"Getting hit by the ball? He is clever at that. Tell him to work the dodge this time if he can. Get him onto first some way. We must have some scores, if we steal them."
"I wish we might steal a few."
"If I get first and Blossom is ahead of me on second, let us try the double steal. I may be caught at second or he may be caught at third, and there is a bare possibility that we'll both make our bags. At any rate, but one of us is liable to be caught, and if it is Blossom it will leave us scarcely any worse off than before. If it is myself, why, Blossom will be on third, we'll have one man out, and stand a good show of scoring once at least."
Merriwell said this in a quiet manner, not at all as if he were trying to dictate, and Putnam made no reply. However, he spoke to Blossom, who was picking out his bat.
"Look here, Uncle," he said, "I want you to get first base in some way. Do you understand?—in some way. If you can't make a hit or get it on balls, get hit."
Blossom made a wry face.
"Coulter's got speed to burn," he said, "but I'll try to get hit if he gives me an in, even though it kills me."
"That's what I want," returned Old Put, grimly. "Never mind if it does kill you. We are after scores, and a life or two is of small consequence."
"That's a pleasant way of looking at it," muttered Blossom as he advanced to the plate. "Here goes nothing!"
The very first ball was an inshoot, and Blossom pretended to dodge and slip. The ball took him in the side and keeled him over instantly. He was given a little water, whereupon he got up and trotted down to first, his hand clinging to his side, but grinning a bit in a sly way.