“That’s the way! Make him give you a nice one.”
“Take your time! Wait for what you want!” This was the advice given the batter.
And evidently the man at the plate got the sort of ball he wanted, for he struck at and hit the next one—hit it cleanly and fairly, and it sailed out toward left field.
“Get it!” cried the Yale captain.
The fielder was right under it—certainly it looked as though he could not miss. The batsman was speeding for first, while the man on third was coming home, and the crowd was yelling wildly.
Andy had thrown off his mask, and was waiting at home for the ball, to kill off the player speeding in from third.
“Here’s where we make a double play!” he exulted, for the man going to first had stumbled slightly, and was out of his stride. It looked as though it could be done. But alas for the hopes of Yale! The fielder got the ball fairly in his hands, but whether he was nervous, or whether the ball had such speed that it tore through, was not apparent. At any rate, he muffed the fly.
“Good-night!”
“That settles it!”
“Go on, Ranter! Go on, Cooney!”