But he did. It was well over his head, and passing him on the right side. [He leaped into the air, and with his bare hand caught the horsehide.] The impact on his unprotected palm was terrific, and he was at once aware that he had split the skin. But though a pain, like a red hot iron, shot down his arm, he held on.
“Batter’s out!” cried the umpire. Then, amid the wild and frenzied shouting of his chums, Tom dropped the ball, and walked in, his arm hanging limply by his side, while Dutch and Mr. Leighton ran anxiously toward him.
But what did Tom Parsons care for an injured hand? He had saved Randall from defeat, for that ended Boxer’s chances, two men died on bases, and the game was over, the score being 7 to 6 in Randall’s favor.
[CHAPTER XXVII]
GLOOMY DAYS
“Much hurt?” inquired Mr. Leighton anxiously, as he reached Tom’s side.
“Oh, nothing to speak of,” replied the plucky pitcher carelessly, but when he held up his hand a few drops of blood trickled from it, and there was a thin, red line across the palm.