Again her escort patiently explained that the incident at third had been in no sense a tragedy.
“That made two out,” he went on, “but the next man at the bat lammed the horsehide–No,” he interrupted himself hurriedly, as he saw another question trembling on her lips, “the horse wasn’t in the hide. I mean, he hit the ball and made a home run. That rattled the pitcher and he went up in the air.”
“Let’s get out,” whispered Bill to Lester. “I can see that she’ll ask him whether it was a baseball game or an aviation meet.”
“It’s his own fault,” replied Lester, as he followed his companion to another part of the stand where they could give free vent to their mirth. “You can’t blame her for not understanding baseball slang. I’ll bet after this that he’ll stick to plain English.”
“Look at those clouds coming up!” exclaimed Bill suddenly. “I’m afraid rain’s coming before the game is over.”
“And our fellows behind,” groaned Lester.
“We ought to have ‘got the hay in’ before this,” said Bill, as Tom’s doggerel of the morning came back to him.
The Mount Vernon team was quick to see its advantage and began to play for time.
They were ahead, and as more than five innings had been played, it would be called a complete game and credited to them, if they could keep their opponents from scoring before the rain came down.
With this end in view, they began a series of movements designed to delay the game. The Rally Hall boys were at the bat and it was the beginning of the seventh inning. They were desperate in their desire to tie or go ahead of the enemy. Those two runs loomed bigger and bigger, as the game drew near its end.