out to center field. Peters ambled home with Northfield's third run, and the other runner went to third.
The stand was in delirium. The Owl's hat was someplace under the bench, and he did not notice that somebody had stepped on it and had smashed in its crown.
"Another punt," he squealed; "one more and"
"No," said Jennings; "now is the time to hit it out. They'll be playing in to cut off a run at the plate. Morelli, see if you can hit through them."
Morelli shot a grounder past the third baseman and the score was tied. A minute later Vance hammered a triple into left field, and Northfield went into the lead.
Oh, the roar that came from the stand and echoed up and down the foul lines! The jubilation that broke out on the bench! This, Jennings told himself, was like old times, and his eyes rested affectionately on the boy whose unswerving vision of what was right had brought all this about.
"Well," he said, "we punted them dizzy, didn't we?"
"Yes, sir." The Owl's face grew serious. "I never knew baseball was such fun. I think I made a mistake in not trying to be a player."
