"Sid's spiked!" cried Tom. "The third baseman spiked him, just as he had a chance to score! Come on in, Sid. Come on in!" yelled the captain frantically.
There was a confusing chorus of yells, so much so that the fielder after the ball, which had gone past him, did not know what to do, after he had the horsehide. But by this time Sid was limping toward home, running fairly well, but with a look of agony on his face. Holly Cross was racing from second now.
"Home with that ball, you loon!" yelled the Wescott catcher, who saw Sid coming, for the Wescott fielder was stupidly holding it.
Then the fielder woke up, and threw to second, hoping to catch out Holly, who was somewhat undecided. But Sid kept on to home, and tallied the run, though he almost collapsed a moment later, while Holly leaped on to third.
"Hurt bad?" asked Tom, as he and several others hurried up to Sid.
"I should say so," remarked Mr. Leighton, as he saw the blood running from Sid's shoe.
Meanwhile Holly had reached third, though the decision was close. He died there, for the next man struck out, retiring the side, and making the score five to four, in favor of Randall, though with Wescott still to have a chance in the ending of the ninth.
The third baseman made all sorts of apologies to Sid, who indeed had a nasty cut, for a spike had gone through the outer, fleshy part of his foot. It was so evidently an accident, however, that nothing unpleasant was said, though Sid could not play, and had to be replaced by Pete Backus.
There was a grim look on Tom's face as he took his place in the box, and it was justified, for he struck out two men. The third knocked what seemed was going to be a nice hit, but Pete Backus caught it, though he had to jump well for it, a feat for which his training stood him well in hand.
"Wow! We've done 'em!" cried Tom, when he realized that the third Wescott man was out, without a run having been scored by their rivals in the last inning.
"We sure have," agreed Mr. Leighton. "Poor Sid, though. He'll be out of it for a few days."
"I don't care, as long as we won the game," spoke the plucky lad, as he limped along, his foot having been dressed, and peroxide applied, to prevent blood poisoning.