Frank used a drop. Leverage got under it, and hit it a savage crack, lifting it into the air.
“Hold your bags!” roared a coacher, as he saw Hock Mason getting under the ball. “Run the moment he catches it!”
The coacher on third was giving the runner there some advice, getting the man braced, ready to start for home. Leverage had skipped down to first. The men on first and second were ready for whatever might happen.
Mason got under the ball and waited for it. It seemed certain that he must catch it, but could he stop the runner on third from scoring?
There was a hush. The ball struck fairly in the hands of the Southerner, and——
Bounced out! He had muffed it!
“Run!” shrieked the coachers, while the great crowd of Princeton men rose up and roared.
The runner who had been on third came scudding home. The man who had been on second raced like a wild-eyed runaway colt to third, where the coacher made furious gestures for him to keep on hard for home. The man on first got to second safely, and Leverage, the batter, was comfortably on first.
Mason found the ball, his heart full of rage and dismay, picked it up and threw wildly into the diamond.
Fortunately, Frank got in front of it, and was able to hold the runners on their bases, not letting them move farther; but he could not stop the second man, who had been sent tearing home, and Princeton was two scores in the lead.