The player had eyes of fire,
a lean, bulging jaw and the hands he reached for
his bat clutched like talons.
``Reddie, I knew it was waitin' for you,'' said
Delaney, his voice ringing. ``Break up the
game!''
After all this was only a baseball game, and
perhaps from the fans' viewpoint a poor game at
that. But the moment when that lithe, redhaired
athlete toed the plate was a beautiful one. The
long crash from the bleachers, the steady cheer
from the grand stand, proved that it was not so
much the game that mattered.
Wehying had shot his bolt; he was tired. Yet
he made ready for a final effort. It seemed that
passing Reddie Ray on balls would have been a
wise play at that juncture. But no pitcher, probably,
would have done it with the bases crowded
and chances, of course, against the batter.
Clean and swift, Reddie leaped at the first
pitched ball. Ping! For a second no one saw the
hit. Then it gleamed, a terrific drive, low along
the ground, like a bounding bullet, straight at
Babcock in right field. It struck his hands and
glanced viciously away to roll toward the fence.
Thunder broke loose from the stands. Reddie
Ray was turning first base. Beyond first base he
got into his wonderful stride. Some runners run
with a consistent speed, the best they can make
for a given distance.
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