far into right field. The boy on first raced all the way to third, and when the outfielder threw home to cut him off should he try to score, Littlefield romped down to second.
Praska had grown hoarse. "Now we're got this game where we want it. Here's your chance, Chan. Crack into one and make Northfield happy."
Chanler, the little second baseman, was crouched at the plate, nervously fidgeting the toe of his left shoe along the ground. The pitcher, so confident a moment before, now looked worried. Twice he shook his head in answer to the catcher's signals, and when he did hurl the ball the pitch was wild.
"Look out!" shrilled the coachers.
Chanler dropped to the ground. But his bat, trailing back over his shoulder, got in the way of the ball. The unexpected shock of the meeting twisted the bat from his hand. The ball popped into the air and fell gently a few feet in front of the plate.
The coachers had become madmen. "Up Chan! Run it out. Fair ball. Come to life!"
Chanler scrambled to his feet and dashed for first. The Monroe infield, momentarily upset, shrilled orders, pleas and advice. The catcher, stumbling as he jumped forward, went off balance
