His hands grasped the willow easily, confidently.
"Strike one!" Prescott had missed the ball, but it failed to rattle him.
"Strike two!" The boy was still undaunted, though he had lost two chances out of the three.
Again he tried for the ball.
Swish! It was a foul hit, out sidewise.

Gardiner's catcher darted nimbly in under the ball.
Home fans groaned.
As for Dick, he didn't turn his head to look.

Catcher had the ball in his fingers, but fumbled it.

It slipped.
"Hard luck," muttered the standing Gardiner fans, waiting to give their final cheer of victory.
Dick's next sight of the ball was when it sailed lazily over his head, into the hands of the man in the box.
"I hope Dick is bracing," groaned one of Gridley's subs.
"He isn't," retorted Dave Darrin.

"He's just on the job, steady as iron, cool as a cucumber and confident as an American." Gardiner's pitcher measured his man critically, then signaled the next ball.
It came, just as Dick, closely watching the pitcher, expected it to come, a swift, graceful out-curve.
_Bang_! At least it sounded like a gunshot.