to make ducks and drakes out of him, Jared?” grinned one of his fellow players.
“So I was. I was just trying him out,” grunted Jared disgustedly.
The next two batters couldn’t handle Rob’s pitching at all. The game began to look as if it might be retrieved after all.
“Blake! Blake! Blake!” chanted the crowd as Rob walked toward the batters’ bench.
Merritt was first at bat for the Scouts in the ninth inning. Jared began to pitch with as good an imitation of Rob’s speed as he could muster. Merritt let the first ball sing past him.
“Ball one.”
The second, also, went by in similar manner.
“Ball two!” sang out Sim in his high, nasal voice.
Jared pulled himself together. He sent the ball humming right over the home plate. Merritt swung at it and made a safe base hit to right field. Then came Hiram. He struck out. Jared and the Hamptonites began to feel better. Jared was still holding the Scouts down and they had a safe margin of runs.
Paul Perkins struck out this time. Then came Ernest Thompson, who dreamily submitted to the same process.
Rob Blake now came to the bat. His exhibition of pitching just previously earned him a round of applause. Jared looked positively bilious. He had actually been holding himself in reserve for Rob. It was his intention to shut him right out. Rob ignored Jared’s first ball.
“Ball one!” was the cry.
“Ball two!” followed in rapid succession. Rob smiled easily. Jared’s dislike of the boy at the bat was making him irritable and uneasy.
But he rallied his skill and threw what looked like an easy pitch. Rob struck at it but fanned the empty air.
Jared grinned, the Hamptonites yelled and the umpire called: —
“Strike one!”
“All right for you, Mister Casey at the bat,” snarled Jared, “watch out for this one.”
It came like a flash, a tricky, wavy curve. Rob swung with all his strength and – missed!
“Strike two!”
A groan went up from the Scout supporters. Their chances of victory looked slim indeed now.
“Wake up! You’re in a trance!” scoffed Jared, grinning at Rob. “Get out of the straw.”
“The straw in the red barn!” suddenly flashed Rob, in a low, but far-reaching voice. It was pregnant with meaning and Jared turned white as death. He fumbled the ball with trembling fingers.
“W-w-what do you mean?” he managed to gasp.
“Play ball!” yelled the crowd impatiently.
Jared, his fright still on him, pitched. He made a wild fling. Rob trotted to first base. Merritt boomeranged to second.
Simon Jeffords got his base on balls, advancing Rob to second and Merritt to third. Everybody began to sit up and take renewed notice. A home run now would add four to the Scout score. Could they get it? Jared had shown that he could hold them down. Could he still keep up his gait?
And now out strolled Tubby Hopkins. He paused first to insert a huge chunk of chewing gum in his capacious cheek and then, not noticing in the least the laughter and joking that greeted his appearance, he lounged to his place, his jaws moving rhythmically.
“It’s up to you, Tubby. Bring home the bacon!” some one yelled.
“He’s got the bacon with him,” shouted some other humorist.
Jared fixed his eyes quizzically on Tubby.
“Like a bottle of anti-fat, kid?” he sneered; and then, “Oh, what I won’t do to you! How do you like ’em?”
Tubby stopped chewing an instant. His large eyes opened wide as if he had just heard Jared’s voice.
“Oh, I like ’em Panama fashion, if you’ve got any of those about you to-day,” he said with a cherubic smile.
Zang! came the ball. It was as swift as any that Jared had yet thrown. He would have liked to see it knock the disconcerting fat youth on the head. But it did no such thing. With an agility unsuspected except by those who knew him, Tubby swung viciously at the spheroid.
“Bin-go!” yelled the rooters.
Off into left field a hot liner whizzed its way.
“Go on!” shrieked the Eagles and their supporters, dancing up and down in excitement.
Off darted Merritt from third. He shot across the home plate an instant later and scored amidst loud cheering. Hot after him flashed Rob, with Simon close behind. Excitement rose to a point where it was almost unbearable.
Tubby had shot like a stone from a sling the instant he made his hit. And now more like a steam roller the fat youth cavorted over the bases while the crowd went crazy. Pandemonium reigned.
“Home! Home! Home!” shrieked the raucous crowd in a frenzy.
Boys hugged each other and the Scouts danced up and down.
Tubby, with amazing speed, his short fat legs working like piston rods, flashed by first, second and third bases. The next instant a yell went up that split the air. A rotund form sky-hooted across the home plate and then, tripping up, went rolling like a tub of butter into the arms of Rob and his team-mates. Tubby had made one of the most sensational plays ever seen on the Hampton field, and foes as well as friends generously applauded the fat boy. But he paid no attention to the plaudits.
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