“We’ve got this game—we’ve got it!” barked a coacher. “They’ll never get away from us now!”
“Everybody knew what would happen,” cried a voice. “The game was lost when they changed pitchers.”
Strangely enough, Kates was no longer downcast and lacking in confidence. He told himself that any person with good baseball judgment must know he was not responsible for what had happened. He did not cast any further questioning looks toward first, but placed himself on the rubber, ready to pitch at his best as long as they would let him remain there.
His best proved good enough to fan the next Tufts man, and Yale came to bat in the last of the ninth with the tally tied.
“We’ll do ’em up in the next inning,” announced the Tufts captain, who seemed confident that there would be an extra inning.
It quickly began to look as if there would be such an inning, for the first two Yale batters went out, one on a fly and the other on an easy grounder into the diamond.
Then came a bad error for Tufts. Spratt, who batted ahead of Kates, bumped a bounder toward third, and reached first on an infielder’s fumble.
For an instant Kates seemed benumbed as he realized he was the next person to hit. A strange silence had settled over the field, and Sam fancied he could feel the eyes of every spectator fixed upon him as he stepped out, bat in hand.
As if from a great distance he seemed to hear some one say:
“Perhaps he’ll win his own game.”