But Nolan declined to be fooled. He disdained the first two balls, and the crowd began to shout for a free pass.
Then Lefty whipped over a good one, following it with a whizzer with a perplexing jump just before it reached the pan. But the batter was there with the goods, and, though he did not strike the horsehide quite squarely, he lashed it out between second and short.
Lewis lunged for it, and his fingers almost touched the sphere, but not quite. Nolan rounded first to the accompaniment of much joyful clamor.
And now came Fargo, the man who knew Locke’s methods better than any other on the team. The southpaw worked him with the utmost care, pitching as he had never pitched before; and then, just as he fancied he had the backstop in a hole, Buck suddenly and unexpectedly bunted, sending the ball rolling slowly toward first.
Lefty got the sphere, but secured it in bad position to throw. Without attempting to straighten up, he jerked it past Fargo, who was making the final long strides for the sack.
Grant should have caught it, for the throw was good. Perhaps he was too confident. Perhaps there was no excuse at all, for even Big League players make errors of that sort now and then. At all events, he dropped the ball. The spectators fairly made the stands shake with their raucous joy.
“Hit it out!” they shrieked. “Smash it on the nose! Here’s where we get two runs and the game!”
Pollock did his best, but only succeeded in sending up a high fly into short center which the fielder secured with ease. Then Johnny Burns hurried up, eager to help things along, and confident that he could do it.
Lefty felt that the man was positively itching to hit. He could read it in the fellow’s face and manner, and he determined to play upon the batter’s eagerness. A high drop across Burns’ shoulder deceived him, but did not shake his confidence. It was followed by another high ball, which was, however, an inshoot, and again the Hornet fielder missed.
“Hit it, Johnny!” pleaded the local fans. “Don’t let him fool you. Smash it out.”