“No,” laughed Dan. “He just can’t contain himself, that’s all.”
When at last the game began people were standing several deep behind the seats. On the field back of the ropes the ground was covered with spectators almost as excited as the young players.
“Come here, Dan,” called Ned as he beckoned to his pitcher. Near Ned were the two umpires and the captain of the academy nine.
“What do you think?” asked Ned. “The crowd is so big that the umpires suggest that a hit into it ought to count for only two bases.”
“That’s as fair for one side as the other,” said Dan simply.
“All right, we’ll agree,” said Ned quickly. Before the game was ended, however, the captain of the Tait School nine bitterly regretted the assent which he so readily gave to the suggestion.
Dan now took his position and as he rubbed the ball in his mitt a final preliminary cheer came from the supporters of his nine. The young pitcher fancied that he could discern the shrill treble of little Carlton Hall in the midst of the shout. Waving his hand a moment as a token that he had heard he stepped into his box and delivered the first ball.
A shout went up from the friends of the academy as the ball struck the batter on the shoulder. Two or three of his mates gathered about him and rubbed the injured spot and then the player speedily took first base.
“Ball!” “Two balls!” “Strike!” “Three balls!” “Take your base!” called the umpire in quick succession to the second batter who faced Dan. The shouting became a great roar as the runner on first moved to second base, while his successor took his place on first.