He had the tips of his fingers on the plate—and had effected a home run without making a hit!
“Yaw!” he shrieked, in delight. “Vot vos I toldt you! You pet me der score she vos died, yes, no?”
“Right you are, Villum,” laughed Chip, escorting the Dutch lad to the bench in mingled wonder and joy. “Take off your hat!”
Villum did so, then looked at it curiously. His eyes went to Chip’s face, then to the grand stand, and for the first time he seemed to realize that the crowds were yelling at him in frantic madness. He bowed, stumbled, stood on his head, and vanished under the players’ shed.
As Clancy walked out, Green seemed to lose his composure for the first time.
“Wake up, you boneheads!” he shouted wrathfully at his amazed team, who were still trying to find out what had happened. “They’ve got four runs on us, with only two hits. And Merriwell got them both! Wake up and play the game!”
“Here’s where we get another hit, Southpaw Diggs,” said Clancy merrily, as he danced into the box. “Put her over, old sox!”
Green obeyed, and the ball had so much speed that Clancy merely leaped backward in actual terror.
“Hey!” he cried. “You don’t need to kill a fellow!”
Green smiled, having regained his lost poise, and brought out his spit ball in this emergency. Clancy swung at it vainly.