“I knew it,” whispered Kittie confidentially to Pet, “but I like to hear somebody else say it, just the same.”
Further conversation was suddenly hushed by a movement among the players. Three o’clock had arrived, and in presence of the umpire the two captains tossed up a cent. The “Readvilles” won the toss, and sent their opponents to the bat.
As the red-stockings walked past them into the field, the Jamestown captain winked at Bert, who nodded slightly in return, blushing at the same time and glancing over his shoulder to see if he was observed.
“Low ball—play!” called the umpire.
Dick Manning drew himself up, looking carelessly about the field; then suddenly, with a swift movement, sent the white ball whizzing directly over the plate, about two feet from the ground.
“One strike!” shouted the umpire.
The Jamestowner looked surprised, and before he had gathered himself for the next ball it was past him again and in the hands of Randolph, who waited till the umpire called “Strike, two!” and then ran up behind the bat, adjusting the old mask over his face.
The next two balls delivered were wide. The third was just right, and the Jamestowner hit with all his force. It soared far up in the air, toward the centre-field.
“Bert! Bert Farnum!” cried Randolph as two or three of the fielders started for the ball.
Bert ran, and stretched out his hands—a little awkwardly, his friends thought. The next moment the ball struck the ground six feet away, and the striker was safe on second base.