The umpire’s voice was drowned by the sudden burst of wild acclaim from the Crimson stands, and Chub trotted to first, to be enthusiastically patted and thumped on the back by the coacher stationed there. Up in the cheering section five freshmen were hugging each other ecstatically. The head of the Crimson’s batting list was coming up, and things looked bright. The cheering became incessant. The coach shouted and bawled. But the Blue’s pitcher refused to be rattled. He settled down, held Chub close on first and, before any one quite realized what was happening, had struck out the next man.
But Chub had made up his mind to go on, and he went. He made his steal on the first ball thrown to the new batter and, although catcher threw straight and fast to second-baseman, Chub slid around the latter and reached the bag. Then, while the cheers broke forth again, he got up, patted the dust out of his clothes, and took a fresh lead. The pitcher eyed him darkly for a moment and then gave his attention to the batsman. Crack! Ball and bat met and the short-stop ran in to field a fast grounder, and as he ran Chub flashed behind him. Gathering up the ball, short-stop turned toward third, saw that he was too late, and threw to first, putting the batsman out by the narrowest of margins. “Two out!”
[Chub Eaton was lying in a cloud of dust]
The Crimson captain stepped to the plate, looking determined, and hit the first delivery safely. But it was a bunt near the plate and, although Chub was ready to run in, he had no chance. The captain stole second and Chub looked for a chance to get home; but they were watching him. The Crimson supporters were on their feet, their shouts imploring victory. The next man up was an erratic batsman, one who had made home runs before this in time of stress and who had, quite as often, failed to “make good.” Amid the wildest excitement, the Blue pitcher pulled down his cap, calmly studied the signal, and sped the ball toward the plate.
“Strike!” Again, and the batsman swung and the ball glanced back against the netting.
“Foul! Strike two!”
Then came a ball. The batsman was plainly discouraged, plainly nervous. Chub, dancing around at third, worrying the pitcher to the best of his ability, decided that it was now or never for him. Taking a long lead, he waited poised on his toes. As the ball left the pitcher’s hand he raced for home.