For Lakeville, the last half of the second began well. Bi laced a clean single over short. Roundy laid down a perfect bunt, and beat out the throw to first. S. S. walked on four balls. And it was in this tense situation, bases full and nobody out, that Nap came to bat for the first time.
Just at that moment, he would have given a million dollars for the skill to lash out a long hit. But he knew, deep down in his heart, that he could never do it. Agonizing recollections of his usual attempts, resulting in feeble grounders to some waiting fielder, seared his mind. Already he could foresee the havoc he might create. In all probability, he would bat into a double or even a triple play, that would wipe clean the bases, like some remorseless scythe.
His hands slipped up on the handle of the bat. Bonner, the Belden pitcher, wound up and threw. Before Nap's worried eyes, a little swish of white catapulted over the plate. The umpire jerked a thumb over his right shoulder. "Strike one!" he said. And Nap had barely seen that ball. No, he could never hit it out.
Bonner pitched again. It was a ball this time, purposely wide of the plate—a coaxer. Nap stood like a statue.
"Ball one!"
A third time the pitcher wound up and threw. A third time Nap did not offer at the ball.
"Strike two!"
On the bases, the runners took swift leads with each lift of the pitcher's arm, scurrying back like scared rats as the ball thudded into the catcher's glove. They were curiously silent. Nobody shouted for him to hit it; each of the three, Nap knew, was afraid he would. Like him, they feared a double or triple play might result. After all, if he stood there and allowed the third strike to be called, it would be better than forcing some runner.
He shook himself angrily. How far would Napoleon have gone if he had chosen to wait impotently? His first rule of warfare was, "Time is everything." At the thought, Nap gripped the bat more firmly, edging closer to the plate. And then, quite accidentally, he caught the signal that passed from runner to runner—the quick lifting of a finger that meant "Steal!"