The rooters broke loose in earnest. This was better than they had expected.
And big Bruce Browning was at the bat!
Now Bruce seemed very much awake. He had barely been able to pull on Faunce’s suit, and it looked as if he might split open the shirt or the trousers at any moment.
Finch was nervous; he showed it. His confidence had dropped in an astonishing manner.
“It’s too bad,” said Pink Pooler, who showed some symptoms of uneasiness. “Why didn’t the fellows do this before? Now it is too late.”
“It’s never too late to mend,” said Dismal Jones, solemnly. “There is a chance for you.”
Finch resolved to worry Browning, but he made a mistake with the first ball he pitched. Without intending to do so, he sent that ball over close to the ground.
Browning hit it, and rapped out a daisy-cutter that enabled him to get first, while Jeffers, by the most brilliant running, crossed third and came home on a slide, getting in the score.
“There’s half of it!” screamed Jack Diamond, from the bleachers.
His voice was drowned by the Yale cheers.