Dick did not intend to put the next one right over, but he made a miscalculation and did so.
Packard hit it, driving out a clean single between first and second.
“I knew it!” shouted the man with the dog.
“Bow-wow!” barked the dog.
Something seemed to smite Dick’s heart like a blow. A haze rose before his eyes, across which he brushed his hand. He thought of the peace and quietude of Pleasant Valley, far away, with the mighty mountains heaped against the sky, and he longed for the sound of the wind through the trees and the gentle murmur of Felicia’s voice. With this feeling upon him, he was tempted to walk off the diamond and refuse to pitch another ball.
That was not all, for something within him seemed crying:
“I hate baseball—I hate it!”
The ball was thrown in to him, but he did not see it, and it bounded past.
Fortunately Hodge was watching and got the ball at once, preventing Packard from taking second on the throw.
“All right, Dick,” said Bart, as he tossed the ball to the boy. “Don’t let that jar you. They can’t do a thing with you.”