“Oh, you Lefty!” was once more the rejoicing cry of the palpitating Kingsbridgers.
Murtel came back with a shut-out, although Hinkey led off with a scratch hit.
“Hold ’em, Lefty—hold ’em!” was the beseeching cry.
Bangs and Murtel faded like morning dew before a burning sun, but Harney got into a speedy one and banged it for two hassocks, setting the shaking Bancrofters off again in a tremendous uproar. Nevertheless, the lucky batter remained at second, where Stark and Labelle kept him dancing back and forth while Locke took Trollop’s measure and put him away until the next game should be played.
With no one batting ahead of him, Locke advanced to the pan in the last of the eighth without instructions. The first ball was too close, but the second came slanting over, and he bunted. Again it was the unexpected, and never had a prettier bunt been pulled off. Nevertheless, it was only Tom’s wonderful knack of starting at high speed with the first jump and covering the ground like a streak that enabled him to reach the sack a gasping breath ahead of the ball.
“Safe!” cried the umpire.
The Bullies started to kick, nearly every man on the team taking part in it. The crowd hooted and hissed, but it was only the nerve of the umpire in pulling his watch which finally sent the Bancroft players, growling, back to their positions. There was so much money wagered on the game that they could not afford to lose it through forfeiture; but henceforth they badgered the umpire on almost every decision, even scoffing when he declared in their favor.
Labelle sacrificed Locke to second. Stark, thirsting for a hit, hoisted a fly to center. Then, just as the visitors were breathing easier, Crandall smashed a drive into right field.
Locke was on the way to third even before bat and ball met. Sockamore, coaching, seeing Tom coming like the wind, took a desperate chance, and, with a furious flourish of his arms, signaled for him to keep on. Out in right field Mace got the sphere and poised himself for a throw to the pan.