Gallup strode out to the plate, a grin on his homely face.
“Gosh-darn if I ain’t glad I left the farm!” he said. “Put the ball over the old dishpan an’ I’ll wallop it.”
Dick looked toward Merry, but, knowing Gallup had no real weak point, Frank hesitated. Then he gave a sign for the boy to use the jump ball.
Dick’s delivery was short and sharp, and he sent the next one in with great speed. Gallup fancied it was coming about shoulder-high, which led him to swing to meet it.
The ball took an awful jump, such as not even Hodge was prepared for, struck the end of Bart’s mitt, and went past.
The runners merrily moved up a bag each.
Hodge was angry with himself, for he realized this was not Dick’s fault.
Again the boy grew nervous, for now there were two coachers jabbering away, and a hit meant a score—perhaps two.
With great deliberation Dick put the ball straight over the plate, whereupon Gallup drove it hard and far into right field.
The coachers sent both runners, seeing at a glance that Carson had little show of getting the drive before it struck the ground.