“Perhaps I may be able to find out who owns this. Looks like it must have been bought this very day. Anyhow, ‘finders keepers,’ and I’m in one stunning red bandana blower,” and, laughing as he stowed it away, he returned to see the continuation of the close game.
Smith, Sr., was on deck, with his bat making little circles as he waited for his chance to whack the ball. He had a peculiar “crouch” that amused the crowd; but as the elongated first baseman was a natural hitter, much could be forgiven him. In baseball a batting eye is like the mantle of charity, since it covers a multitude of sins.
Smith, Sr., did hit it, too, though he should have been an easy out, only that the ball took an unexpected bounce just as Seymour had set himself to gobble it, and shot over his head.
“Oh!” came in a groan from all over the field, though every one who knew the game understood it was none of the second baseman’s fault, since he never even touched the ball.
Smith reached first, and made a grand bluff of galloping down toward second to draw the throw, but without success.
Lacy was a shrewd one, and sacrificed himself for the good of the cause, advancing his comrade nicely to second. Bardwell tried the same thing, but tapped the ball too hard. Consequently it went quickly to Ralph, who snatched it up, hurled it like a cannon ball to third, catching the runner; and then it was shot across the diamond in time to just double up the stout Bardwell as he jumped for the first sack.
“Now, what do you think of that?” shrieked the local boys in chorus, led by the “best yeller Columbia ever had.”
“Never could do it again in a hundred years. Bardwell stumbled, as he generally does. Luck was against us!” answered one of the Bellport shouters, promptly.
Bellport had finished their side of the game. Columbia still had an inning to play, with one run to tie, and two to win!