"Strike three!"
He was out--no doubt about it!
"Aw!" exclaimed Dicky, "what'd I tell you--you ought to be fired."
Marmaduke felt very much ashamed as he took his place out in the field
again, with the score thirty-six to thirty against them.
Just then the Toyman and Jehosophat came up the road on their way back
from Sawyer's Mill, and the Toyman stopped his horses to watch the
game for a minute. Marmaduke gritted his teeth and clenched his hands.
He would have to do well now when they were looking on.
Before he knew it, two of the other team were out. Then, all of a
sudden, he heard a loud crack. Looking up, he saw the ball sailing
through the air. It wasn't sailing towards Dicky or Skinny. It was
coming straight in his direction!
He formed his hands in the shape of a cup and waited. He was going to
hold that ball--if it ever got there. And, sure enough, it fell in his
outstretched hands. My! how that Rocket ball stung and burned! But he
hung on for dear life.
"Butterfingers!" he heard Fatty call to "rattle" him. And that settled
the matter, for, if he hadn't heard that word, he might have dropped
the ball after all, but he was so determined to make Fatty take it all
back that he made his fingers tight as a vise around the ball--and it
stayed--it stayed there!
[Illustration: "He formed his hands in the shape of a cup and
waited."]
When he came in to take his turn at bat, Dicky patted him on the
shoulder.
"Good boy, Mary!" he said, and Outfielder Green felt as pleased and
proud as before he had been ashamed. But he felt even happier a little
later.
It was the last half of the last inning. Reddy and Skinny each made
one run and Dicky made two, and now the score stood thirty-six to
thirty-five. Fatty's team was only one run ahead, and Dicky was on
first with Marmaduke at the bat.
Now was Marmaduke's chance to win the game--the chance of a lifetime!
Fatty twirled the ball in his hand. Though he was fat, he could pitch
like a regular pitcher. At least his motions were just as funny. He
would curl up his fingers in a strange way to make what he called a
curve. Then he would hold the ball up to his chin and look wisely over
at first base, watching Dicky. Then he would curl his arms around his
head several times, and at last he would let the ball fly.
Marmaduke tried hard to hit it, but he just tipped it.
"Foul!" called the catcher.
And Marmaduke missed the next one and the next. He had only one chance
left now. And Fatty twisted himself up almost in knots, to make an
extra fine curve, I suppose, for Marmaduke's benefit. Six times he did
this before he let the ball go.
It came towards the home-plate and Marmaduke, as fast as an arrow. He
gritted his teeth, and gripped his hands tight around the bat, and hit
at that Rocket ball harder than he ever had in his life; and all the
time his ears were listening for the "crack!"
Of course, it all happened very quickly, more quickly than we can ever
tell about it in words, but--to make a long story short--he heard that
crack!
He had hit it! And away the Rocket ball flew towards the dead chestnut
tree, up, up, by the old crow's nest, and plop! right in the nest it
dropped.
And Dicky came racing home, and Marmaduke not far behind him, his face
red with excitement and his eyes shining.
And how the team cheered him now, and patted him on the back, and said
"Good boy, Mary!" again, and how happy he felt!
There was a nice ending to it too, although the dandy Rocket ball was
lost in the old crow's nest. For, when he told them about it all at
the supper-table that night, Father turned to the Toyman, and,
reaching into his pockets, where some money jingled, said:--
"So the home-team won, did they? though they lost the ball? Well,
Frank, there are some more 'dandy Rockets' where that came from,
aren't there?"