But Dick Furst was too anxious, for he found the first ball offered and popped a tiny foul to Dolph. The Boarders, delighted at having at last something to celebrate, howled lustily and the “band” did its level best—or worst! That encouragement appeared to have its effect on Hal Morris, for he steadied down and struck out Tyler Wicks for the second time! Wicks scowled at the umpire and slammed his bat down angrily. The Boarders jeered loudly.
“Oh, you wicked Wicks!” “Say, Wicks, your flame’s out!” “Why didn’t you hit it, Tyler?”
With two out, Tom Coolidge stepped up looking desperately determined, but Dolph knew Tom’s weakness for high balls and signaled Morris accordingly. Coolidge was fooled once and then hit a long fly to Truesdale in centre field and the first half of the fatal inning was over.
Hal Morris looked pretty miserable as he went to the bench, but the others cheered him up as best they could. “You’re doing all right, old man,” said Ted consolingly. “You had a little bit of hard luck; that’s all. You can hold them down the rest of the game.”
But Morris shook his head doubtfully.
“I don’t know, Ted. My arm’s getting pretty lame. I haven’t pitched more than five innings for a long time, you see.”
“You’re up, Ted,” said Dolph. “Try a bunt if he gives you a chance, and when you get to second run on anything. We’ve got to get those fellows going. They’ll make all sorts of errors if we can only start them.”
Ted went to bat amidst the frenzied tooting of the cornet, the wild beating of the drum and the mingled strains of rattles, harmonicas and other instruments. This riot of sound was, of course, aimed at Mort Prince in the hope that it would affect his pitching, but where there is a deafening turmoil already a little sound more or less doesn’t make much difference. Prince tried Ted with a low one that was palpably a ball, offered him one above his shoulder, and then settled down to strike him out. But Ted found what he wanted after a strike had been called, connected with it lightly, loosening his grip on the bat at the same moment, and streaked for first. It was a slow trickling bunt along the third base line and both catcher and third baseman ran for it. Catcher got to it first, scooped it up and threw to first, but Ted beat out the ball by a narrow margin.
Cook was warned against hitting a long fly, and yet did that very thing. As it happened, however, it was scored as a sacrifice, for Ted made second after the catch by right fielder. With one out, Harry Smythe was up. The shortstop was a good man on bases, but a poor batsman, and with a hit necessary to score a tally Dolph wished that some one else was at bat. But Smythe surprised Dolph and himself too, I fancy, by finding the second ball pitched and placing it between first baseman and the bag. Ted already had the signal and was streaking for third before the crack of the bat reached his ears. Dolph, coaching at third, looked, took a chance and waved him home. Right fielder had been a little slow in backing-up, but now the ball was hurtling to the plate. Ted, seeing that his only chance of scoring lay in getting around the catcher, launched himself toward the back of the bag just as the ball thumped into the catcher’s mitt. There was a cloud of dust and catcher and runner were for a moment inextricably mixed up at the plate. Then Mr. Shay said “Safe!” The Towners howled protests and the Boarders shrieked their delight. And meanwhile Harry Smythe had reached third and was all for stealing home in the confusion. But Dolph held him by main force.
“Stay where you are, Harry. Play it safe. There’s only one out. Run up the line and rattle Prince all you can, but don’t get caught.”