Herb Lacy managed to work him for a free pass to first, but after all it did him little good, for the next batter, Bardwell, lifted a foul that Paul gathered in against the grandstand, to the accompanying cheers of the occupants.
This brought affairs down to the ninth, and all over the field there was intense excitement.
“This is the lucky Bellport inning!” shouted one fellow, encouragingly.
“Watch them run the game out right here!”
“Will they? Maybe, maybe not!” answered Jack Eastwick.
Herman Hooker had jumped to his feet as Columbia went to bat for the last time. Up to the present he had been content to play a minor part, but now his time had come.
“Give it to them, boys—give them the slogan we love, good and strong. Hi! hi! hi! ho! ho! ho! veni! vidi! vici! Columbia! Siss! boom! ah!”
Amid such a pandemonium Tom Budd struck out, though he died trying to find one of those balls which Coddling seemed to be twining around his neck. Seymour was somewhat more fortunate. He raised a fine fly, but unfortunately it landed in the outstretched hands of Smith, Junior, who did not seem to stir a yard.
Paul Bird made a lucky hit that should have been an out, but the players were so nervous by this time that Lacy actually fumbled the ball. Frank, with all the encouragement that might accompany such backing as could spring from the “best yeller Columbia ever had,” as he jumped up and down, and waved his megaphone violently, sent a hot liner straight at Hough on second that nearly took him off his feet, though he held it.
And then Bellport came to the bat. Every man looked grimly confident. Clay made a hit out of the first ball that came along, reaching out and stealing what was meant to be a wide one.