“Yes, I’ll take another whack at it,” said Thorny. “What we’ve got to do, fellows, is make a few runs. They won’t do a thing to us now. No offence to you, Walt.”
“Oh, I know it,” said Walter sadly. “They’ll everlastingly knock me all around the lot. I’m not going to try to work any curves on them, Thorny. My curves are fine, only they don’t go over. I’ll give ’em straight balls and trust to luck. That umpire’s pretty easy on the pitcher. You’re up, Tommy. Go on. There’s one down. Try to lay down a bunt along the third-base line, Tommy, and run like thunder.”
Tommy followed directions so well, even to running “like thunder,” that he got safely to the first sack, the third baseman coming in hurriedly for the ball and heaving it over the first baseman’s head.
“If he’d been watching he could have gone on to second,” grumbled Walter. “You’re up, Thorny. Send him along, old man.”
Thorny had not made a hit so far. Realising that he would have no other chance to-day, he went very determinedly to the plate and swung his bat. For a pitcher Thorny was a very fair batter, although to-day he certainly had not proved it. But a hit was due him and he got it. Letting three offerings go by, two of them balls and one a called strike, he picked out the fourth and “took it on the nose.” Away it went into short left. Tommy scuttled to second like a hunted rabbit and Thorny made first. There he called to Walter and there was a conference. Then Buster was called to run for the injured one and Sanborn walked to the plate. The Lynton pitcher made three attempts to catch Buster off the bag, possibly in the hope that Tommy would attempt to steal third and get thrown out there. But Buster was too quick for a right-handed pitcher. Sanborn began to pop up fouls and put every Amesville player’s heart in his mouth half a dozen times. But both catcher and third baseman just managed to miss the ball at every attempt and Sanborn, with two strikes and one ball on him, was still safe. Then came the signal for a hit-and-run and Sanborn swung madly at an out-shoot that cut the corner of the plate waist-high. By some trick of good luck he connected and the ball went flying toward first baseman. But between him and the oncoming ball dashed Buster Healey on his way to second and that was just enough to confuse the baseman momentarily. He got the ball on a high bound, dropped it, picked it up again, and raced for his base. Over at third, Tommy, never stopping, spurned the bag under foot and raced for the plate. Cries from the Lynton catcher and half the Lynton team filled the air. Too late to make his out at first, the baseman turned, recovered himself, and hurled the ball home. It went wide of the plate by five feet, Tommy was safe, Buster was on third, and Sanborn was sliding, feet-foremost, into second, where an agonised shortstop implored the catcher to send the ball to him!
Amesville cheered and jumped in front of the bench and Tommy, patting the dust from his clothes and grinning, was thumped ecstatically on the back. When his team-mates had got through with him you couldn’t have found a speck of dust anywhere on him! There was still only one gone and runners on second and third. But the tail-end of the Blue’s batting list was up and the outlook wasn’t very bright. Still, sometimes the unexpected happens, and it happened to-day. Little Smith, the weakest batter on the nine, although a remarkably clever shortstop, connected with the first ball pitched and drove it far into centre field. He was so surprised that he just stood there and held his bat until Walter yelled to him to run. However, running did him no good, for centre fielder was easily under the fly and Smith was out. But Buster Healey was ambling home and Sanborn was streaking it for the plate. The ball began its homeward flight just as Sanborn rounded third and it was a narrow squeak for him. But he made it, or so the umpire declared, and that was enough. The score stood four to one now and Amesville dared to hope that, even without the further services of Thorny, she might hold her own and take a victory home with her. The inning ended a few minutes later without further scoring and the Blues put their new line-up in the field. Lynton howled gleefully when she saw Walter walk over to the pitcher’s box and pick up the ball. Young Peddie, almost trembling with excitement, scooted out to centre field and the other changes were made as Thorny had suggested.
Perhaps Lynton expected Walter to offer her something puzzling and so for awhile was at a loss to fathom his sort of pitching. At any rate, he managed to dispose of the first batsman easily, causing him to pop up a weak infield fly that settled cosily into Sanborn’s glove. But after that, the head of the Lynton batting-list coming up, the trouble began. Walter’s straight balls were fine for fattening batting averages! The only variation he attempted was in height, and he not always succeeded there. At all events, high, low, or medium, his offerings met ready acceptance and soon the fielders were very busy. Tom got his first chance in left field and made a brilliant catch after running half-way across the field. The infield scurried about like a lot of mice and the crack of bat against ball became terribly monotonous to the wearers of the blue stockings. Poor Walter stood up to it bravely, a rather sickly smile on his face, and fed his offerings to the delighted enemy. Before anyone realised it the bases were filled. To be sure, there were two out by that time, but that didn’t deter Lynton any. A hit past shortstop, and a runner came in. An error by Sanborn at first, and another run trickled over the plate. A smashing drive that was too hot for third baseman to handle left men on second and first. But Lynton’s best batsmen had passed now and the trouble was over, as it proved. A nice low ball was selected by the batter and it went far and high into centre field. The Blues, watching, groaned. For in centre stood young Peddie, his eyes fixed on the arching sphere and eagerness and excitement in every line of his tense poise. Tom dug across in the hope of making the catch, but there was no time for him to get under it. Down it came, while the bases were emptied, and up went Peddie’s hands. Then the miracle happened! The ball descended squarely into the fielder’s glove and, to the astonishment and joy of the Blues, actually stuck there! The side was out!
Peddie was a hero and every fellow said nice things to him and thumped him on the back, just as they had thumped Tommy Hughes, and caused him to blush like a girl in pleasure and embarrassment.
And Amesville, accepting that piece of good fortune as an augury, went to bat in the first of the ninth quite hopefully.