Luke, he was too surprised to make any comment.
"I'll get the next one!" he declared, as he tapped his bat on the home plate. He did hit it, but it was only a foul, and, being on the last strike, did not count against him.
"That's the way to do it. You're finding his curves if he has any!" cried Hiram. "Swat It!"
"Sure!" assented Luke.
With all his might he hit at the next ball, only to fan the air.
"Strike three—batter's out!" called the umpire amid a tense silence. Luke had done what he was seldom guilty of; he had struck out, and to a pitcher whom he not only hated but despised. Joe's great work had enabled the scrub to retire the school team without a run—a thing that had not been done at Excelsior in many years.
"Wow! That's the stuff!" yelled Tom, as he raced in from first. "I knew you could do it, Joe."
"Great work, old man!" complimented Ward. "Now we'll see what we can do."
There were gloomy and dubious looks on the faces of Hiram and Luke as the school team filed out on the field.
