Page:The spirit of the leader (IA spiritofleader00heyl).pdf/192

 ginning to fall in front of him. He seemed to quicken his speed, seemed to stretch himself, seemed to do the impossible as he reached out and clutch the sphere as it was settling to the ground.

The runner on third bent his head and raced for the plate. Desperately Post dug his spikes into the turf to check his speed. He slowed up, stopped, and in the same instant had swung around and thrown. Straight and true the ball came on a line and settled into the catcher's glove as the Hastings runner began his slide. Through the cloud of dust the umpire's hand was seen to jerk up sharply.

"Out!"

Then, and not until then, did the stand really awaken to the fact that to-day a new Northfield team was in the field. The cheering that, from the start, had been spasmodic, broke out into a roar of acclaim. Post came running into the bench, and the Owl, his long legs prancing, his hat recklessly awry, came forth to meet him and to throw whirlwind arms about his shoulders.

The roar from the stands became bedlam. Through the crowd ran a whisper that the Owl must had had some part in the transformation. Good old Owl! Must have been something about that Martin business that had never been told! Wasn't he the funny geezer, bobbing around out