“Oh, you Locke!” they shrieked fondly. “What’s the matter with Lefty? He’s—all—right!”
When the thunder of their accompanying stamping had died away, they turned their attention to Elgin, calling for airships and the like, until their voices were drowned by the howls of the disappointed opposition:
“Take him out! Take him out! Take-him-out! He’s yellow!”
The pitcher, white-faced, beads of perspiration besprinkling his forehead, stood shifting about near the slab, with downcast eyes and lips which trembled in spite of his efforts to steady them. Once he cast a swift glance toward the manager, but received no hoped-for sign.
He wanted to be taken out. He was afraid.
CHAPTER XLIV
THE LEADING RUN
Brennan’s reason for not doing at once the thing which was inevitable was not quite apparent. He had an obstinate streak in his make-up, and no doubt it went very much against the grain to see the man he had depended on and boasted about fall down so disastrously, though ordinarily that would have made no difference.
At any rate, he held his hand, and it cost him another run. Rufe Hyland landed on the second ball pitched, and sent out a long fly to right field. The moment Johnny Burns caught the ball Daly darted for the plate.