“Well,” said Mel Fraser, nudging Arlington, “they have scored at last.”
“Yes,” retorted Chester sourly; “but it wasn’t Merriwell’s fault, and it wasn’t Darrell’s fault.”
Encouraged by what had happened, Anson tried hard for a hit; but now Dick used both speed and curves, and Fairport’s lusty first baseman vainly fanned the air. The visitors were compelled to be content with one run in the seventh.
“Hold ’em down, Ware, my boy!” urged Roberts. “Let every man play for his life! We have them where we want them.”
In truth it seemed that Ware meant to hold Fardale down, for in the last half of the seventh he permitted only three hitters to face him, and only one of them connected with the ball. This fellow drove a weak grounder into the diamond and was thrown out before he could get much more than halfway to first. In the eighth Fairport again made a strong bid for a run; but, although one of the visitors reached second on a scratch hit and an error, he got no farther.
Jolliby was the first batter in the last half, and he brought the home crowd up in a twinkling with a beautiful line drive for two bags.
With his massive “slugger” in his hand, big Bob Singleton followed Chip to the plate.
Singleton hit the second ball pitched, and it went straight up into the air a most astounding distance. As it came down Warren found the task of judging it a most perplexing one. The ball twisted off to one side, and all fancied the Fairport catcher could not touch it. He made a sidelong spring, however, and it plunked into his big mitt. Singleton was out.
“Dern my picter! It’s up to me!” squeaked Tubbs, as he waddled out.
Ware knew Obediah was one of those erratic hitters who did the most surprising things at the most unexpected times, and now he tried hard to strike the fat boy out. Obed saw what the pitcher was endeavoring to accomplish, and wisely held back until Ware was forced to put the ball over. Then Tubbs fell on one of the swift ones, and away it flew into left field.