“But if you see they’re going to win the game, Dick, you must go onto the slab again. You’ll do this, won’t you?”
“If you don’t get the idea into your head that it’s necessary, I believe I won’t have to pitch another ball to-day.”
“But if it is necessary——”
“Oh, I won’t see them win the game if I can help it, you may be sure of that.”
The Tufts pitcher, who had improved as the game advanced, now seemed to be at his best, and Yale could do little with his delivery.
Not until the first of the eighth did anything more of a sensational nature occur. In the eighth Tufts got a batter to first by an error, and then Kates had the misfortune to hit the next man. The third batter lifted a long fly into center field, where Spratt made a disgraceful muff and lost sight of the ball. While Jack was spluttering to himself and pawing around wildly in the grass, all three of the Tufts men romped over the sacks and raced across the pan.
There was now great excitement, for Tufts needed only one more run to tie the game.
Kates gave Dick a questioning look.
“No fault of yours,” came once more from Merriwell.
“But they won’t support me, they won’t support me!” muttered Sam, in a disheartened manner.