By degrees the excitement began to ooze out, as attention became riveted on the next man at bat. This was Ralph.
They had failed to rattle him while in the box, but that did not prevent the Bellport legions from indulging in a most astonishing din. Ralph never noticed what was going on. His eye was on Coddling. He wanted to guess what sort of a ball the clever Bellport twirler meant to dish up to him.
“Watch that feller! He’s going to win the game if you let him hit it!”
“Strike him out, Coddling. He’s dead easy!”
“Hey, Ralph, old boy, you know what I told you? Nothing less than a three-bagger will do! Hear me?” called one fellow, who did not even know the batter to speak to; but on the ball field astonishing familiarity becomes the rule.
Ralph had his teeth set hard. If it depended on him to win the game he meant that they should not be disappointed. He watched Coddling eagerly, yet with every muscle set for instantaneous work.
Whack!
“He done it! I told you so!”
Ralph was jumping for first, while Paul had run down to second. The third baseman had knocked the ball down, but had to chase it, so that Coddling rushed over to cover third as in duty bound, in case Paul attempted to come along.
But he went back to second, quite contented. Columbia stock rose just about then; and Herman again led his crowd whooping in concert: