The photographers were shooed away and the field cleared. The Hornets pranced out upon the diamond like a lot of colts, eager for the fray. Elgin got a cheer all to himself for the cool, confident, and business-like way in which he took the slab. The umpires got into position, one of them tossing out a clean, new ball to the young pitcher. The fans yelled again, just for the sake of letting off steam. Then came a tense, breathless hush as they waited for the first ball to be pitched. CHAPTER XLI THE BEGINNING OF THE GAME Rufe Hyland, the visitors’ right fielder and one of their crack hitters, stood at the pan, calm and smiling, swinging his stick with a short, gentle motion, which seemed to denote tense muscles and a brain alert and ready to take advantage of any pitched ball that should nick the platter. In spite of his seeming coolness, Bert Elgin had really never been more nervous in his life. He took his time, even after Fargo had given the signal, and, as he dug away the soil near the pitcher’s rubber with his copper toe, he heard his teammates coaching behind him. He was heartened by the sound of their friendly voices; but, nevertheless, the straight, low one he sent over seemed to lack his usual cannon-ball speed. Hyland lashed it out in a manner which sent the pitcher’s heart down into his boots. For an instant he thought it a two-bagger, at least. Then, as he whirled round, he saw that Dutch Siegrist, sprinting at full speed, had scooped it right off the blades of grass. The superb catch brought a yell of delight from the Hornets’ rooters, and seemed to brace Elgin amazingly. He took a long breath, and his nerves ceased to flutter as he surveyed the next batter. He felt a new confidence in himself in the realization that the team was behind him, ready to back him up with their wonderfully perfect organization. He lost instantly that sense of isolation he had been conscious of at first――the feeling that the entire weight and responsibility of the game lay on his shoulders. The boys were there, ready to cover any blunder or mistake he might make; and, though this did not bring about laxness in his pitching, it was infinitely consoling. Again he took the signal from the big backstop, but this time the ball he put over had burning speed, and a little jump to it which completely fooled Pink Dalton, the Blue Stockings’ second baseman. It was followed by an incurve that cut the corner of the plate. Dalton fouled back of the pan. Then came a couple of teasers which the batter ignored; and finally, with two and two, the Blue Stockings’ man hoisted a high fly into left field, which was easily caught by the guardian of that pasture.