"I hope Dick is bracing," groaned one of Gridley's subs.
"He isn't," retorted Dave Darrin. "He's just on the job, steady as iron, cool as a cucumber and confident as an American."
Gardiner's pitcher measured his man critically, then signaled the next ball.
It came, just as Dick, closely watching the pitcher, expected it to come, a swift, graceful out-curve.
Bang!
At least it sounded like a gunshot. Dick Prescott struck the ball with all his might. He struck with greatest force just barely below the center of the sphere.
It was a fearful crack, aimed right and full of steam and speed.
"Wow!"
Three base-runners, at the first sound had started running for all they were worth. Dick's bat flew like a projectile itself, fortunately hitting no one, and Prescott was running like Greek of old on the Olympic field.
One man in!