"The winning run is what we want!"
It was Harry's turn to bat and he selected his ashen stick with care.
"Don't be in a hurry," cautioned Bart. "Make him give you the ball you want."
"I will," said Harry.
When Harry stepped to the plate he felt a curious sensation all over him. He seemed to be possessed of but one desire in life—to hit the ball and drive it just as far as possible.
Si Voup was again pitching—he had insisted upon going in the box, even against the wishes of many of his friends. He stepped back, made a signal to his catcher, and let the ball drive with all force.
It was the ball Harry wanted—he felt this the moment it left Voup's hand. With one step forward, he swung his bat, and crack! the ball went flying far down into centerfield, over the fielder's head and toward a clump of bushes bordering a ditch.
"Whoop! look at that!"
"Run, Harry, run!"
"You can get three bags on that with ease!"