“No, sir!” said Thorny triumphantly. “He’s safe! See that? That was some steal, eh? A close decision, though. I wonder who that umpire on bases is? I’d hate to be in his shoes, wouldn’t you?”
Tom agreed that he would, keeping meanwhile his eyes glued to the quivering drama before him. The batsman popped up a high foul, the New York catcher got under it, the batsman walked toward the bench in disgust, and the picture faded. Others followed, however, and Tom enjoyed them all hugely. It was long after noon when the boys emerged from the little theatre, bathed in perspiration. On the way back toward the centre of town Thorny said:
“We play the Red Sox this afternoon over by the railroad. Coming over to see it?”
“Yes,” Tom answered. “We got licked Monday, didn’t we?”
Thorny shrugged his broad shoulders in disgust.
“Why wouldn’t we? We had only six of our regulars. A chap named Squires or something was playing third and he never made a put-out once during the game. Say, Tom, why don’t you play in the field for us to-day? Then we can put Hobbs on third. Will you?”
“I’d like to,” said Tom eagerly, “if you want me to.”
“Surest thing you know, kid! That’s all right, then. I’ll tell Walter. We’ll need to put up a corking game to-day if we’re going to lick those toughies over there. Don’t forget. Three o’clock!”
Tom played in right field that afternoon, made no errors, and had three hits and one run to his credit. The Red Sox won their game, 7 to 5, however. On the way back Walter White, who captained the Blues, said:
“Can you go over to Lynton with us Saturday, Pollock? Wish you would. You played a dandy game to-day; didn’t he, Thorny?”