Ware faced the alternative of putting the ball over the plate or letting Billy “walk.” Knowing this, he endeavored to get one over; but, as often happens with the best of pitchers, he failed. Bradley declined to swing and was given a “pass.”
Flint strode out to the plate.
“Dern their picters!” squealed Obediah Tubbs, prancing up and down on the coach line back of first. “We’ve got ’em guessing now! Get a lead, Bradley. Let him throw it over. He can’t catch you in a year.”
In order to hold the runner close to first, Ware snapped the ball over to Anson twice before delivering it to the batter. When he did deliver it he tried a drop.
Now Flint was a bad man to deceive with a drop. When he got under one and hit it, he always lifted it a wonderfully long distance.
Knowing the batter’s ability for heavy hitting, the fielders had fallen back as soon as he came to the plate. Flint smashed the first ball a fearful crack, and away it slid toward the outfield.
“A fence ball!” shrieked Tubbs, in delight. “Git up and git, Bradley!”
Fearing the ball might be caught, Billy lingered near first; but now he fancied there was no chance that the fielder would capture it, and away he scooted.
Running in the same direction as the ball, Conway turned at the critical moment, looked over his shoulder, and saw it coming. He leaped high in the air and caught it. By this time Bradley had crossed second, and he was astonished when he heard Jolliby yelling at him from the coaching line near third.
“Gug-gug-gug-go back! Tut-tut-tut-turn round! He’s gug-gug-gug-got it!”