It looked good as it left the pitcher’s hand. It was coming to Wayne about waist-high and he thought it would break toward him and drop a trifle. As it neared the plate he stepped to meet it, and when it broke he put all his strength into the lunge and tried to send it between first baseman and the bag. He met it hard and started with the crack of the bat. He saw the ball shooting low inside the foul line, saw first baseman leap toward it, and, digging harder than ever, saw the ball strike the bag and go bounding out into the field!
He knew then that he was safe, knew that he had done what was expected of him, and was terrifically glad. As he turned first he saw second baseman standing idle and heard the voice of Steve Milburn in the coaching box yelling him on, and he legged it hard for second. He saw the ball coming in then, but the throw was to the plate and he slid to second unchallenged. As he got to his feet again he was fairly dismayed by the pandemonium that arose from the stands, and then, for the first time since he had determined to forget everything save the business of hitting the ball, he remembered O’Neill!
Anxiously he looked to third. He was not there. But of course not! He had either scored or been put out at the plate! He turned to the Damascus shortstop. “Did you get him?” he asked.
“No,” was the disgusted reply. “He was safe by a mile!”
And then Wayne understood why the stands were cheering and roaring! Harrisville had scored! The Badgers were one run to the good!
Gradually the babel of sound died away. Leary was at bat. Wayne led off, danced back again, keeping an eye on the shortstop, watching the pitcher as well, listening to warnings from the coachers. If only Leary would come through! But Leary failed. A sharp crack, a sudden leaping dive by second baseman as Wayne sped along the path, a left-hand toss to first and the inning was over, and Wayne, turning disappointedly back to his position, heard the cheers and clapping break forth afresh, and wondered!
It was all over ten minutes later, all over, that is, but the shouting, and that didn’t last long after the Harrisville players scuttled from field to dressing-room. In the doorway, smiling broadly now, stood Mr. Milburn, and as Wayne pushed through with the rest the manager’s arm shot out and seized on his shoulder and dragged him aside.
“I’m going to tear up that contract, Sloan,” he said.
“Tear it up!” faltered Wayne.
“Yes.” The manager’s eyes twinkled. “It wasn’t any good, anyway! Tomorrow I’ll have a new one ready for you. I’m going to sign you on to play second base, Sloan, at a hundred and ten a month. That suit you?”