“All you’ve got to do now, Hamilton, old man, is to hold them down in their half,” said Brennan.
“Cinch,” grinned Hamilton. “I’ll have them eating out of my hand.” 95
But the uncertainty that makes the national game the most fascinating one in the world was demonstrated when the Denver team came in to do-or-die in their half of the ninth.
Hamilton fed the first batter a snaky curve, which he lashed at savagely but vainly. The next was a slow one and resulted in a chop to the infield which Larry would have ordinarily gobbled up without trouble. But the ball took an ugly bound just as he was all set for it and went over his head toward right. Before Curry could get the ball the batter had reached second and the stands were once more in an uproar.
The uproar increased when Hamilton, somewhat shaken by the incident, gave the next batter a base on balls, and the broad smiles which had suffused the faces of Robbie and McRae began to fade.
“Is Hamilton going up, do you think?” asked the Giant manager, anxiously.
“Looks something like it,” replied Robbie, “but he’ll probably brace. You see Denton’s talking to him now, to give him a chance to rest up a little.”
The third baseman had strolled over to Hamilton on pretense of discussing some point of play, but the crowd saw through the subterfuge, and shouts of protest went up:
“Write him a letter!”