“Two-and-one!” called Hanford hoarsely. “Let’s have him now!”
Mr. Williams smiled grimly, began his wind-up and--faltered! For there, running like a grey-legged rabbit along the path, sped Steve! Mr. Williams recovered quickly, stepped forward and shot the ball to Hanford. Some two hundred voices shrieked together. Joe Groom held his place grimly, his eyes fixed on the ball, his bat poised. But there was no need of offering, for that one instant of hesitation had done the business. The ball, sent away as an out-curve, broke wildly, and although Hanford, dropping to his knees, threw himself in the way of it, it trickled past, and Steve, sliding to the plate in a maelstrom of dust, had scored!
Joe and half a dozen others lifted him to his feet. Above the outburst of joy from the third-base side of the diamond could be heard Mr. Gifford’s reiterated ejaculation of “You old thief! You old thief!” Off to the bench they hustled him, shaking his hand, thumping his back. Down at first base Ed Thursby was trying hard to stand on his head and wave his legs. Behind third Sam was absolutely grinning!
And then, order restored again, Joe Groom stood idly by and watched Mr. Williams put two balls past, and then walked to first.
“Let’s have a couple more!” shouted Thursby. “We’ve got ’em going, fellows! Let’s----”
But the rest was drowned in the cheer that Dick Barry was leading. But, although Ed took second unchallenged on a passed ball, Tom Crossbush failed to deliver the required hit, popping a miserable little foul to Hanford, and the side was out.
Five to four was the score now, and “Hold ’em!” pleaded The Wigwam supporters. “Hold ’em!”
Walters, Connell, and Phillips were up for Mount Placid in that last of the ninth, and Mr. Gifford was a victim to dire forebodings as he stepped into the pitcher’s box. Nothing he possessed, he felt sure, would deceive the two councillors, and so it was up to the fielders to hold the game safe. Walters was far too anxious and nervous and put himself to the bad at once by fouling the first two deliveries. Then, growing cautious, he misjudged the next ball and stepped aside.
“One gone!” called Sam. “Here’s the next victim, Andy!”
But Mr. Connell was not so easy. He lighted on Mr. Gifford’s second offering and poked it well into left for two bases, to the great joy of Mount Placid. A hit now would tie the game again. Sam called for high ones and Mr. Gifford tried his best to send them in that way. But he didn’t always succeed, and with one strike and two balls he unfortunately gave Mr. Phillips just what that gentleman fancied. There was a sharp _crack_ and off into short right sped the ball. On second Mr. Connell poised himself to start the instant the ball landed. And start he did, and run he did! Down came the ball into Simpson’s glove after that youth had run halfway to the infield, and Simpson, putting on brakes, made the throw that saved the day. Sam, astride the plate, hands outstretched, waited anxiously. Along the path from third raced the ambitious Mr. Connell. The air was filled with unintelligible cries and noises. Then the ball struck the sod well in front of the plate, bounded straight and thudded into Sam’s hands, and Sam, dropping to his left knee, thrust it against Mr. Connell’s oncoming foot, toppled over on the runner, rolled over and aside and held a hand aloft, the ball still firmly clasped!