The centerfielder had been obliged to run back after the far-knocked ball. It was seen that he could not possibly get under it, but he might field it home in time to save a score.
The runner, going wildly, looked to get a signal from the coach. He received it, in a hasty gesture, telling him to stay at third. He stayed, panting from his speed, while the Princeton lads kept up their cheering.
“Now will you feed us some more of those hot cross buns?” cried a wag to Dunk.
“Make him eat out of the bean trough!”
“Swat it, Kelly! A home run and we’ll score two!”
This was cried to the next man up. Dunk looked at Andy and shrugged his shoulders. His guessing had not been productive of much good to Yale, for the first man had gotten just the kind of a ball he wanted. Dunk made up his mind to be more wary.
“Play for the runner,” Andy signaled to his chum, meaning to make an effort to kill off the run, and not try to get the batsman out in case of a hit.
“All right,” Dunk signaled back.
“Ball one!” howled the umpire, after the first delivery.