“That’s going some!” he cried. “Now, Brad, see if you can bring in another.”
The Texan refused to be tempted by McDonough’s coaxers. He forced him to put one straight over and then fell on it with violent delight. It was a frightful smash, and the sphere went sailing on a line into the field to the right of centre.
There was nothing slow about Garrick as he dashed across third like a race horse and, in response to Dean’s frantic urging, kept on toward home. He made the plate easily, and Buckhart got to second with a splendid slide.
“Got ’em going, boys,” Brad shouted—“got ’em going!”
The crowd went wild and nearly stamped down the grand stand.
Renworth quickly fanned, but the Forest Hills boys did not care, for they were one run to the good.
As Merriwell resumed his sling and walked out to the box he was greeted with a sudden round of applause. Though they did not know the circumstances, the crowd seemed suddenly to realize how much of the success of the game was due to the grit of this cool, smiling stranger, who, in spite of his injured arm, was doing such splendid work.
Herman Glathe, the big German fielder, was the first to face the Yale twirler.
Dick took no chances. If he could hold them down for this inning the game would be won. He pitched skillfully and with care, and the German fanned.
“One down, pard,” grinned Buckhart through the wire meshes of his cage. “Let the good work go on.”