Don shook his head. Why wouldn't the batters hurry? When the third
Chester boy was thrown out he sprang to his feet and strode to the mound.
Desperately he worked, trying to retire Little Falls' batters in order. But Little Falls, in that last inning, had tasted blood. Now she would not be denied. Three runs were scored. The game was a tie.
Ted came to the bench with puckered eyes. Here was something he couldn't understand. It was a common thing to see pitchers gradually weaken, but Don had lost his effectiveness all in a moment. He dropped down on the bench and motioned for Don to sit beside him.
"What's wrong?" he demanded.
"Nothing," said Don. What was the use of worrying Ted, he thought.
He had not deceived the captain in the least. Ted leaned back and sighed.
He knew that here was a ball game that was lost.
The ninth inning was a slaughter. Little Falls scored four times. Each hit, each run, made the game last that much longer. Don labored grimly to reach the end.
Ted asked him no questions when he came in from the mound. In fact, the captain only half-heartedly urged his players to make a rally. The leaderless, dispirited team fell easy victims to the rival pitcher's curves.
The moment the last player was out, Don hurried to where Bobbie waited with the wheel. He threw one leg over the frame. His foot found the toe-clip.
"Got your scout whistle?" he asked.