With the long lead the Boston team had taken, Dick Merriwell had decided on straight hitting as the best means of snatching a victory. But, in the seventh inning, he decided that a change in tactics was necessary. Briggs had improved, and was making it almost impossible for the Yale men to hit him safely.
“We’ve got to try to fool them,” said Dick. “They think now that we’re going to hit out at everything. So we’ll start in by trying to bunt. It may not work at first, but if you keep that sort of thing up long enough, it is apt to disorganize any team not especially prepared for it.”
In the seventh inning, the Bostonians met the new tactics successfully, and repelled the attack. The first three men up for Yale, Brady, Phillips, and Harry Maxwell, all bunted, and all were thrown out at first, though it was a close decision on Maxwell, and one that any captain less sportsmanlike than Dick Merriwell might well have objected to.
“Never mind!” said Dick. “We’ll keep on with it. It didn’t work then, but it may come out better next time.”
Jim, pitching with terrific speed, disposed of the Boston team easily in the first half of the eighth inning, and then it was Jackson’s turn at the bat. His bunt was a beauty, a slow, trickling, deceptive teaser of a bunt, that crept along the third-base line, and gave him plenty of time to reach first.
“Bunt,” said Dick, to Carter, as he lifted his own bat. “We’ll keep right on.”
Obeying the signaled order, Jackson sprinted for second as Carter bunted gently in front of the plate. Briggs thought there was a chance to catch Jackson at second, and threw there instead of making the easy and certain play at first. His throw was a second too late, and both runners were safe.
“Bunt, when you come up,” said Dick Merriwell, to Green, who followed him.
Then he stepped to the plate himself, and the Boston infielder, sure that he would try to drive in a run, backed out. But Dick smiled quietly, and bunted down the third-base line. Too late the fielder came in for the ball. The bunt had been perfectly placed, and the bases were full, with none out.
Again was the same trick worked. A bunt, with the bases full and none out, looked like suicide, but it was not. Jackson raced for the plate as the ball left Briggs’ hand, and was on top of it when Green chopped the ball toward first base. The Boston first baseman, confused and rattled, made a foolish attempt to catch him at the plate, and again all hands were safe, with the bases full—and one run in.