“He’ll get it! Not this time, Columbia! Tony’s going to hold that balloon!” howled a half-crazy Bellport backer, as he stretched his neck to watch.
“You’ve got another guess coming, old fellow. What will the man on third be doing all that time eh?” jeered a Columbia student.
Banghardt did get under. He made a magnificent catch, and held the ball, even though he rolled over twice in so doing. But Seymour had shot from the third bag the very second the ball fell. He was racing like a wild broncho for home as Tony rolled about in the field. And by the time the Bellport player managed to regain his feet to hold up the ball, a run had crossed the plate for the visitors!
Again and again did Herman Hooker lead his demonstrative band around. They howled, they cheered, they shrieked; and those who had lost control of their voices jumped up and down like dancing dervishes.
Columbia was a run to the good!
Allison went out, shortstop to first. Then came the Bellports to the bat, grim and determined, with Lee first to the plate, and ready to smash the ball over the fence. Frank felt his lame arm troubling him, but he set his teeth hard. He must hold out now to the end. This game meant everything to Columbia High, and he was determined not to lose it, if such a disaster could be avoided.
And every other man on the team felt just the same way. When Lee did go after an outshoot, and give it a frightful crack, the crowd uttered an involuntary “oh!” and then followed it with a tumultuous burst of cheering. It was that acrobatic shortstop, Tom Budd, who became responsible for this mad applause; for he had thrown himself to one side, made a stab for the speedy passing ball, turned a complete somersault, and upon landing on his feet shot the sphere at Lanky on first in plenty of time to head off the runner.
Banghardt came next. The Bellports died hard, and Tony might have followed up his brilliant catch with a hard hit, only he was short of breath. Consequently after knocking two wicked fouls, the umpire decided that he had allowed another good one to pass over the plate. So Tony was invited to retire.
Smith, Jr., appeared as the last hope. Already were the players beginning to put their bats away in the bags, as though the game might be reckoned as good as over. Frank never faltered a particle. This man was just as dangerous as though a dozen came after him. There must be no let-up in speed or curves; for many a game apparently won has gone the other way through over-confidence.
Three times did Smith sweep the air without discovering until too late that he had bitten at deceivers. Then a roar broke out that dwarfed all previous noises!