“Well, try your best, that’s a good chap. Get them over the plate; never mind if they hit them.”
“All right,” answered the pitcher despondently.
The Wickasaw captain found the first ball, but it went up in an infield fly. The next man, too, went out; Loom pulled down his liner head-high and the man on third scurried back to his base. Then came the Wickasaw catcher—and Wells kindly presented him with his base, and again the “Babe” was forced to score a tally for the enemy. The honors were even now, but the inning was not yet at an end. Wells went thoroughly to pieces. A two-base hit by one of the rival nine’s councilors brought in two men and still left second and third bases occupied. Wickasaw’s supporters kept up a continuous shouting, hoping doubtless to add to the discomfiture of the Chicora pitcher, while back of first and third bases the Wickasaw coachers screamed and yelled with the same end in view. Naturally enough, Wells’s wildness eventually proved contagious, and it was Bob himself who let in the next run, missing a throw to the plate after a hit. But if he was accountable for that tally he was also accountable for the termination of the inning. For he managed to toss the ball, while lying flat on his back, to the plate in time to put out the next ambitious Wickasaw runner. And so the rout finally came to an end with the score 6 to 3 in Wickasaw’s favor.
Bob was an anxious-looking youth when the side trotted in and threw themselves about the ground to rest and cool off.
“I don’t know what the dickens to do,” he said to Dan and Nelson. “There’s no use putting Wells in again, even if he’d go, and he says he won’t. Little Morris can’t pitch on account of his ivy-poisoning. Van Roden has done a little of it, but he can only pitch a straight ball, and it isn’t even swift. Who’s up, ‘Babe’?”
“Ridley up, Loom on deck!” piped the “Babe.”
“For goodness’ sake, Rid, hit the ball!” called Bob. “We’ve got to get four runs this inning.” And after Ridley had nodded and stepped to the plate Bob went on: “The worst of it is we’ve got our tail-enders coming up. After Loom there isn’t a man can hit. However—” He turned frowningly to watch Ridley, chewing savagely at the blade of grass between his teeth. Ridley made a safe hit and went to first, and Chicora applauded wildly.
“Joe, coach at first, will you?” Bob called. “You’re up, Loom. You know what to do, old chap. We need runs, you know.” Then he turned to Dan and Nelson again. “Look here, what do you fellows think? Shall I give Van a chance?”
“No use,” answered Dan gloomily. “He’s no pitcher. Isn’t there any one else?” Bob shook his head.