“They shan’t do it, if I can help it!” murmured Bill Smith half-savagely, as he took his place.
Noticing the manner in which Bill stung in a few practice balls his brother behind the plate smiled happily.
“Bill hasn’t lost any speed,” he thought gleefully.
Scurry Nelson swung with all his force at the first ball, and his bat passed neatly under it.
“Strike one!” came from the umpire, as if it made no difference to him.
“Only two more!” howled the supporters of the Freeport nine. “You can do it, Bill!”
Bill tried the same kind of a curve again, and got away with it, but on the third attempt, after giving a ball on purpose, he heard the fatal “ping” and a swift grounder got past Pete.
There were groans of dismay from part of the crowd, accompanied by howls of delight from the other half, as Scurry landed on first. Bill felt his heart wildly beating, and Cap thumped his big glove viciously.
The Vandalia team on the bench was in transports of joy. Already they saw their enemies vanquished. Bill calmed himself by an effort, and even smiled as he faced Buck Wheeler the next man up. Buck was a notoriously heavy hitter and it seemed as if he would knock the cover off the ball when he swung at the first one Bill sent in. Only he didn’t hit it.
And he didn’t hit the next two, either, though he made desperate efforts to do so, and there was not quite so much elation on the faces of the Vandaliaites as the next man got up. He knocked a little pop fly, which Bill caught with ease making two out and, as quick as a flash the pitcher turned and threw to second, toward which bag Scurry was legging it for all he was worth. Bill was just a second too late, however and the runner was safe.