Warner, tossing aside his bat, walked resentfully to first. Clearfield loudly censured the pitcher, impolitely intimating that he was afraid, but Newton only smiled and gave his attention to Lanny. Four more pitch-outs and Lanny, too, walked, filling the bases and eliciting derisive and disappointed howls from the Purple.
Breen was next at bat and, since in spite of being a left-hander, he had so far failed to solve the Springdale pitcher, the audience expected that Dick would pull him out and substitute a pinch-hitter—probably McCoy or Lewis. But, after a momentary stir at the bench and a quick consultation between Dick and Haley, Breen advanced to the plate, bat in hand. Knowing ones in the stands shook their heads and grumbled, and Fudge emphatically condemned proceedings and became very pessimistic. Perry, daring to hint that perhaps, after all, Dick Lovering had some good reason for allowing Breen to bat, was silenced by exactly four perfectly good arguments against such a possibility. By which time Howard Breen had a ball and a strike on him, the coachers were jumping and shrieking and the purple flags were waving madly while several hundred voices roared out a bedlam of sound. For it was now or never, in the belief of most, and a safe hit was needed very, very badly!
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