Crack! Greg was off like a colt. Running was in his line. He had swatted the ball somewhere over into left field, and he didn't care where it landed. Gardiner's left field was forced to pick up the leather.
Greg didn't know that anyone had the ball. He didn't care; he had to make first, anyway.
He kicked the bag, turning for the second lap. Then he saw the sphere coming through the air, and slid back.
"Runner safe on first!"
Gridley, with its nerve always on hand, felt that there was a ray of hope. The good, old, strong and fierce school yell went up. The soprano voices of the girls sounded high on the air.
Now Dan Dalzell came up to the plate, bat in hand. Dan hadn't hit a thing during the afternoon, but he meant to do so, now. It was either that or the swan-song!
"Strike one!—-" a groan came from Gridley, a cheer from Gardiner.
But Dan was not in the least confused. He was ready for the next ball.
Biff! It was the pistol shot for Greg, who was off like a two-legged streak, with Dan, ninety feet behind but striving to catch up. The ball came to first only a quarter-second behind Dan's arrival.
"Both runners safe!"