“It feels good,” said Thorny, “but I don’t believe I’ll be able to pitch any more, fellows. I’m awfully sorry. I ought to have let that pesky ball go by. It was coming about a mile a minute. Can’t you finish the game out, Buster?” “Me?” Buster looked startled. “Gee, I couldn’t pitch anything those fellows wouldn’t make mince-meat of!” “I’ll try it,” said Walter doubtfully, “if you’ll go behind the bat, Buster.” “Then who’ll take first?” “Move Sanborn over from third and let Tommy take Sanborn’s place,” suggested Thorny. “Then put young Peddie in centre.” “All right. Can you bat this inning? You’re up after Tommy.” “Yes, I’ll take another whack at it,” said Thorny. “What we’ve got to do, fellows, is make a few runs. They won’t do a thing to us now. No offence to you, Walt.” “Oh, I know it,” said Walter sadly. “They’ll everlastingly knock me all around the lot. I’m not going to try to work any curves on them, Thorny. My curves are fine, only they don’t go over. I’ll give ’em straight balls and trust to luck. That umpire’s pretty easy on the pitcher. You’re up, Tommy. Go on. There’s one down. Try to lay down a bunt along the third-base line, Tommy, and run like thunder.” Tommy followed directions so well, even to running “like thunder,” that he got safely to the first sack, the third baseman coming in hurriedly for the ball and heaving it over the first baseman’s head. “If he’d been watching he could have gone on to second,” grumbled Walter. “You’re up, Thorny. Send him along, old man.”