These were only a few of the cries that greeted our hero as he stepped to the plate. Ordinarily Dick was a good safe hitter, in contrast to many pitchers, but this time, when so much depended on his skill, he found himself feeling nervous.
"Here, this won't do!" he told himself. "Brace up. Think of that big touring car you're going to get and the fun you'll have. Think of Grit—and Uncle Ezra."
The memory of how the aged man had hurried away from Grit's threatened attack brought a smile to Dick's face. He could feel his nervousness leaving him, but he was brought to a realizing sense of the importance of paying more strict attention to baseball, by hearing the umpire call sharply:
"Strike one!"
Dick had let the first ball pass him without making a motion toward it, though it was just where he wanted it.
"Watch yourself," called Paul Drew, in a low voice.
Dick saw that he must. He looked narrowly at the pitcher and, from previous experience, he thought he knew what kind of a ball was coming.
"I'm going to hit it!" said Dick fiercely to himself.
He stepped right into it, before the curve had time to "break," and when he felt the impact of his bat on the horsehide he knew that he had made a hit.
"It's good for two bags anyhow!" he murmured as he sprinted toward first, and had a vision of Naylor racing in from third.