weary of camping on first, might try to steal.
It was a strike, and Oulds winged it to second in the effort to nail the runner, who had made a flying start and was burning up the ground. Trollop slid, spikes first, and Stark, who seemed to have him nipped, dropped the sphere in the attempt to avoid those spikes and tag the man at the same time. Trollop was safe.
"Now's the time, Mace!" cried the coacher back of third. "Hit it out. Give it a long sail, and let Andy walk home." He had dropped his chatter about waiting for a pass.
Mace gripped his trusty war club and waited, crouching a little. It was plain that the Kinks' new pitcher had recovered his control, and the batter meant to hit anything that came across. He struck left-handed, and the next one pitched looked good to him. It dragged him almost across the pan, and he did not even foul it lightly.
A sharp yell went up from the once-more vibrant and excited crowd, but this time it was a yell of satisfaction. Choking, agitated men began to predict that Lefty would fan Mace, also.
"If he does," said one, "I'm goin' to throw a fit right here! I'll own up honest that I'm the biggest fool that ever barked like a sore-eared pup at a good man."
