CHAPTER VIII
STEADYING DOWN
Tom Locke did not turn his eyes toward
the bench; he did not dare, lest a glance
should be interpreted as a supplication,
and bring about his removal from the field. He
saw Oulds, ball in hand, standing squarely on the
plate, while "Wop" Grady, the next batter, eager
to keep things going and gain as much advantage
for Bancroft as possible before another pitcher
was sent in, was seeking to push him back into
his position.
His manner entirely changed, although his face continued ashen, Locke beckoned to the catcher, and ran forward. Oulds, scowling, sour, sullen, met him five feet in front of the pan.
"Give me that ball," said Locke, taking it from the catcher's hand. "Call the curves: a drop or a high inshoot for a strike-out, whichever you happen to know this man is weakest on. I'm going to get him."
"Yes, you are!" sneered Oulds. "Why, you can't—"
