Coaches, the captain, Princeton players and the crowd of Tiger sympathizers were wildly calling to the two runners. And indeed they were coming on.
Andy groaned. He could not help it. Dunk threw up his hands in a gesture of despair. The fielder, with a gulp and a gone feeling at the pit of his stomach, picked up the muffed ball, and threw it to second. It was the only play left. And the batsman, who had started to make his two-bagger, went back to first. But the run had come in.
“That’s the way we do it!”
“Come on, fellows, the qlOrange and Black’ song!”
“No, the new one! qlWatch the Tiger Claw the Bulldog!q”
The cheer leaders were trying to decide on something with which to celebrate the drawing of “first blood.”
The grandstands were a riot of waving yellow and black, while, on the other side, the blue banners dropped most disconsolately. But it was not for long.
“Come on, boys!” cried the plucky Yale captain. “That’s only one run. We only need three out and we’ll show ’em what we can do! Every man on the job! Lively! Play ball!”
Dunk received the horsehide from the second baseman, and began to wind up for his next delivery. He narrowly watched the man on first, and once nearly caught him napping. Several times Dunk threw to the initial sack, in order to get the nerve of the runner. Then he suddenly stung in one to the man at the plate.
“Strike—one!” yelled the umpire. The batter gave a sign of protest, but he thought better of any verbal comment.