In a town like Kingsbridge, such a movement meant a general stampede, followed by a riot, in which more than one participant would “get his.”
Harney continued to talk to Hoover until the raging pitcher, the freckles on his face seeming to stand out like innumerable islands in a grayish sea, promised to behave. The umpire seemed practically helpless.
Locke had waited quietly. He gripped his bat, and squared away as he saw Hoover making ready. The ball came over the outside corner with a shoot, and Tom met it. It was a beautiful, clean single into right field.
The crowd was still roaring when Labelle rushed forth to the pan, signaling that he would attempt a sacrifice. Locke was on his toes, and ready, and he started as Hoover began his short delivery. True to his signaled promise, the Canadian dropped a bunt in front of the pan, thus easily giving the runner ahead of him second, although he himself was cut down in his last jump for first.
With one out, a runner on second, and Captain Larry Stark ready to wield the willow, the local crowd whooped it up like crazy Indians at a ghost dance, believing Kingsbridge had its chance to score.
It was plain that the new pitcher, besides being fast on his feet and ready to take chances, had the faculty of leaping away almost at top speed with his first stride or two, and a long, clean single might enable him to score from second.
Hoover knew this, and was inwardly disturbed. Although he had already twice cut Stark down at the pan, previous experiences warned him that, as a batter to advance runners, the cool, heady, sure-eyed Kingsbridge captain was far more dangerous than the heavier-hitting Crandall, who followed him. Therefore, being supported by a sign from the bench, Jock decided to pass Larry, and take his chances with Crandall and Anastace.
First driving Locke back twice to second, but being unable to keep him hugging the cushion, Hoover handed up a wide one with such elaborate method that he betrayed his purpose immediately.
Promptly with the next pitch, something happened: Locke was leaping away toward third before the ball left Jock’s fingers. Grady covered the sack, and Bangs scorched the air with his quick line throw, but the runner slipped under, and was safe by a narrow margin. Bill Harney disputed the decision, while the crowd howled; but the umpire waved him back to first.
Eyes bulging, throats dry, nerves twitching, the Kingsbridge spectators rooted for a run. Some were purple-faced and perspiring; others were pale and cold; all were wrought to the highest pitch of expectation and excitement.