“They mustn’t get another mark!” stipulated the captain when the final inning opened. “Not a run, Bill.”
“Not if I can help it!” the pitcher promised. From a corner Mersfeld watched his successful rival—watched him with envious eyes.
From the grandstand Bondy also watched, and muttered:
“I won’t fail next time. I’ll spoil your record if it’s possible!”
Amid a wild chorus of songs and school cries Bill faced his next opponent. He proved an easy victim, as did the lad following, but from the manner in which the third man began hitting fouls it seemed to argue that he would eventually make a hit. And a hit at this stage might mean anything. For Westfield needed two runs to beat, and they were going to be hard enough to secure—every member of the team knew that.
It was the fourth foul the batter had knocked. The others had been impossible to get, though Cap had tried for them. Now, as he tossed off his mask, and stared wildly up into the air to gage the ball he heard cries of:
“Can’t get it! Can’t get it!”
“I’m going to!” he thought fiercely. He ran for it, and was aware that he would have to almost run into the grand stand to reach it. The crowd made way for him. Into the stand he crashed, with a shock that jarred him considerably, but—he had the ball in his hands!
“Wow! Wow! Wow!” cheered the crowd, even some of the Tuckertons themselves. The side had been retired without a run, and they cheered Cap’s fine catch.
“Now for our last chance!” said Captain Graydon when his men came in. “We’ve just got to get two runs. No tenth inning—do it in this!”