“Now, fellows,” said the Fardale captain, as his players gathered around him at the bench, “it’s up to us to cut loose. We haven’t made a run since the third inning.”
“Here’s where we turn the trick, pard,” declared Buckhart.
But again Fardale was unable to accomplish the feat. The best she could do was to get a man to second, where he “died.”
The visitors danced in to the bench, cheered by their admirers.
In the grand stand Doris and June were worrying over the probable outcome of the game.
“I’m afraid they can’t win!” said Doris, almost in tears. “That horrid umpire defeated them at the first of the game!”
“There are two more innings to play,” reminded June. “At least, Doris, you should be satisfied with the game Hal Darrell has put up to-day.”
“Yes, indeed!” laughed Zona. “He has outdone himself. He can play almost as well as Chester.”
Doris opened her lips to make some retort, but closed them at once.
The eighth was fast and furious. Dustan smashed a whistling liner at Gardner, who muffed it, but caught it up in time to throw the runner out at first. Gibbs hit a twister into the air, and Bradley got under it.