Frank Lamson and Catcher Dodson met and talked it over, and then Arnold walked in from second and they talked it over some more. And the enemy hooted and gibed and demanded action. Frank went back to the mound and Arnold to his position. On the bases the runners, encouraged by shrill shouts from the coachers, took long leads. Toby, at third, ran half-way to the plate on Frank’s first wind-up, with the result that the delivery was wild and Dodson only prevented a tally by blocking the ball with his body. Then Frank threw to third quickly and unexpectedly and Toby had a narrow escape. Once more Frank tried it, but this time Toby was watchful. Then Frank walked out of the box and signaled to Phillips, and the third baseman advanced some ten feet from base to meet him. Frank kept an eye on Toby while he and Phillips conferred, and although Snub Mooney raised a wonderful racket back of base and Toby threatened dashes to the plate, the latter had no chance to get home. Frank and Phillips whispered with heads very close and then Phillips returned to the bag, Frank walked back to the box, apparently rubbing the ball with his hands, and Toby danced along the path again. And then—well, then Phillips took the ball from under his arm, stepped after Toby and dug him none too gently in the ribs with it! And Mr. Trainor waved his hand and said, “Out at third!” in a rather disgusted tone of voice. And Toby, surprised, dismayed and, it must be confessed, decidedly peeved, dropped his head and joined Snub on the coaching line.
“That’s a kid trick,” he said to Phillips, contemptuously.
“Bush league stuff,” supplemented Snub. “Why don’t you play the game fairly?”
The big third baseman grinned mockingly as he turned after throwing the ball back to Frank. “Keep your eyes open, fellows,” he replied. “You’re easy!”
By that time the Towners had flocked across from the bench, protesting angrily. “Hiding the ball’s forbidden,” declared Gus Whelan. “How about that, Mr. Umpire?”
“He’s out,” replied Mr. Trainor, calmly. Gus and the others sputtered, but Toby sent them back.
“There’s no rule against the hidden-ball trick,” he told them. “It was my fault. I ought to have seen it. It’s all right, though, fellows. We only want one run. Let’s have it. Hit it out, Tony!”
But Tony swung helplessly under one of Frank’s fast ones and let the third delivery go by and heard it called a strike.
“Gee, I wish he could hit it,” muttered Toby to Snub. “If we can only get Billy to third we can get him in. I’ll coach here. You beat it down to first, Snub, and take it there. Manuel’s up after Gus.”
Frank tried the batter with a wide one that didn’t fool him, and it was two and two.