Hal viewed him with disgust and weariness. “You surprise me,” he replied, with a weak attempt at sarcasm.
Ted laid a hand on the other’s arm and took a firm grip there. “Cut out the mirth,” he said. “You go in and pitch ball, Saunders. Get me? Don’t you dare let up for a second. If we——”
Hal shook him off. “What’s wrong with you?” he demanded. “Sun-stroke? You’re a fine one to make cracks like that! Beat it, kid!”
“Listen to me,” said Ted earnestly, dropping his voice. “If Temple wins this game I’ll go to ‘Jerry’ and tell him what I know. I mean it, Saunders!”
“Why, you little rotter!” gasped the pitcher.
“That’s all right. You heard me. You pitch ball, Saunders!”
“I’m going to,” sputtered the other, “and when I get through I’m going to knock your silly block off. Now get out of my way!”
Ted went back to his place well satisfied. Saunders was mad clean through and Saunders would pitch real ball! And Saunders did. Not since the game had started had he worked more carefully, more craftily, and although he had three hard hitters to put aside he never faltered. Up came the Temple third baseman—and back again to the bench. The Blue’s captain followed him and, although he brought Ted’s heart into his mouth four times by knocking fouls, he, too, had to acknowledge defeat. Temple was frantic now as she saw defeat impending. For luck she sent a substitute player in for the third batsman and Hal promptly put his first two deliveries across for strikes while triumphant Warwick howled with delight. Then a ball, and another one, and——
“He’s OUT!” cried the umpire.