"Oh, now, Purcell!"
The man now hovering over the plate knew he simply had to do something. He was captain of the nine. He had caught like a Pinkerton detective all afternoon, but now something was demanded of his brain and brawn.
"Strike one!" called the umpire, with voice that grated.
"Good-bye!"
"Strike two!" came again the umpire's rasping tones.
Even now Gridley fans wouldn't admit cold feet, but the chills were starting that way.
Crack!
"Whoop!" Then the battle-cry of Gridley rose frantically from all the seats—-Purcell had made first base.
"Prescott!"
"It's yours!"