Cap was almost exhausted. His legs felt like wooden ones, but they kept going like the pistons of an engine.
“Come on, boy! Come on! Come on!”
“Oh you Cap!”
“Beat it! Beat it!”
Cap dropped like a shot and slid, feet foremost. The catcher reached forward. There was a vicious “ping!” as the ball landed in his big mit.
There was a moment of intense anxiety. A cloud of dust hid catcher, runner and umpire from sight.
And then, from this mist of dirt, in which three figures could dimly be seen moving about, came this one word:
“Safe!”
Oh, what a howling there was! What cheers, what yells, what thumpings on the back, what improvised war-dances, what shakings of hands!
For Freeport had won, almost on the last chance and had the pennant. No wonder Cap Smith was overwhelmed with praise as he walked panting to the bench.