“I’m doing all I can!” snapped Sam. “I’m not getting decent support.”
“Aw, cut it out! Of course you are!” asserted Rankin.
A single tally by each side in the sixth, and two for the Silver Stars and one for the Resolutes in the seventh, brought the game to that usual breathing spot. The score was now a tie, and the excitement was growing.
“For cats’ sake beat ’em out, fellows!” pleaded Darrell. “Use your bats. They’re to hit the ball with, not to fan the air!”
Perhaps his frantic appeal had some effect, for in the next inning the Resolutes only got one run, while, when the Silver Stars came to bat to close the inning, they hammered out three, putting them well ahead.
But there was trouble brewing. Sam’s arm was giving out. He realized it himself but he dared not speak of it. Grimly he fought against it, but he saw that the other side was aware of it.
“Come on now, we’ll get his goat!” yelled the captain of the Resolutes. Then began what may be regarded as the cruel practice of yelling discouraging remarks at the man in the box. Sam was plainly told that he was “rotten” while other and less mild epithets were hurled at him.
These had their effect. He gave two men their base on balls, and he made a number of wild throws to first where Tom Davis had replaced Darrell Blackney. However, by a strong brace Sam managed to hold his opponents runless, though in this saving work he was nobly assisted by his fellows, and by the quickness of Tom in not letting the wild balls get by him. Tom was a magnificent high jumper, which served him in good stead.
The ending of the eighth saw the score nine to seven in favor of the Silver Stars, they having brought in three runs.
It began to look, in spite of Sam’s trouble, as if the home team would win. There was a riot of cheers when the Resolutes went to bat in the ninth inning, and despite the fact that they were two runs behind, their supporters did not fail them.