Russell had never been cooler or less flurried. He worked skillfully until two strikes and as many balls had been called. The fear came to Lefty that he was going to whiff, and he set his teeth, watching the pitcher like a hawk.
Russell took his time. As the sphere left his fingers, Locke suddenly remembered a certain fast curve he had seen the Hornet man working up down in Texas, but which he had not used thus far in this game. The conviction flashed into his mind that it was being used now, and in an instant he had taken a single step forward, bringing his bat around with a powerful swing as he did so.
The connection was perfect, and the ball went curving out toward the left wing of the grandstand, looking for a second or two like a home run. It was too high for that, however, and fell in front of the stand a couple of yards inside the foul line.
The fielder got under it and smothered it effectually, making a long, powerful throw to the plate, toward which Lewis had sprinted the instant the catch was made. The ball went wide, however, and Lewis slid across the rubber in safety with the leading run.
CHAPTER XLV
LEFTY’S TRIUMPH
Again the crowd cheered and yelled like lunatics, shouting Locke’s name over and over as he walked toward the bench. His teammates surrounded him, patting him on the back and uttering brief, friendly words of praise. He was one of them now. He had won his spurs and fairly earned the right to their esteem.
But the game was not over. Russell fanned the next batter with swift precision, and the Blue Stockings took the field. Their supporters in the stands urged the southpaw, in frantic terms, to “Hold ’em!”
The Hornets’ sympathizers were equally vehement in their entreaties to the home team to “Get in there and smash it out!” The uproar was deafening. It subsided only when Ed Nolan walked up and squared himself at the plate. There were a few last shouts of encouragement, and then silence, tense and absolute, fell upon the vast inclosure.
Lefty knew that the Hornets’ fielder was a man to fear. He could hit almost any kind of ball with ease. In fact, the southpaw, in spite of his having played so many practice games against the fellow, had never yet fathomed his hitting weakness. He wished that almost any other man in the batting list could have been the one to face him now, but there was no use pining for the impossible, so he proceeded to send over a tempting feeler.