The coach and Dr. Stout met Dixon as he walked off the diamond rubbing his arm, and they paused a moment to feel of the injured member. Dr. Stout looked serious as he felt about with practiced fingers.
“That was a wicked ball, Dixon, and I’m afraid—yes—I think there is a slight fracture of the end of the bone there. That settles your pitching for to-day, anyway. Too bad. Come over to the bench while I fix you up.”
“Wiggins, you warm up. You’ll have to go in next inning,” called the coach. “Gould, take Tad’s mitt and catch Wiggins for a while.”
Captain Tad became active immediately. He saw that the loss of Dixon might have a disheartening effect upon the Pennington players and he began to talk to them as only he knew how to talk.
“Come on, fellows. Up and at ’em. We’ve got to get them for this. It was an accident, of course, but let’s show ’em that it’s when we get hurt the most we fight the best. Thatcher, you are up first. Come on and do something. We want a hit from you. Go to it, old boy.”
Tad’s spirit of fight was infectious and Jeff went to the plate with a determination to make good that made him almost formidable.
Wells pitched to him, for doubtless he held Jeff lightly as a batter. The Pennington third baseman had not done anything notable with the stick so far that day.
The first one over was a ball. The next was a clean strike that Jeff let pass, and the next ball would have been the same, but Jeff interrupted its career with a vicious swing that smashed out a sizzling single; a clean hit.
“Wow, on your toes. This is our night to howl,” yelled Tad, hurrying over to the coach line.