Wiley was on the coaching line.
“Divorce yourself from that sack, Roden!” he whooped. “Dig your toes into the turf and be ready to burglarize that third cushion. Get off! Don’t anchor there! Watch the swing of his propeller and move up on it every time. He won’t throw down there. He thinks he’ll strike Grimley out. Ha! ha! and ho! ho! I’d drop dead if he ever struck Cal Grimley out! Send the ball on a voyage, Grim, old salt! Let her clear for a foreign port!”
Grimley hit viciously at the first ball, but, like all the others, save Roden, he missed.
“Open your eyes when you strike!” shrieked the sailor. “How could you miss it? That’s criminal! Do your sleeping nights! It’s too easy to hit that sort of a ball. Put it over the fence! Drop it out of the lot! Get away, Roden! You’re hugging that sack as if you thought it a pretty girl. Forget your affection for it and break away!”
Grimley checked his desire to hit the ball hard. Steadying his nerves, he tried to meet it squarely and secure a safe hit.
He fouled it the next time he struck.
“Too bad!” howled Wiley. “Came near doing it then, Grim. Just a trifle more to the starboard. Steady now. You’ll do it. You can’t help it. Be ready to put on full steam ahead, Roden. You’ll tie the score right here!”
But Grimley proved just as easy as the others for Frank, and Wiley groaned as the batter struck the third time and missed.
“It’s a shame!” he muttered, as he cantered out to his position. “We can’t keep on throwing away these chances. My reputation will be ruined if we lose this game.”
Mat O’Neill used his head in the third inning. He mixed ’em up, using a change of pace that was very bothersome. Although two of the Merries hit the ball, not one of the first three reached the initial sack.