"Hitting him!" shouted the overjoyed fellow at Roy's elbow. "They're hammering him for fair. Told you they might do it."
"But he'll brace up," said Roy. "He's got to brace up."
"Let's hope he won't till the fellows put this game on ice. Here's Cooper. He's not a strong batter, but—— Oh, gee! look a' that! Look a' that! A Texas leaguer! That scores Grant!"
Indeed, Chipper had bumped a Texas leaguer over the head of the second baseman, who made a desperate but futile effort to reach the ball; and Oakdale had every reason to cheer as Rodney Grant easily scampered home from third.
Sanger really seemed to be off his feet, and Sleuth Piper, trying for a hit, drove two fouls into the crowd on the bleachers.
"Straighten 'em out a little, Pipe," pleaded Cooper, returning for the second time to first. "You've got my tongue hanging out now."
Copley, squatting, signaled for a straight ball. Sanger, apprehensive and nervous, shook his head. Copley promptly repeated the signal, and insisted on it. Finally Sanger obeyed, putting one straight over.
Sleuth swung at that straight one, his heart full of confidence, but he missed it cleanly. In a moment he was raging at the catcher, who had promptly snapped off his mask and tossed it aside.
"Somebody will break your head if you try that again," snarled Piper.
"What's the matter with you?" flung back Copley belligerently. "You've got bats in your belfry."