Johnny saw them leave the field. He knew why they were going, and smiled.
The boy who received the greatest surprise, however, was Fred Frame, the one-time star pitcher. As the team came in for its turn at bat, Doug Danby sidled over to him at the end of the sixth inning and said in a low tone:
“You are to pitch next inning.”
“Why! What?” Fred’s brain whirled. Was he to finish this last game? Score 2 to 0 in Hillcrest’s favor! The championship at stake! He to pitch! He could not understand.
Nor was he to know more save that the “Prince,” a trifle more stooped than usual, but walking with a firm, proud tread, was leaving the grounds.
Slowly a buzz like the swarming of bees sounded through the crowd. Then all was still.
It was well that Fred did not come up to bat that inning. He surely would have fanned.
As at last he stood in the pitcher’s box, he found above him a cloudless, smokeless sky where no airplane soared and circled.
“Think I’m small fry!” he muttered. “Not worth bothering with! I’ll show ’em!”
The seventh and eighth innings passed without a score on either side.