Smith’s attempt to bunt resulted disastrously, for Gorman would have none of it and the first thing Smith knew he was in the hole. When, with two strikes and two balls against him, he tried to hit it out, the ball slammed itself into Gorman’s glove and Smith was gone. Sid Morris had better success, for he got a hit down the alley between second and shortstop and Sam Craig advanced a base. Then Joe learned the meaning of Jack’s converse with the coach. Mr. Talbot recalled Jack, who had been half-heartedly awaiting his turn, and summoned Frank Foley.
“Foley! Take a whack at it. Don’t try to bend your bat. Just put one through.”
Foley, surprised, leaped from the bench. “Me, sir?” he asked.
“Yes, hurry up!”
Foley hurried. Half a dozen eager hands stretched out as many bats toward him and, seizing a couple, he hurried to the plate, swinging them eagerly. Foley’s friends in the stand applauded warmly and Joe viewed Jack quizzically as the latter sank back into his place on the bench.
“Jack,” began Joe in a whisper.
Jack turned on him rudely. “Oh, dry up!” he muttered.
Joe chuckled. “You’re a fine hater, aren’t you?” he asked.
“That’s got nothing to do with it,” declared Jack, reddening. “Frank’s worked hard all spring and—and he deserved to get in.”