"Hurrah! Two out! Hold 'em down! Don't let 'em score!"
The next batter up was Fred. So far the youngest Rover had been unable to get further than first.
"Oh, Fred, line it out! Please line it out!" cried May Powell, and then she blushed furiously as a number sitting near her began to laugh.
"Don't you care, May," consoled Mary, and then she called out loudly: "Do your best, Fred! Do your best!"
"Go in and win!" cried Martha.
There had been a tremendous racket, but now, as Fred gripped his ashen stick and Tommy Flanders prepared to deliver the ball, a deathlike silence came over the field. Every one of the men on the bases was prepared to leg it at the slightest chance of being able to score.
The first ball to come in was too high, and the second too low, so Fred let them go by. Then, however, came a straight ball just where he wanted it, and Fred swung at it with every ounce of muscle in his body.
Crack! The report could be heard all over the grounds, and then the sphere could be seen sailing far off into left field.
"Run, boys, run! Everybody run!"
"Leg it for all you are worth!"