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 CHAPTER VIII

STEADYING DOWN

Tom Locke did not turn his eyes toward the bench; he did not dare, lest a glance should be interpreted as a supplication, and bring about his removal from the field. He saw Oulds, ball in hand, standing squarely on the plate, while "Wop" Grady, the next batter, eager to keep things going and gain as much advantage for Bancroft as possible before another pitcher was sent in, was seeking to push him back into his position.

His manner entirely changed, although his face continued ashen, Locke beckoned to the catcher, and ran forward. Oulds, scowling, sour, sullen, met him five feet in front of the pan.

"Give me that ball," said Locke, taking it from the catcher's hand. "Call the curves: a drop or a high inshoot for a strike-out, whichever you happen to know this man is weakest on. I'm going to get him."

"Yes, you are!" sneered Oulds. "Why, you can't—"