The thing Merry had feared had happened. For all of the clever work at the start, not a score had been made, and Nesbitt had shown himself a heady pitcher in a tight place.
“Hard luck,” said Merry, but Swiftwing grimly shook his head as he trotted out onto the field.
Hodge was sore, and he betrayed it.
“What’s the use of bunting?” he exclaimed. “If I had hit the ball out, we’d made one run, anyhow.”
“If one of the batters behind you had hit the ball out, the chances are that more than one run would have come in,” said Merry.
“But they didn’t hit it.”
“You might not have hit it.”
But Bart felt that he might, and he continued to look black and dissatisfied.
Hodge was once more in good form for catching, and Merry felt that his wrist would stand to use the double-shoot when the emergency demanded.