and----
“If you’re getting more than your railway fare, Nick, you’re cheating ’em!”
Smith unwound and pitched, but his tormenter had settled the fate of that ball! A foot over the frantically upstretched hand of the catcher it flew, and Tom, having his wits about him, struck at it wildly and raced to first, while in from third base, urged on by a galloping, shrieking coach, came the runner with the longed-for tally!
Pandemonium reigned! Mr. Hall pounded Mr. Talbot on the back and Mr. Talbot slapped Mr. Hall on the knee, and the other occupants of the bench danced and capered ecstatically! And while the catcher was recovering the ball and the pitcher was guarding the plate, Tom Pollock rounded first at full speed and sped away to second. And he reached it long before the ball did, and then, getting to his feet and slapping the dust from his clothes, he smiled sweetly at the scowling baseman.
But he never got further, for a foul arched softly into third baseman’s glove and that nerve-racking eighth inning was at last over, with the Blues leading insecurely by one run.