Burt lunged forward and upwards;
the ball lit in his hands and stuck there as he
plunged over the ropes into the crowd. White
had leisurely trotted half way to third; he saw the
catch, ran back to touch second and then easily
made third on the throw-in. The applause that
greeted Burt proved the splendid spirit of the
game. Bell placed a safe little hit over short,
scoring White. Heaving, bobbing bleachers--
wild, broken, roar on roar!
Score four to three--only one half inning left
for Philadelphia to play--how the fans rooted for
another run! A swift double-play, however, ended
the inning.
Philadelphia's first hitter had three strikes
called on him.
``Asleep at the switch!'' yelled a delighted fan.
The next batter went out on a weak pop-up fly
to second.
``Nothin' to it!''
``Oh, I hate to take this money!''
``All-l o-over!''
Two men at least of all that vast assemblage
had not given up victory for Philadelphia. I had
not dared to look at Old Well-Well for a long,
while. I dreaded the nest portentious moment.
I felt deep within me something like clairvoyant
force, an intangible belief fostered by hope.
Magoon, the slugger of the Phillies, slugged
one against the left field bleachers, but, being
heavy and slow, he could not get beyond second
base. Cless swung with all his might at the first
pitched ball, and instead of hitting it a mile as
he had tried, he scratched a mean, slow, teasing
grounder down the third base line.
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