"No. Where's the ball? Everybody ready?"
Bracing himself, feet apart, directly behind the foul line, Sheffield took the ball in both hands, raised it suddenly in an overhand loop shot—and missed the basket by a good six inches!
Nobody spoke. Nobody told him it didn't matter; for it did, mightily. Nobody even asked what the trouble was. But that wide miss, by a center who could net a goal nine times out of ten on free throws, was like a dash of cold water to the Lakeville team.
"But we won't quit," Bunny told himself, trotting into position for the next toss-up. "He'll have another chance in a minute."
It came even sooner than he expected. Scurrying here and there over the floor, apparently without aim or purpose, but in reality dodging and running with preconceived plan, the Lakeville five edged closer and closer to the basket, till in the end Sheffield caught a long pass almost in front of the goal. With a quick leap to one side, he shook off the Elkana guard; with the precision born of much practice, he looped the ball up and over.
The shot was long. Hitting the backboard a full foot above the net, the ball bounced back against the outer edge of the metal ring, hung uncertainly a moment, and then trickled free to the floor. For the second time in as many minutes, Sheffield had failed.
"Three minutes to play!" the timekeeper called, as they raced back to their positions.
Three minutes! And Lakeville one point behind! Bunny balled his nervous hands into hard fists and tried to swallow the lump that kept coming up in his throat. There was a chance yet, of course, but with Sheffield shooting wildly—
For the third time in succession, a little later, the Lakeville captain missed the basket. This throw was the worst of the three; a blind man, Bunny told himself bitterly, might have come as close. What was the good of feeding Sheffield the ball, if he chucked away his chances like that?