“It’s so beastly hot,” grumbled Weston.
Murtha nodded non-committingly and raised a hand. At the bench Mr. Sargent turned to Nate Leddy. “Better warm up,” he said. “We may need you. Send Baker in.”
CHAPTER XIX
BACK TO THE BENCH
The coach met Dud at third. He appeared smiling and unworried, but his characteristic trick of jumbling his words betrayed the fact that he was not as calm as he looked.
“Think you can go in there and pull us out of this mess, Baker?” he asked. “Take all the time you want and set your gignals right—I mean get your rignals sight—er—well, go ahead, my boy, and show what you can do!”
Dud made no answer, which was perhaps just as well since had he replied truthfully to the coach’s question he would have been forced to say that he was quite certain that he couldn’t do anything of the sort! Instead, he walked toward the mound with a fair appearance of ease and in a condition of blue funk. Murtha met him, and although the latter smiled cheerfully and tried his best to look as if he thought all his troubles were now past, it wasn’t difficult for Dud to perceive that the captain was a bit disappointed in Mr. Sargent’s selection. He would have much preferred Nate Leddy, but he had a good deal of confidence in the coach’s judgment and, after all, young Baker had shown real pitching more than once.
“Good boy, Baker,” he said cheerfully. “Let’s see what you can do now. Listen, let Gordon do the head-work, see? Just try to give him what he wants. They’ve got three on and no one out, Baker, and the score’s two against you. Whatever you do, old man, don’t pass him. Let him hit if you have to and try to make him pop up. Do your best, Baker, for we want this game!”
Guy handed him the ball and Dud, very trembly at the knees, conscious of the hot glare of sunlight that made heat waves dance along the paths, conscious of the encouraging voices of teammates and of hearty applause from the stand, wrapped his fingers about the leather and sent in his first “warming-up” ball. A whoop of joy and derision came from the visitors’ bench, for the ball had almost eluded the spry Gordon. Back it came and Dud, trying his best to calm his nerves, shot it in again. It was all right that time and the next. Then the ball struck the ground in front of the plate and Gordon had to drop and block it. One more, high and wide, ended the practice and the Lawrence third-baseman stepped up to the plate again as the umpire called “Play!” From the Lawrence bench and from the Lawrence coachers came a sudden hubbub of sound, but through it Dud heard Nick Blake’s cheerful voice.
“We’re all with you, Dud! Go to it, son!”