“All ready for the next one!” called Catcher Bob.
“Don’t you fan!” warned Hiram to Jake Weston, who was next up.
“Just watch me!” exulted Jake as he walked confidently to the plate.
Joe sent in a puzzling drop, with considerable swiftness, but to his chagrin Jake “killed” it, landing on it squarely and lining it out for two bags.
“That’s the way to do it!” yelled Luke, capering about.
“Now, where’s your star pitcher?” inquired Hiram, and he looked toward Tom Davis, who was playing first. “I guess he isn’t so much!”
Tom said nothing. He realized that perhaps his advocacy of Joe’s abilities had brought his friend and himself too much in the limelight. But he meant well.
“Oh, well, we just let you hit that one to see how it felt,” shouted Bob Harrison, and that brought back Joe’s nerve, which, for the moment, had deserted him as he saw his effort go for naught. Jake was on second, but he only got one bag farther, stealing to third as Joe struck out the next man.
The school nine members were now whispering uneasily among themselves. Never before, at the opening of the season had they had a scrub pitcher who did such things to them. They realized that they had to play the game for all it was worth.
Luke and Hiram were whispering earnestly together and when Harry Lauter, whom Joe had struck out walked to the bench, Luke stepped up to the plate.