Then the cheering leaders before the bleachers bellowed through their megaphones, and the students, rising to their feet, pealed out nine ringing “Waynes!” and added a roaring “Raymond!” to the end.
With two out, Kern called play.
Once again MacNeff was at bat. He had not made a foul in his two times up. He was at Ken's mercy, and the Wayne rooters were equally merciless.
“Ho! the slugging captain comes!”
“Get him a board!”
“Fluke hitter!”
“Mac, that was a lucky stab of yours Wednesday! Hit one now!”
No spectator of that game missed Ken's fierce impetuosity when he faced MacNeff. He was as keen strung as a wire when he stood erect in the box, and when he got into motion he whirled far around, swung back bent, like a spring, and seemed to throw his whole body with the ball. One—two—three strikes that waved up in their velocity, and MacNeff for the third time went out.
Clatter and smash came from the bleachers, long stamping of feet, whistle and bang, for voices had become weak.
A hit, an error, a double play, another hit, a steal, and a forced out—these told Wayne's dogged, unsuccessful trial for the winning run.