Leach was very glad that the bases were empty. Even under those circumstances he began as if he meant to pass this dangerous slugger. After pitching two balls, however, he got one across, and Ben fouled it. Then came another ball, which was followed by a high, speedy shoot.
Stone smashed the horsehide again, bringing every spectator up standing. It was a splendid drive, but Cohen took it on the run and held fast to it.
“Ah-ha! Oh-ho!” whooped Baxter joyously. “Old Eat-’em-alive is finished. Now you have things your own way, Lefty.”
Although Shultz was grinning as Stone came walking back, Osgood politely declined to smile.
Sile Crane sighed as he picked up his bat.
“By Jinks!” he muttered. “I’d sartainly like to make one more hit off that feller. I don’t seem able to touch him no more.” After which he walked to the plate and swung at the first ball pitched with all the strength of his long, sinewy arms.
There was a tremendous ringing crack, and the ball went sailing away, away, far over the center-fielder’s head. The little Oakdale crowd screamed like lunatics, but the Wyndhamites were distressingly silent as the long-geared lad raced over first, second, third, and on to the plate, which he reached ere the ball could be returned to the diamond.
[CHAPTER IV—WYNDHAM’S LAST DESPERATE STAND.]
Charley Shultz sneered openly, with his full red upper lip curved high and exposing his broad teeth, as the delighted Oakdale players congratulated their comrade who had made that opportune home-run drive.
“Look a’ that gangling country jay,” he muttered in Osgood’s ear. “See him grin like a baboon. See him distend his flat chest. Probably he thinks himself a Lajoie or a Wagner.”