With only a tantalizing step or two to cover, Prissler saw that the ball was nearly level with his eyes. He threw himself forward, in a very frenzy of determination. He felt himself falling. But he never took his eyes from that white comet. As he plunged to the earth, in a great welter of dust, his hands thrust forth spasmodically.
Something drove hard against his glove, slapping it to the ground. Instinctively, his left hand leaped to cover the precious ball. A shoulder hit wrenchingly, toppling him over in a curious tumble, from which he recovered with astonishing agility, coming to his feet like some jack-in-the-box, and trotting on into the diamond, with the ball held proudly aloft.
Instantly, there grew a confusion of shouts.
"He didn't catch it!"
"Trapped it; that's what he did!"
"No, he didn't, either!"
"Certainly, he did!"
Prissler smiled. He knew. He looked at the umpire for confirmation. But the official was standing there motionless, with a questioning expression on his face that said, as plainly as words, "I don't know whether the ball was trapped or caught." Prissler seemed to go cold all over.
But the umpire was a very wise man. He looked the boy straight in the eyes.