Then Freeport went to bat and succeeded in getting one run over the plate, much to the joy of her supporters. Vandalia duplicated this in her second chance, and the game ran along to the seventh inning without another run being chalked up.
“Here’s where we do something,” announced Jake Jensen, of the opposing team, as he took his place, and swung his mushroom bat menacingly. But he only fanned the wind, as did his successor.
Then Flub Madison knocked as pretty a three-bagger as was seen in many a game, and before Bateye could get the ball in, the runner was speeding away from the last bag. But, as he turned, Doc. Lutkin who was covering third, limped to one side with an expression of pain on his face.
“Flub has spiked Doc!” yelled Pete, running over to his friend. The ball bounced in front of Doc, and Pete caught it, but Flub had seen it coming, and was back on the bag. “You spiked him on purpose!” cried Pete, drawing back his fist.
“I did not!” asserted Flub angrily. “He got in my way! I couldn’t help it!”
“I saw you do it on purpose—you want to kill off our men!” went on Pete menacingly, and there might have been a row, had not Cap run down from home, and quieted his brother.
“I’m sorry,” said Flub contritely. “Are you much hurt, Doc?”
“Oh, I—I guess I can play,” answered the plucky lad, “but I can’t run.”
“We’ll let you have a runner,” proposed the captain of the Vandalia nine. It was the least he could do. Doc’s foot was punctured in the fleshy part, and, after it had been treated, the game went on. Flub came in on a little fly by Nifty Pell, and that put the Vandalias one run ahead whereat there was great rejoicing.
“We’ve got to do ’em now or never,” declared Cap grimly, when he and his mates came up for their turn.