“Hit and run, Spratt—that’s the game,” murmured Merriwell, as Jack walked out to the pan.
But Spratt simply lifted a high infield fly that was captured by Marone.
“Looks bad, partner,” whispered Buckhart, in Dick’s ear.
Merriwell made no reply. Claxton and Tucker were coaching. Bouncer Bigelow, looking pale and shaking like a jellyfish, walked out and swung with all his might at the first ball pitched by Hogan. The ball struck on the under side of the bat, shot down to the ground, and twisted off to one side with a queer, toplike motion.
Without the remotest idea as to what he had done, Bigelow hurled the bat straight up into the air and let himself out for first, while Jones went to second. It was a lucky stab, for the ball, after threatening to roll foul, stopped inside the base line, and Bouncer got a safe hit in this manner.
“Two to tie and three to win, Fitch,” said Dick, as the next batter left the bench.
Fitch had not touched the ball for the day. Hogan regarded the fellow as an easy mark. Otis surprised every one by smashing a hot grounder toward Marone, who made a startling stop, but juggled the ball and permitted the bases to fill. It was Merriwell’s turn to strike.
“Two to tie and three to win, partner,” said Buckhart, as Dick picked out a bat. “You’ve got to do it for us! You’ve got to save this game! Give us a bingle.”
Dick forgot his lame shoulder. He forgot everything except the necessity of getting a clean hit. After missing one of Hogan’s curves, he found the ball with a sharp, snapping swing, and lined it far into right field.
The Yale stand rose with a roar as it was seen that Hanley could not touch that long line drive. The ball struck the ground and went bounding away, away to the far extremity of the field, while man after man romped joyously over the plate. Dick had won the game by this beautiful bingle.