“Striker’s out!” called the umpire.
A howl of derision went up from the watchers as the youth turned back and walked toward the seat with a pained expression on his face. “Idiot!” commented Dave.
But there was yet a chance. A three-bagger would tie the score. A slightly built boy selected a bat and took his place at the plate. Simultaneously the pitcher turned, waved his hand, and the fielders scattered farther away. Some one started a cheer.
“’Rah-rah-rah, ’Rah-rah-rah, ’Rah-rah-rah, Gray!”
“There’s your friend, Wayne,” said Dave. “Hope he’ll swipe out a home run.”
“So do I. But no such luck, I’m afraid.”
The pitcher was evidently afraid of Gray’s prowess with the bat and went to work skillfully to deceive him by all his arts. But Gray was cool and used the best of judgment. The first ball sped slowly by and resolved itself into a wide outcurve. “One ball!” droned the umpire. The catcher protested loudly, indignantly. Then he marched forward and held a whispered conversation with the pitcher, while the audience laughed derisively.
“No secrets!” bawled a small junior.
The catcher returned, and, leaning far to the right, smote his glove disconcertingly. But Gray refused to glance around or lose his head. The pitcher’s wonted skill and coolness had returned to him. The men on bases were playing far off, ready to take advantage of anything in the shape of a hit. Up went the pitcher’s hands, forward shot his arm, and Gray leaped desperately backward.
“Strike!” called the umpire.