the soft curve of her red lips and that it was possible for him to kiss her made the temptation strong.
His sleep that night was not peaceful and dreamless. He awakened late, had breakfast sent to his room, and then took a long walk out into the country. After lunch he dodged the crowd in the hotel lobby, and hurried upstairs, where he put on his baseball suit. The first person he met upon going down was Reed, the Bellville man.
“What’s this I hear, Wayne, about your pitching for Salisbury today? I got your telegram.”
“Straight goods,” replied Wayne.
“But I thought you intended to pitch for us?”
“I didn’t promise, did I?”
“No. Still, it looks fishy to me.”
“You’ve got Mackay, haven’t you?”
“Yes. The truth is, I intended to use you both.”
“Well, I’ll try to win for Salisbury. Hope there’s no hard feeling.”
“Not at all. Only if I didn’t have the Georgetown crack, I’d yell murder. As it is, we’ll trim Salisbury anyway.”
“Maybe,” answered Wayne, laughing. “It’s a hot day, and my arm feels good.”
When Wayne reached the ball grounds, he thought he had never seen a more inspiring sight. The bright green oval was surrounded by a glittering mass of white and blue and black. Out along the foul lines were carriages, motors, and tally-hos, brilliant with waving fans and flags. Over the field murmured the low hum of many voices.
“Here you are!” cried Huling, making a grab for Wayne. “Where were you this morning? We couldn’t find you. Come! We’ve got a minute before the practice whistle blows, and I promised to exhibit you.”
He hustled Wayne down the first-base line, past the cheering crowd, out among the motors, to the same touring car that he remembered. A bevy of white-gowned girls rose like a covey of ptarmigans, and whirled flags of maroon and gray.
Dorothy Huling wore a bow of Yale blue upon her breast, and Wayne saw it and her face through a blur.
“Hurry, girls; get it over. We’ve got to practice,” said the captain.
In the merry melee some one tied a knot of ribbon upon Wayne. Who it was he did not know; he saw only the averted face of Dorothy Huling. And as he returned to the field with a dull pang, he determined he would make her indifference disappear with the gladness of a victory for her team.
The practice was short, but long enough for Wayne to locate the glaring weakness of Salisbury at shortstop and third base. In fact, most of the players of his team showed rather poor form; they were overstrained, and plainly lacked experience necessary for steadiness in an important game.
Burns, the catcher, however, gave Wayne confidence. He was a short, sturdy youngster, with all the earmarks of a coming star. Huling, the captain, handled himself well at first base. The Bellville players were more matured, and some of them were former college cracks. Wayne saw that he had his work cut out for him.
The whistle blew. The Bellville team trotted to their position in the field; the umpire called play, and tossed a ball to Mackay, the long, lean Georgetown pitcher.
Wells, the first batter, fouled out; Stamford hit an easy bounce to the pitcher, and Clews put up a little Texas leaguer—all going out, one, two, three, on three pitched balls.
The teams changed from bat to field. Wayne faced the plate amid vociferous cheering. He felt that he could beat this team even without good support. He was in the finest condition, and his arm had been resting for ten days. He knew that if he had control of his high inshoot, these Bellville players would feel the whiz of some speed under their chins.
He struck Moore out, retired Reed on a measly fly, and made Clark hit a weak grounder to second; and he walked in to the bench assured of the outcome. On some days he had poor control; on others his drop ball refused to work properly; but, as luck would have it, he had never had greater speed or accuracy, or a more bewildering fast curve than on this day, when he meant to win a game for a girl.
“Boys, I’ve got everything,” he said to his fellow-players, calling them around him. “A couple of runs will win for us. Now, listen, I know Mackay. He hasn’t any speed, or much of a curve. All he’s got is a teasing slow ball and a foxy head. Don’t be too anxious to hit. Make him put ’em over.”
But the Salisbury players were not proof against the tempting slow balls that Mackay delivered. They hit at wide curves far off the plate and when they did connect with the ball it was only to send an easy chance to the infielders.
The game seesawed along, inning after inning; it was a pitcher’s battle that looked as if the first run scored would win the game. Mackay toyed with the Salisbury boys; it was his pleasure to toss up twisting, floating balls that could scarcely be hit out of the diamond. Wayne had the Bellville players utterly at his mercy; he mixed up his high jump and fast drop so cleverly, with his sweeping out-curve, that his opponents were unable to gauge his delivery at all.
In the first of the seventh, Barr for Bellville hit a ball which the third baseman should have fielded. But he fumbled. The second batter sent a fly to shortstop, who muffed it. The third hitter reached his base on another error by an infielder. Here the bases were crowded, and the situation had become critical all in a moment. Wayne believed the infield would go to pieces, and lose the game, then and there, if another hit went to short or third.
“Steady up, boys,” called Wayne, and beckoned for his catcher.
“Burns, it’s up to you and me,” he said, in a low tone. “I’ve got to fan the rest of these hitters. You’re doing splendidly. Now, watch close for my drop. Be ready to go down on your knees. When I let myself out, the ball generally hits the ground just back of the plate.”
“Speed ’em over!” said Burns, his sweaty face grim and determined. “I’ll get in front of ’em.”
The head of the batting list was up for Bellville, and the whole Bellville contingent on the side lines rose and yelled and cheered.
Moore was a left handed hitter, who choked his bat up short, and poked at the ball. He was a good bunter, and swift on his feet. Wayne had taken his measure, as he had that of the other players, earlier in the game; and he knew it was good pitching to keep the ball in close to Moore’s hands, so that if he did hit it, the chances were it would not go safe.
Summoning all his strength, Wayne took his long swing and shot the ball over the inside corner with terrific speed.
One strike!
Wayne knew it would not do to waste any balls if he wished to maintain that speed, so he put the second one in the same place. Moore struck too late.
Two strikes!
Then Burns signed for the last drop. Wayne delivered it with trepidation, for it was a hard curve to handle. Moore fell all over himself trying to hit it. Little Burns dropped to his knees to block the vicious curve. It struck the ground, and, glancing, boomed deep on the breast protector.
How the Salisbury supporters roared their approval! One man out—the bases full—with Reed, the slugging captain, at bat!
If Reed had a weakness, Wayne had not discovered it yet, although Reed had not hit safely. The captain stood somewhat back from the plate, a fact that induced Wayne to try him with the speedy outcurve. Reed lunged with a powerful swing, pulling away from the plate, and he missed the curve by a foot.
Wayne did not need to know any more. Reed had made his reputation slugging straight balls from heedless pitchers. He chopped the air twice more, and flung his bat savagely to the ground.
“Two out—play the hitter!” called Wayne to his team.
Clark, the third man up, was the surest batter on the Bellville team. He looked dangerous. He had made the only hit so far to the credit of his team. Wayne tried to work him on a high,