Ralph was to pitch for the scrub. Taken in all there was a pretty good set of players back of him, and Frank knew that he would have to do his best unless the regulars wanted to take chances of being beaten, which would have a demoralizing effect upon the team just at the threshold of their second struggle with Bellport.
Ralph never pitched better. He had that wonderfully elusive ball of his working in a way that deceived the heaviest batters most alarmingly.
Coach Willoughby proved his thorough knowledge of the game right from the start. He gave Paul several little pointers that opened the eyes of the catcher to some of his faults and weak places. More than this, he frequently called the players of the batting team about him and explained how certain plays could be made with far greater chances for success than by the older methods they were following.
“Sure Coach Willoughby is right up to date,” grinned Buster, when one of his mates remarked that the old Princeton player must have kept track of the game ever since leaving college.
When the fourth inning had ended, with just one more to play, for the afternoon was waning, the score was very close, being just five to four, in favor of the regulars, and most of these runs had been the result of errors rather than a weakness on the part of either pitcher.
In this inning Frank put on every ounce of steam he could muster. The result was the complete discomfiture of the enemy, who could not even manage to connect with the ball.
“Fine work, my boy!” complimented the coach and umpire; and Frank blushed, since it must mean something to be spoken to in this way by so old and experienced a Princeton graduate as Coach Willoughby.
Not to be outdone, Ralph, too, exerted himself in this inning. One little pop fly that was gathered in by the first baseman was the result of his labor; and the scrub team came in, perspiring freely, but grinning with the chase they had given the regulars.
“Columbia High has reason to be proud of possessing two such clever young twirlers as these boys. I’m going to see that game to-morrow, if I have to break an important engagement to do so,” declared the gentlemanly umpire, earnestly, as he walked with several of the players through the town on his way to Buster’s house.
Buster was apparently the happiest fellow in town. Every time he looked at the sun-burned gentleman he seemed to be saying: