“Watch Frank bring him in with a three-bagger! He can do it, all right!” sang the crowd, as the pitcher stepped quietly up to the plate.
CHAPTER IV
THE RALLY THAT CAME TOO LATE
Frank gave no sign of the excitement that thrilled his every nerve. He realized that possibly a fortunate hit on his part right then and there would eventually win the game.
Despite the furious racket that kept up on every hand, he faced Coddling, and prepared to do his very best to at least advance the runner.
As a rule pitchers are not reckoned good batters, but Frank Allen had always been known to hit well. Coddling therefore tightened up, and determined to put his rival out of the running by tempting him with some of his astonishing assortment of curves and drops, for his swift ball had already cost him dear, so that he was afraid to use it often.
Frank even allowed a strike to be called on him before he picked out one that seemed to his liking. What he did to that ball was a caution. It sailed away out in right, and Snodgrass had the run of his life to chase after it.
Paul, reaching second, paused, an instant, for if the ball were caught, he would have some difficulty getting back to first in time.
“Go on, Paul!” bellowed the coach through his hands.
The noise had broken out worse than ever, so that each player had to be a law unto himself just then.
“He muffed it! Run! run! run!” whooped everybody who had the interest of Columbia at heart, while the Bellport adherents looked dismal enough.