“Warren must be home by now; score’s tied,” he thought exultantly.
He glanced across the diamond at Bell on the third-base coaching line; Bell was leaping, shouting, beckoning him with both arms to keep on, and all the background of the St. John’s crowd was still.
So Edward touched second base and came in a wide arc down to third; he looked at Bell again expecting to see him motioning, “Enough! Hold the base!”
But instead—could it be?—had he really done the supreme thing? For Bell was still beckoning frantically, yelling frantically, and behind him there was still that solemn silence of St. John’s.
He could hear what Bell was yelling: “Home run! Home run! Home run!” And more and more tremendous grew the St. Timothy’s shout.
So, panting, Edward touched third base and swept into the stretch for home. Bell racing by his side, yelling as he ran, “Slide! Slide! You’ve got to slide!”
Edward glanced towards right field and at
