“Make this inning short and sweet, old scout!” sang out Mouser.
And short and sweet was what Bobby made it. He was on his mettle, and put every bit of control he had upon the ball. Despite the frantic efforts of the Somerset coachers to rattle him, he kept perfectly cool. Victory was too close now for him to let it go.
The first batter up knocked a high foul to Sparrow, who held it tight. The next sent a weak bounder to Frank, which he tossed to Bobby, who had run over to cover the bag. Then Bobby shattered the last hope of Somerset by striking out the last man on three pitched balls.
The Rockledge rooters, wild with delight, rushed down from the stands and gathered about their favorites, who were grinning happily. They had played a good game and deserved to win, but Bobby, because of his gallant stand when the team had its back against the wall, came in naturally for the lion’s share of the applause.
“That was some sweet pitching all right.”
“You had them standing on their heads.”
“Your nerve was right with you.”
“Wait till he tackles Belden. He’ll show them a thing or two.”
“I’m glad we pulled through all right,” said Bobby modestly. “All the boys put up a dandy game. And don’t forget that Hicksley held them down splendidly in the first part of the game.”
“That’s so,” conceded Mouser. “But when it came to the pinch he cracked.”