Again Grant attempted to put the ball over high and close, but he simply got it across the inside corner slightly below the batter’s shoulders, and Crispin made a successful bunt that rolled along just inside the first base line. Jumping over the ball, the hitter sprinted hard for first. Grant scooped up the rolling sphere and heard Nelson’s sharp cry to put it to first. It whistled past Crispin’s ear and spanked into Crane’s mitt. “Out at first,” said the Wyndham umpire, with something like a touch of regret. “Good work, Crispin,” gleefully called Baxter, giving the player a slap on the shoulder. “That was a beauty bunt, old boy. Now we’ve got ’em where we want ’em.” Even as he spoke he signaled from his position on the coaching line for Foxhall to hit the ball out; and Foxhall was liable to do it if anybody could. Grant worked carefully with this batter, meanwhile holding Crispin as close to first as possible. Nevertheless, Foxhall swung uselessly only once. The second time he whipped his bat round he connected with the horsehide and sent the sphere skimming along the ground straight at Cooper. Eager and anxious, Chipper booted it beautifully. Like a cat he chased it up and made a futile effort to get the hitter. The throw was a case of bad judgment as well as a wild heave, which even long-geared Sile Crane could not reach. So while Crane was chasing after the ball, Foxhall, who should have been out, romped on to second, and Leach scored amid a tremendous tumult. Grinning broadly, Sam Cohen, Wyndham’s heavy-hitting left-fielder, danced out to the plate, determined to keep things moving. Surely, it looked like Wyndham’s opportunity, and, besides the desire to prevent the visitors from settling down, there was a legitimate excuse for the continued uproar of the home crowd. Although they well knew that Grant was little to blame for the turn of affairs, the Wyndham coachers were trying hard to “get him going” by pretending that it was his fault, and behind Rodney’s back Foxhall capered on second, clapping his hands and making gestures intended to encourage the shrieking spectators. Never in his life had Chipper Cooper been more chagrined and ashamed. His face beet-red, he begged Nelson to kick him. “Get back to your position and play ball, Cooper,” said the captain, as calmly as he could. “We’ve got to stop this foolishness right here. They mustn’t make another run.” Grant’s teeth were set and his under jaw looked grim and hard. He knew well enough that Cohen was especially dangerous at this stage of the game, for the nervy Hebrew was one of those rare batters who hit better in a pinch than at any other time, the necessity seeming always to prime him properly.