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The occasion was the annual championship struggle, and the cries resulted from Ned's successful batting of the ball far over the center fielder's head. It was a critical moment for the score was tie, it was the ending of the ninth inning, and there were two men of the High School nine out. It all depended on Ned. But Ned was equal to the occasion.
It was as if Ken had reserved himself wholly for the finish. In the last of the eighth Dean hit one that caromed off Griffith's shin, and by hard running the little catcher made second. Ken sent him to third on a fielder's choice. It was then the run seemed forthcoming. Salisbury toiled in the box to coax the wary Homans. The Wayne captain waited until he got a ball to his liking.
It offered objects which a rational curiosity must hold dear. The interval might not pass away unpropitiously to me. Time might effect desirable changes in Mrs. Fielder's sentiments and views. A thousand accidents might occur to level those obstacles which were now insuperable. Pity and complacency might succeed to abhorrence and scorn.
He carried a fielder's glove in one huge freckled hand, and a big black bat in the other. Nan, with much dignity and a very manifest pride, introduced him to Mrs. Nelson. There was a little chatting, and then, upon the arrival of Manager Morrisey, we men retired to the back of the box to talk baseball.
She wore an air of constrained cheerfulness in her mother's presence; affected interest in common topics; and retired at every convenient interval to her chamber, where she wept incessantly. Mrs. Fielder's eye was watchful and anxious. She addressed Mrs.
The crime which this letter confesses never was committed, and the letter which contains the confession never was written by Jane. It is a forgery. "Mrs. Fielder's misapprehension, so far as it relates to me, is of very little moment.
"Mebbe we'll git wise then." Harris had pitched only twice when the fact became plain that he could not throw this ball with the same speed as the other. The ball was heavier; besides Harris was also growing tired. The next pitch Sam hit far out over the center fielder's head for a home run. It was a longer hit than any Madden's Hill boy had ever made. The crowd shrieked its delight.
I was obliged to dismiss the hope of a conference this night, and returned in an anxious and melancholy mood to Mrs. Fielder's. On my way, while ruminating on these events, I began to fear that I had exerted an unjustifiable degree of caution.
The "rabbit" bounded forty feet out of his hands! When Snead's grounder nearly tore the third baseman's leg off; when Bane's hit proved as elusive as a flitting shadow; when Lake's liner knocked the pitcher flat, and Doran's fly leaped high out of the center fielder's glove then those earnest, simple, country ballplayers realized something was wrong.
Having secured a batted ball, he should throw it at once, waiting only long enough to regain his balance and make sure of his aim. The practice of holding the ball for a moment and looking at the runner, whether done to demonstrate the fielder's perfect sang froid, or to make a swift and pretty throw for the benefit of the grand stand, is altogether wrong.