“But oh! oh!” cried Elsie, “he can’t win now! Just look at that! It’s a home run, Frank!”
Dillard had smashed the ball hard and fair, lifting it over the centre-field rail.
Over that rail Chip Jolliby went flying in an endeavor to get under the ball. He was not successful, but he secured it and returned it to the diamond in time to stop Dillard at third base. Nevertheless, Connor, Halligan, and Lumley had all scored.
For the first time during the game the cloud lifted from Benton Hammerswell’s face. He felt Tom Fernald slap him on the shoulder, and heard Fernald laughingly cry in his ear:
“That settles it, Hammerswell! Slocum is the man to hold them down after that. Only six more Fairhaven batters to be retired and the game is yours. We will both win our bets.”
“I believe we will,” nodded Hammerswell.
Brad Buckhart called Dick and stepped down a little in front of the home plate to meet him.
“Look here, pard,” said the Westerner, “what are you doing? You’ve been easing up. Are you trying to give these fellows this game? Just slam the ball over as speedy as you like. Don’t worry about me. I don’t give a rap if I lose that old thumb. I will hold them, never fear.”
“All right,” said Dick. “You will get all the speed you want after this, Brad.”
“That’s the stuff!” nodded Buckhart as he turned and retired to his position.