The ball had beaten Bill Steever to first, while Benson had judged his throw so nicely that Tom Clifton was able to return it without moving an inch from his position.
But the horse-hide had no sooner left Tom's hand than he realized, with a sinking feeling, that it would sail over the third baseman's head.
The purple and white pennants were not waving now. The Kingswood boys looked on in gloomy silence. The shouts of their opponents soared higher as Benson leaped off the ground in a vain effort to stop the speeding ball.
He saw Tony Tippen slipping past and making a break for home.
"Gee whiz!" he groaned.
The swelling din from the field struck harshly on his ears. But with a frantic dash, Shortstop Blake got into the path of the ball, leaped for it and caught it and, although partly off his balance, sent it whirling toward home plate.
Phil Brentall watched the runner and the ball racing toward him. The hot volley of sarcasm and the wild blasts sent up through megaphones in the Wingate camp could not shake his nerves.
"Slide for it, Tony; slide for it!" roared Nat.
"Slide for it!" echoed Hackett, desperately.
For an instant the tumult was stilled.