His heart gave a sudden thump as an ominous crack sounded.
The "slugger" Appleby had hit a low drive which was whizzing with terrific velocity to the right of second base.
"Safe—as sure as shooting!" groaned "Jack."
Bob Somers, with only one glance at the oncoming sphere, dashed toward it like a flash. It seemed almost a hopeless chance. The base runners, confident that the ball would pass over his head, obeyed the instructions of the coach to run. Benny Wilkins started to make a note: "High school team goes to pieces in the sixth." The shouting of the Rockville adherents burst forth in a wild series of whoops.
Then all the racket stopped with curious abruptness.
As the liner sped high above Bob Somers' head the second baseman sprang in the air with upraised hand. There was a resounding smack. The ball, arrested in its flight, dropped to the ground a few feet away.
Bob darted upon it, whipped the sphere to Tom Clifton, and Appleby was out.
The calm was over. Forgetting unpleasant differences, the school voiced its approval in a sea of sound. Benny hastily scratched out his note.
"One-eightieth of a cent's worth of good lead pencil gone to waste," he muttered. "Oh—oh! What do you know about that? Is Wiles wild?"
Joe, making a tremendous effort to score, was speeding home when, to his unbounded astonishment, he discovered that the ball was in the first baseman's hands. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it flashing straight for the catcher's mit.