“It’s all right,” again assured Dick. “They haven’t scored, Sam.”
But, unfortunately, the team had even less confidence in Kates than he had in himself. Therefore, they were likewise anxious, and this anxiety caused Claxton, at second, to let a warm grounder get through him.
The little band of Tufts rooters yelled wildly as another tally was chalked down for their side.
“Keep after him! keep after him!” whooped a coacher, as the next batter pranced out to the pan. “Got him going!”
“We’ll put the blanket on him in a minute,” came from the other coacher. “Knock his eye out, Tompkins!”
Tompkins responded by slamming a hot one into right field, where Bouncer Bigelow fell all over himself, and lost the ball until another run had been credited to the visitors and Tompkins had third safely within his clutch.
“Not your fault, Kates,” said Dick, as the wretched pitcher cast him an appealing glance. “Nobody can blame you.”
Blessed Jones, captain of the team, rushed part way in from left field and called to his players to steady down.
On the bench Robinson, the manager, was fidgeting ponderously, and muttering to himself that Merriwell would have to go back on the slab.
Dick walked out into the diamond, and many thought that he was going to change places with Kates once more. Instead of doing so, he placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder and spoke to him in low tones.