“Brewster, you go over there and catch for Greene, will you?” And then, turning again to the bench, “Kesner, you play left field next half.”
Ned picked up a catcher’s mitt, and for the rest of the half caught the balls that the substitute pitcher sent him as he warmed up to take Lester’s place. Greene didn’t keep him so busy, however, that he couldn’t watch the game. Milford had hit safely to right field and had reached second on a slow bunt by Lester. The wavers of the purple flags implored little Browne to “smash it out!” But the short-stop never found the ball, and Housel took his place and lifted the sphere just over second-baseman’s head into the outfield. The bases were full. The red-faced senior was working his arms heroically and begging in husky tones for more noise. And when, a minute later, McLimmont took up his bat and faced the Robinson pitcher, the supporters of the purple went mad up there on the sun-smitten stand and drowned the discordant efforts of the Robinson band.
McLimmont rubbed his hands in the dust, rubbed the dust off on his trousers, and swung his bat. Dithman, who had puzzled Erskine batters all day and had pitched a magnificent game for six innings, shook himself together. McLimmont waited. No, thank you, he didn’t care for that out-shoot, nor for that drop, nor for— What? A strike, did he say? Well, perhaps it did go somewhere near the plate, though to see it coming you’d have thought it was going to be a passed ball! One and two, wasn’t it? Thanks; there was no hurry then, so he’d just let that in-curve alone, wait until something worth while came along, and—Eh! what was that? Strike two! Well, well, well, of all the umpires this fellow must be a beginner! Never mind that, though. But he’d have to look sharp now or else——
Crack!
Off sped the ball, and off sped McLimmont. The former went over first-baseman’s head; the latter swung around the bag like an automobile taking a corner, and raced for second, reaching it on his stomach a second before the ball. There was rejoicing where the purple flags fluttered, for Captain Milford and Lester had scored.
But Erskine’s good fortune ended there. McLimmont was thrown out while trying to steal third, and Levett popped a short fly into the hands of the pitcher. Greene trotted off to the box, and Ned walked dejectedly back to the bench. Page stared at him in surprise. Then, “Didn’t I tell you to play center field?” he ejaculated.
Ned’s heart turned a somersault and landed in his throat. He stared dumbly back at the head coach and shook his head. As he did so he became aware of Stilson’s presence on the bench.
“What? Well, get a move on!” said Page.
Get a move on! Ned went out to center as though he had knocked a three-bagger and wanted to get home on it. Little Browne grinned at him as he sped by.
“Good work, Brewster!” he called, softly.