“Wonder if there’ll be any in this inning?” said Tom.
There wasn’t. Nelson struck out ignominiously, Dan failed to reach first ahead of the ball, and Joe Carter sent up a fly that seemed aimed at the third baseman’s big mitten. And so things went, with slight variations, until the first half of the fourth. Then Hoyt, the Wickasaw captain and first-baseman, found Wells for a long drive into left field that netted him two bases. Bennett, a councilor and the rival pitcher, followed this with a scratch hit that took him to first and sent Hoyt on to third, and the next man up, although he went out at first, brought in the first tally of the game.
And the score remained 1 to 0 until the last of the sixth. In that inning Chicora developed a batting streak, Dan, Carter, and Ridley each finding Bennett for singles, and the bases were full when Loom sent a long fly into right field. Dan scored, Carter went to third, and Ridley to second. Loom went out. Bryant retired after three strikes, but Bob, who followed him, hit safely for two bases, and the score was 3 to 1. Nothing happened in the seventh, and it looked as though 3 to 1 might be the final figures. But with the beginning of the eighth inning affairs took on a different appearance.
Wickasaw’s center-fielder went to bat, waited for a pass to first and got it. Bob called out for the infielders to play for second. As expected, the next man attempted a sacrifice. Had Carter not muffed a good throw from Van Roden all might have been well, but as it was there was a man on second and one on first with none out. Wells looked worried and the coaching across the field added to his discomfiture. The immediate result was that the Wickasaw third-baseman received the ball on his elbow and trotted to first base. Bob informed the umpire persuasively that the batsman had not tried to avoid being struck, but the umpire couldn’t see it that way. Things looked bad for Chicora; the bases were full and not one of the opponents was out.
The next man was Bremer, a councilor, and he should have been an easy victim. But Wells seemed unable to pitch a decent ball, and after four efforts Bremer went down the line and the man on third trotted home amid the wild applause of Wickasaw. Bob walked down to Wells, keeping a close watch on the bases, and strove to put confidence into him.
“Take your time, Wells,” he whispered. “There’s no hurry.”
But Wells had become sullen and stubborn.
“I can’t help it,” he muttered. “I told you I didn’t want to pitch to-day, that I couldn’t do anything. The heat——”
“Oh, never mind the heat,” answered Bob soothingly. “Just put the balls over; let them hit; we’ll attend to them all right.”
“That’s easy enough to say, but I’m not feeling well,” grumbled Wells. “My arm’s tired, and it’s so hot——”