“I should say so,” remarked Mr. Leighton, as he saw the blood running from Sid’s shoe.
Meanwhile Holly had reached third, though the decision was close. He died there, for the next man struck out, retiring the side, and making the score five to four, in favor of Randall, though with Wescott still to have a chance in the ending of the ninth.
The third baseman made all sorts of apologies to Sid, who indeed had a nasty cut, for a spike had gone through the outer, fleshy part of his foot. It was so evidently an accident, however, that nothing unpleasant was said, though Sid could not play, and had to be replaced by Pete Backus.
There was a grim look on Tom’s face as he took his place in the box, and it was justified, for he struck out two men. The third knocked what seemed was going to be a nice hit, but Pete Backus caught it, though he had to jump well for it, a feat for which his training stood him well in hand.
“Wow! We’ve done ’em!” cried Tom, when he realized that the third Wescott man was out, without a run having been scored by their rivals in the last inning.
“We sure have,” agreed Mr. Leighton. “Poor Sid, though. He’ll be out of it for a few days.”
“I don’t care, as long as we won the game,” spoke the plucky lad, as he limped along, his foot having been dressed, and peroxide applied, to prevent blood poisoning.
“It was a glorious victory,” sang Holly Cross, the others joining in, after cheers had been given for Wescott, and returned by those fine-spirited lads.
It was a jolly crowd that journeyed back to Randall next day, with the Wescott scalps hanging at their belts.