“How are your eyes?” asked Pete.
“All right. I feel fine. But I’d like to know who hid my glasses.”
“Batter up!” called the umpire, and Whistle-Breeches, a little pale because of what depended on his work, walked to the plate.
“Now line out a good one!” counseled the coach. “You can do it. Wait for a nice one.”
It was good advice, and well meant, but alas! Whistle-Breeches fanned the air.
“One down!” exulted the captain of the Tuckerton nine. “We only need two more!”
“Well, you don’t get me!” murmured Cap, with a grim tightening of his mouth. And he made good. A pretty two-bagger was his contribution, and he got to third on a little fly which Graydon knocked, but the captain was out at first.
“Two down, play for the batter!” called Burke. “They’ve only got one chance, and they can’t make good. The pennant comes to Tuckerton!”
“Don’t you fool yourself,” murmured Bill, as he went to the plate. Hedden, his rival pitcher, regarded him with a mocking smile. Bill was not especially strong in stick work, but somehow he felt that he was going to make good to-day.
He saw a ball coming, and sized it up for a slow out. Knowing the peculiarity of the curve which Hedden pitched Bill stepped right into it. His bat met the horsehide squarely, and with a “Ping!” that sent a thrill of joy not only to his heart but to the hearts of his brothers and friends.