"That's right, Clink! Make him give you what you want."

The next ball was intended for an out-curve, but, somehow, Tom missed
it, and it came in fairly over the plate. Crack! The bat connected
with it, and away the sphere sailed to center field.

"Run, run!" The cry echoed from all sides, and, almost in a twinkling,
Clink was down to first, and racing for second. Then, feeling that he
had time to go further, he bounded onward, and slid safely to third.

"That's the way to do it! Look, a three-bagger!"

"Hurray! We've got them on the run; keep it up, boys!" And then the
air was rent with the noise of horns and rattles.

"Steady, Tom, steady," whispered Bob, as he walked toward the pitcher.
"Don't let them rattle you; take your time."

"They are not going to rattle me," returned Tom, and set his teeth
hard. He faced the new batsman, and then, of a sudden, twirled around
and sent the ball whizzing to third.

"Look out! look out!" yelled the coach at third, and Clink dropped and
grabbed the sack just in the nick of time. Then Tom went for the
batter. One strike was called, and then two balls, and then another
strike, and a ball.

"Don't walk him, Tom, whatever you do," said Spud, as he came down to
consult with the pitcher.