But Tim fell down badly and Dodson walked to first and the head of the visitors’ batting list came up. That was Tracey Gay, and Tracey had at least two hits to his credit to the best of Toby’s recollection. Tracey was evidently bent on sending a fly to the outfield, for he dropped two fouls outside the base lines before Tim had had a ball called on him. Then, with the Spaniards’ coaches howling at him, Tim got nervous and the first thing Toby knew the bases were full with only one out!
“Here’s where we run away from you,” said Arnold as he stepped up and tapped the plate with his bat. “Sorry, Toby.”
“That’s all right, Arn.” Toby smiled, although it was an awful effort. “I’m not worrying any. You’ve got to hit out of the infield to get a run, so go ahead and let’s see you do it.”
“Oh, I might stand here and let him pass me,” laughed Arnold. “I won’t, though, if he will give me a chance to hit.”
“You’ll get plenty of chances. Just be sure you don’t miss them, Arn! Play for the plate, fellows! Next man now! Let’s have ’em, Tim! Right over, you know!”
A wide one that Mr. Trainor very properly called a ball, a drop that went as a strike by the narrowest of margins, a high one that floated past above Arnold’s shoulder and then——
Whack!
Toby’s hands dropped emptily. Down at second Harry Glass was leaping into the air. From third raced Hal Mason. Every one was shouting at once. There was a slap as Harry’s upraised hand speared the ball. Then the sphere was speeding back to the plate. Toby straddled the base, tossing aside his mask, and held out eager hands. On came the runner, fast and hard, threw himself off his feet and slid in a cloud of dust. Smack came the ball into Toby’s mitten. Toby, plucking it out with his right hand, dropped to his knees, blocking the plate, and jabbed forward with it. Then Toby and the runner were tossed apart, the dust arose in a yellow cloud and somewhere above it a voice cried “He’s out!”