And Jack, his hand paining him badly, gripped that bat and made up his mind to retrieve himself.
Clifford sent a high ball and the crowd yelled its delight. He followed that with a wild one that the catcher just managed to get. “Two balls,” said the umpire. Maple Ridge danced with glee. Then Clifford and the catcher talked it over half-way between mound and plate, and the catcher patted him on the shoulder and the pitcher worked a very pretty drop on Jack at the next delivery.
In the meantime Truesdale, at first, was anxious to get down to second, and on the next pitch he started. Luckily for him the ball was a low drop and by the time the catcher had straightened out for the throw he was sliding for the bag. More cheers from the home team’s friends. The score was one strike and three balls. Jack made up his mind to give Clifford an opportunity of passing him, but Clifford didn’t intend to do anything of the sort. The next delivery, at which Jack made no motion, was another strike, and it was now or never. Jack took a fresh grip at the bat and glued his eyes to the ball.
Clifford, fighting against nervousness, was very deliberate, eyeing batsman and base-runner alternately. At last he wound up, straightened out and the ball sped toward the plate. It looked straight and good, and, since it was the crucial delivery, Jack believed it would prove such when it reached him. And it did. And [Jack met it squarely with a good, sharp crack] and raced for first!
[“Jack met it squarely with a good, sharp crack!”]
Three feet from the ground sped the ball, two feet inside the third base line, four feet from the fielder’s frantic effort to reach it, a fine straight base hit that rolled clear to the outfield. Truesdale, taking no chances, slid the last ten feet of his journey to the plate, was caught up by frenzied admirers and borne off the field. For the game was over, with the final score 2 to 1! Maple Ridge, in a garrison finish, had won out in the ninth!