took the field. Post began to snap out a running fire of comment. Littlefield, on third, answered him; Stafford, on first, joined them in a deep, bass voice. The whole infield became talkative, alive, gingery and optimistic. It was a healthy sign—but still Jennings waited.
"They're making more noise than usual," said the Owl.
Jennings smiled. So this queer, serious boy had noticed the miracle, without altogether understanding what it meant. The coach pulled his cap down low over his forehead. Personally, he'd wait until the nine found itself in a tight corner. Then he'd know.
The tight corner came in the very first inning. Morelli, short and dark and serious, was pitching for Northfield, and the first three batters hit him safely for two singles and a double. One tally came over the plate, and runners were left on second and third with none out.
"Everybody walk up and get a hit," shrilled the rooters who had come with the Hastings team.
Jennings crossed and uncrossed his legs. The next batter hit a hot grounder down the third-base line. Littlefield got the ball, held the runner on third, and made a perfect throw to first. One out!
The next boy scratched a hit just over Post's
