“Guess he’ll pull out of the hole all right,” remarked Robbie.
But for the next batter, Hamilton, grown perhaps a trifle too confident, put one over in the groove, and the batter banged out a tremendous three-bagger to right field. Curry made a gallant try for it but could not quite reach.
Three runs came over the plate, while the panting batsman slid to third. The crowd in the stands went wild then, and Thorpe, the manager of the local team, grinned in a mocking way at Brennan.
“Is this interesting enough?” he drawled, referring to Brennan’s patronizing offer to lend him a player.
“Just a bit of luck,” growled Brennan. “A few inches more and Curry would have got his hooks on the ball. Beside, the game’s young yet. We’ve got the class and that’s bound to tell.”
Hamilton, whose blood was up, put on more steam, and the third player went out on an infield fly. But the damage had been done, and those 88 three runs at the very start loomed up as a serious handicap.
“Three big juicy ones,” mourned McRae.
“And all of them on passes,” groaned Robbie. “Too bad we didn’t put Hamilton in right at the start.”
Neither team scored in the second inning, and the third also passed without result.
Hamilton was mowing down the opposing batters with ease and grace. But the swarthy flinger for the local club was not a bit behind him. The heavy sluggers of the visiting teams seemed as helpless before him as so many school-boys.