The blood rushed to Phil’s face; his pulse began to leap in excited throbs. He was to have a chance in a real game,—a hard game, too! He bent over the pile of bats to choose his favorite, glad of an opportunity to hide his confusion, and a little afraid of hearing unfriendly criticism.
“Now’s your chance to show what’s in you, Phil,” said Watson, the third baseman, who liked the boy. “You can hit him all right.”
“Stand up to the plate,” warned Sands, “and don’t let him frighten you. Manning isn’t as bad as he looks.”
Sudbury had two strikes called on him, then hit a liner over second.
“Now, Phil,” said Tompkins, quietly, “you know what we expect of you.”
Poole planted his left foot firmly beside the plate, raised his bat, and waited, wondering whether Manning would try on him the method Tompkins used for new men. The pitcher wound himself up with the usual absurd motion, and sent a ball whistling hot, that veered suddenly off the plate. Phil smiled to himself and gripped the bat more firmly. “No, I’ll not bite at any such,” he said to himself. “Old Rowley has given me too many of them.” Next came a drop, but it was low. “Two balls!” Then one close in, which the batter hesitated on and then let pass. This was also called a ball. The next was straight and fast.
“I know you,” thought Phil, and swung straight at it, meeting the ball fairly “on the nose.” As he sped exultantly away to first, he saw the ball cutting a line well above the first baseman’s head. Knowing that the hit was good for two bases at least, he rounded first with all his attention centred on his running, passed second, and then, looking for the ball for the first time and seeing the right-fielder just about to throw, he went on easily to third, where Watson caught him by the shoulders and made him pause. Sudbury was already back upon the bench.
“Splendid!” exclaimed Watson. “I always said you could do it. Bring your fielding to that level, and you’ll get your ‘S.’”
Sands went out on strikes; Waddington hit a long fly to centre, which the Harvard fielder got under without much exertion and secured. He threw it in with all the speed he could, but Phil, who was waiting on the bag for the ball to touch the fielder’s hands, was off with the Harvard man’s first motion, and easily beat the ball to the plate.
“Why didn’t he throw to second, and let second throw it home?” inquired Tompkins of the coach. “Wouldn’t that have been quicker?”