“Pick up a bat!” shouted Worry. “Here, Duncan, pitch this fellow a few. Speed 'em, curve 'em, strike him out, hit him—anything!”
Ray was left-handed, and he stood up to the plate perfectly erect, with his bat resting quietly on his shoulder. He stepped straight, swung with an even, powerful swing, and he hit the first ball clear over the right-field bleachers. It greatly distanced Dreer's hit.
“What a drive!” gasped Ken.
“Oh!” choked Worry. “That's enough! You needn't lose my balls. Bunt one, now.”
Ray took the same position, and as the ball came up he appeared to drop the bat upon it and dart away at the same instant.
Worry seemed to be trying to control violent emotion. “Next batter up!” he called, hoarsely, and sat down on the bench. He was breathing hard, and beads of sweat stood out on his brow.
Ken went up to Worry, feeling that now was the time to acquaint the coach with his new idea. Eager as Ken was he had to force himself to take this step. All the hope and dread, nervousness and determination of the weeks of practice seemed to accumulate in that moment. He stammered and stuttered, grew speechless, and then as Worry looked up in kind surprise, Ken suddenly grew cool and earnest.
“Mr. Arthurs, will you try me in the box?”
“What's that, Peg?” queried the coach, sharply.
“Will you give me a trial in the box? I've wanted one all along. You put me in once when we were in the cage, but you made me hit the batters.”