“Sure!” they all agreed.
Whistle-Breeches came up first, and when he had fanned out he went off by himself and thought bitter thoughts. For he had narrowed the team’s chances.
“Don’t worry, we may do it yet,” said the coach kindly but he hardly believed it.
Graydon made good in a two bagger, and got to third when Paul Armitage made a magnificent try, but was out at first. And that was the situation when Cap Smith came up. There were two out, a man on third, and two runs were needed. Only a home run it seemed could do the trick.
“And a home run it shall be!” declared Cap to himself.
But when he missed the first ball, and when, after two wild throws a strike was called on him, it looked as if the chances were all gone.
“He’ll walk you!” shouted some sympathizers, but the Tuckerton pitcher had no such intentions. He was going to strike Cap out, he felt.
“Whizz!” went the ball toward the catcher. Cap drew back his bat, and by some streak of luck managed to get it under squarely. He put all the force of his broad shoulders into the blow, and when he saw the ball sailing far and low, he knew it would go over the centre fielder’s head and into the deep grass beyond.
“It’s a home run or a broken leg!” murmured Cap, as he dashed away toward first.
“Oh you Cap!”