THE LEADING RUN
Brennan’s reason for not doing at once the thing which was inevitable
was not quite apparent. He had an obstinate streak in his make-up,
and no doubt it went very much against the grain to see the man he
had depended on and boasted about fall down so disastrously, though
ordinarily that would have made no difference.
At any rate, he held his hand, and it cost him another run. Rufe Hyland
landed on the second ball pitched, and sent out a long fly to right
field. The moment Johnny Burns caught the ball Daly darted for the
plate.
There was a momentary lull in the excitement as Burns made a great
throw to Buck Fargo. Then the racket broke loose again as Daly slid
over the dish in the nick of time; for Fargo had made a fruitless sweep
of the hand to tag him.
With the score tied and Locke on third, the visiting fans yelled
without interruption as Pink Dalton came to the plate. Fargo again
tried to brace Elgin up, but with poor success; and it was no credit
to the pitcher that Red Pollock scooped up a red-hot grounder and lined
it, sizzling, to the sack in time to end the inning and prevent further
scoring.
A storm of hoots and catcalls greeted Elgin as he walked slowly and
dejectedly toward the bench. Brennan said nothing, but the look he cast
at the twirler was more expressive than many spoken words could have
been. Elgin, his face as flaming now as it had been pale, hurried past
him, and slunk thankfully to the obscurity of the bench.
When Lefty took his place on the slab, a roar of applause greeted him.
He shot a glance at that upper box, and was even further heartened
by the wave he received in return. His form was so perfect, and the
support of his backers so full of new life and snap, that he retired
the Hornets without letting a man reach second.
A lull followed. Cy Russell, in splendid shape and aching to retrieve
the blunders made by his predecessor, easily disposed of the batters
who faced him during the eighth and ninth innings.
Lefty was equally fortunate; and the tenth inning opened with the
spectators on tiptoe with excitement, and some of them so hoarse they
could scarcely speak above a whisper.
Again it was Eddie Lewis who came up first, and the sympathizers with
the Blue Stockings seemed to take it as a good omen. All around the
field the visiting rooters were waving hats and yelling like demons.
Russell put the first ball squarely over for a strike, and followed
it with another. Lewis cracked the third one to left field for a
two-bagger.
With a concerted yell, every fan leaped to his feet. When Lewis made
second safely they seemed to forget to sit down, so great was their
excitement.
“Lay down a bunt, Dirk,” Kennedy said quietly, as Nelson came up.
The catcher obeyed the injunction to the letter. He bunted the ball
within two yards of the plate just as Lewis started for third. Russell
was on the alert and ready, and, rushing swiftly toward the horsehide,
he snatched it up and shot it with the speed of a bullet into Harris’
hands. Lewis beat the throw, however, and was called safe, while Nelson
reached first without difficulty.
“Here’s the run! Here’s the game!” came from the crowd as Jack Daly
walked coolly to the plate. “Lewis will score!”
A safe hit or a long fly meant victory, if Locke continued his fine
work and shut out the home team in the last half of the inning. Lefty,
swinging two bats to make one seem lighter when he should hit, felt his
heart thudding like a trip-hammer.
On all sides men were waving their arms wildly and making a tremendous
tumult. If only Daly could do it! Locke followed Daly, and he wondered
vaguely whether he could make good if the third baseman failed.
Russell’s first ball went wide of the plate. Another one came across
waist high, and Daly fell on it with all his might. There was a twist
on the sphere, however, and, instead of a smashing line drive, a short
fly to right field resulted.
Burns called out that he would take it, and Russell raced behind Fargo
to back up a throw to the plate. Burns made the catch easily, and was
ready to throw Lewis out if he attempted to score.
The Blue Stockings’ fielder was taking no chances, however. He stuck to
third, waiting for something safer to take him home.
The witnesses who favored the Hornets applauded the catch, while the
opposition strained their lungs rooting for Locke.
The latter felt a queer tightening of his throat as he toed the line.
Again the opportunity had come for him to show what he could do.
Russell had never been cooler or less flurried. He worked skillfully
until two strikes and as many balls had been called. The fear came to
Lefty that he was going to whiff, and he set his teeth, watching the
pitcher like a hawk.
Russell took his time. As the sphere left his fingers, Locke suddenly
remembered a certain fast curve he had seen the Hornet man working up
down in Texas, but which he had not used thus far in this game. The
conviction flashed into his mind that it was being used now, and in an
instant he had taken a single step forward, bringing his bat around
with a powerful swing as he did so.
The connection was perfect, and the ball went curving out toward the
left wing of the grandstand, looking for a second or two like a home
run. It was too high for that, however, and fell in front of the stand
a couple of yards inside the foul line.
The fielder got under it and smothered it effectually, making a long,
powerful throw to the plate, toward which Lewis had sprinted the
instant the catch was made. The ball went wide, however, and Lewis slid
across the rubber in safety with the leading run.