"Come on, Don," called Ted Carter. "Ninth inning."
The first Chester batter doubled. Instantly all stray thoughts were swept from Don's mind. The next player fouled out. Then came a long fly to the right-fielder and the runner ran to third after the catch. Any kind of a dinky hit would score the tying run.
Don pitched to the batter. Without shifting his position, Tim snapped the ball to third base. The runner, caught asleep, scrambled frantically for the bag.
"Out!" ruled the umpire.
The game was over. Don ran to the bench.
"Pretty work, Tim," he cried.
"I guess I don't need anybody to show me how to play baseball," said Tim.
Don paused in the act of reaching for his sweater. Tim's eyes met his, a bit uncertain, a bit defiant. Ted Carter, laughing and happy, romped in between them.
"You fellows are one sweet battery," he cried joyously. Other members of the team crowded around the bench. Tim, with his mitt under his arm, walked away.
Slowly Don buttoned his sweater. Tim's change of heart was a mystery no longer.