“Get off! get off!” yapped Tommy. “Stir your stumps! Get to going! Drift away from that sack, Irv! Stop hugging it! It isn’t a girl. Get a divorce from that cushion!”
Thus admonished, Renworth danced away from the hassock as McDonough received the ball from Rooney. Dick noticed the quick flash of his eyes, and the next instant the burly pitcher whirled without a warning and lined the sphere to Hall, who covered the base.
“Slide! Slide!” shrieked Tucker frantically.
Renworth did his best, but was caught almost by a hair’s breadth, the umpire declaring him out.
Then McDonough wound up the inning by striking out Buck Garland.
“Never mind, boys,” Gardiner said cheerfully, as they jogged into the field. “They’re only one run ahead. We’ll make that up.”
But inning after inning came and went, and the score remained unchanged.
As the game wore on McDonough seemed to improve. His speed grew greater, his control more perfect, his curves more difficult; but more surprising than anything else was the wonderful headwork he displayed. He seemed to divine a batter’s weak points with marvelous intuitiveness, varying his delivery with a cleverness which was almost uncanny. In addition to all that, he made so many brilliant put-outs on bases that the Forest Hills boys dared not take any chances. It was as though he had eyes in the back of his head.
To the great crowd in the grand stand and on the bleachers, even to the Forest Hills men in the field, it was an extraordinary exhibition of almost perfect pitching. Only one among them seemed to realize that the hulking miner in the box, whose name resounded almost continually from the mouths of the roaring thousands, was a mere machine, and that the real credit belonged to the quiet little man, standing silently near the home plate, his bright eyes taking in every inch of the field—a man who had once held a high place on one of the big leagues, but who was doing his playing now by proxy.
Dick Merriwell was fighting desperately against tremendous odds. As the game progressed his shoulder grew constantly worse. From the first occasional twinges it had advanced by leaps and bounds, to a constant, steady, almost intolerable pain, which caused him to catch his breath at every throw, and made each turn at the bat an agony.