“Ball two!” followed in rapid succession. Rob smiled easily. Jared’s dislike of the boy at the bat was making him irritable and uneasy.
But he rallied his skill and threw what looked like an easy pitch. Rob struck at it but fanned the empty air.
Jared grinned, the Hamptonites yelled and the umpire called:—
“Strike one!”
“All right for you, Mister Casey at the bat,” snarled Jared, “watch out for this one.”
It came like a flash, a tricky, wavy curve. Rob swung with all his strength and—missed!
“Strike two!”
A groan went up from the Scout supporters. Their chances of victory looked slim indeed now.
“Wake up! You’re in a trance!” scoffed Jared, grinning at Rob. “Get out of the straw.”
“The straw in the red barn!” suddenly flashed Rob, in a low, but far-reaching voice. It was pregnant with meaning and Jared turned white as death. He fumbled the ball with trembling fingers.