“Now for the winning run! Hixley High!”
“That’s the stuff! Larsen to the bat! And, my, won’t he wallop that ball!”
Larsen was the Hixley High center fielder—a tall, sturdy youth with blue eyes and light hair, of Norwegian descent. He came to the plate with a “do-or-die” look on his face. He allowed two balls to pass him, only one of which, however, was called a strike. Then he made a sweep for the next ball, sending it out in a red-hot liner toward Jack.
Many a young ball player would have stepped out of the way with such a red-hot variety of baseball coming his way. But not so Jack Rover. Like a flash his hands went out and he caught the ball firmly, although the impact of the sphere whirled him half way around.
“Gee, look at that!”
“I wouldn’t have caught that ball for a thousand dollars!”
A great shout of approval rang out, and during this Gif hurried over to Jack’s side.
“How about it—did it hurt you any?” he questioned quickly.
“It stung me a little, that’s all,” was Jack’s reply. His hands burnt like fire, but he did not intend to let anybody know it.