“Now it’s our turn again,” said Teddy. “Here’s where we win.”
“Up guards and at them,” encouraged Tom.
But, try as they would, their bad luck persisted. Their slugging was hard and fierce, but the ball went straight into a fielder’s hands, and again they went out on the diamond without a score to their credit.
In the enemy’s eighth turn at bat, it looked as if they might get one or more runs over the plate. A lucky bound allowed one man to get to first, and he went to second when Morley dropped a high fly after a long run. There were men on first and second with none out, and their chance for a score was bright.
The next man up sent a whistling liner right over second. Teddy, who was playing close to the bag, jumped in the air and pulled down the ball. That, of course, put out the batter. As Teddy came down with the ball in his hand, he stepped on the base, thus putting out the man who had made a bee line for third, thinking the ball would go safe, and was now trying desperately to get back. That made two out. The fellow who had been on first had almost reached second, but turned and sprinted back with Teddy in hot pursuit. He clapped the ball on him just in time, and the side was out. Teddy had made a triple play unassisted.
It was a sparkling and most unusual feat, and the whole stand rose to Teddy as he came in, and cheered and cheered until he was forced to pull off his cap. The Mount Vernon rooters forgot their partisanship and shouted as loudly as the rest. As for his schoolmates, they mauled and hugged him until he fled for refuge to the bench.
“Some fireworks!” yelled one.
“I can die happy, now!” exclaimed another. “I’ve seen a triple play pulled off.”
“You’ll never see another,” prophesied his neighbor.
The Rally Hall boys were yelling their loudest to encourage their favorites when they came to bat for the last time.