This the fans derided with
hoots and hisses. No team work, no inside ball
for them.
``Hit it out!'' yelled a hundred in unison.
``Home run!'' screamed a worshipper of long
hits.
As if actuated by the sentiments of his admirers
Maloney lined the ball over short. It looked good
for a double; it certainly would advance Bell to
third; maybe home. But no one calculated on
Burt. His fleetness enabled him to head the
bounding ball. He picked it up cleanly, and
checking his headlong run, threw toward third base.
Bell was half way there. The ball shot straight
and low with terrific force and beat the runner to
the bag.
``What a great arm!'' I exclaimed, deep in my
throat. ``It's the lad's day! He can't be
stopped.''
The keen newsboy sitting below us broke the
amazed silence in the bleachers.
``Wot d'ye tink o' that?''
Old Well-Well writhed in his seat. To him if
was a one-man game, as it had come to be for me.
I thrilled with him; I gloried in the making good
of his protege; it got to be an effort on my part
to look at the old man, so keenly did his emotion
communicate itself to me.
The game went on, a close, exciting, brilliantly
fought battle. Both pitchers were at their best.
The batters batted out long flies, low liners, and
sharp grounders; the fielders fielded these difficult
chances without misplay.
Pages:
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228