Not a man was out. Yale was in a hole, and the cheering of the Tigers rolled across the field, while the orange and black fluttered and flaunted joyously.
This was the kind of a game to thrill the nerves of the spectators and set their hearts pounding. The great concourse of people leaned forward on the benches and watched breathlessly for what was to follow.
There came a hush.
Whizz—crack! The ball had been hit.
“Strike—one!” cried the umpire, as the ball went foul.
“All right, Leverage,” said the captain of the Tigers encouragingly. “You’ve got his alley. You’ll line it out next time.”
Leverage was a hitter. Frank feared the fellow might smash out a long one, and so he resorted to the double-shoot without delay. Two balls were called; then another strike. But Bart was having great difficulty with the double-shoot.
Merry gave Leverage a rise, but could not pull him with it.
“Three balls,” decided the umpire.
The next ball delivered would decide the matter.