Markwith had started well by striking out the first man up. The second, however, he had passed to first. The next man laid down a neat sacrifice on which the man on first had got to second. Still there were two out and the chances were against scoring.
But Bradbury, batting in the clean-up position, had caught a low ball that came singing over the plate just where he wanted it and sent it whistling into the bleachers for the prettiest kind of a homer.
The clout rather unnerved Markwith, and he sent the next one to first on a free pass. But the next man hit a sharp grasser to Iredell that the latter handled cleanly and got to first in plenty of time for the out.
“Fine pitching—I don’t think,” grumbled McRae, as Markwith came in rather sheepishly. “You poor boob,” he added to the discomfited pitcher, “don’t you know better than to give Bradbury a low one in the groove? Haven’t you seen often enough that he just eats up that kind?”
Markwith merely grunted.
“I’ll let you start the second in the hope you’ll settle down,” continued McRae. “But at the least sign of faltering, it’s you for the showers.”