"I'm astonished, sir," he began, stiffly.
"Well, I ain't!" cried "Uncle" Steve—"not a bit of it. Jeffords ain't in the Tippen class. Hold your base there, Brandon; look out, or he'll nail you!"
"One safe hit doesn't make a game," growled Mr. Barry. "Still, this is encouraging. Who's up now, Mr. Kimbole?"
"That slim lad, Charlie Blake."
"Good! He seems to be a heady player, though he hasn't as much bulk or muscle as I'd like to see."
The "grind" had managed to cast off all feelings of nervousness and excitement. He was determined to do his share toward showing that Coach Steele's claims were entirely justified. At the second ball pitched, he bunted, the horse-hide rolling tantalizingly near the third base line.
Before the pitcher could pounce upon it Blake was safe at first and Dave Brandon had reached the second sack.
But the inning so auspiciously begun did not fulfil the hopes aroused in the hearts of the Somersites. Bob's high fly to deep left field was caught; Phil Brentall fanned. Then, after a hard run, Sawdon nipped Alf Boggs' foul.
"Well, it's all a part of the game," said "Uncle" Steve, resignedly.
"Those boys are simply bound to succeed!" exclaimed Captain Bunderley, in a tone of deep conviction.