Wednesday didn’t promise very well at first for the baseball game, for the morning dawned dark and lowery, with a thick fog rolling in from the bay. But by noon the fog-horns had ceased bellowing, the mist had burned off and the sun was out again. The audience was flatteringly large when the game began at half-past three, the Head being represented by an impressive array of cars and carriages which, after climbing the hill by a stony and devious lane, parked along the edge of the field. Mr. Trainor was again on hand to umpire, and his brother and Mrs. Trainor sat on the grass back of first base under a vividly green sunshade and poked fun at him and “rooted” enthusiastically for the Towners. Toby’s team contained a new player in the person of “Chuck” Morgan, who took Harry Glass’s place at shortstop, Harry being confined at home with the mumps. The Spaniards, too, presented a stranger in their line-up, a large youth named Phillips, who held down third base. Toby and the other Towners viewed Phillips with misgiving and some indignation, for he must have been nineteen years old if he was a day. Toby sought Arnold and registered an objection vigorously.

“We didn’t agree to play with grown-ups, Arn,” he said. “We haven’t a fellow over sixteen on our team.”

Arnold was apologetic. “It’s Frank’s doing, Toby,” he explained. “Sam Cushing’s away and Frank said he knew of a fellow to take his place, and I told him to get him. I didn’t know he was so old. If I had I wouldn’t have let him on. But there isn’t any one else we can get now. Still, if you say you won’t play against him, all right. Maybe we can borrow a fellow from you.”

“He looks like a pretty good player,” murmured Toby, mollified, but still dubious. “Is he?”

“I don’t know much about him. I’ll ask Frank.”

Frank Lamson was summoned to the conference and the question put to him. “Phillips?” replied Frank, carelessly. “No, I guess he isn’t much at baseball. He played football at Townsend School last year, but I never heard he was much of a baseball shark. Anyway, we’re only playing for fun, Toby, so what does it matter?”

“Well, he’s a heap older than us fellows,” Toby objected. “It doesn’t seem quite fair, that’s all.”

“You’re afraid of getting licked,” laughed Frank. “Be a sport, Toby!”

“If Toby doesn’t want us to play Phillips,” began Arnold.

“We haven’t any one else, though,” said Frank impatiently. “We can’t play them with only eight men!”

“All right,” said Toby. “Go ahead. Maybe it won’t make any difference.”

But it did make a difference, as was soon apparent. For when Tracey Gay had reached first on Tony George’s poor peg to Billy Conners, and Arnold had sacrificed him neatly to second, Phillips stepped to the plate in a knowing way, swung at Tim Chrystal’s first offering, and slammed it into deep right for two bases, scoring Gay. One more tally was added before the Towners succeeded in disposing of the third Spaniard, and that two-run lead held until the fourth inning. Then Tony George, first man up for the home team, got a scratch hit past shortstop and Gus Whelan sent him to second on a bunt, being thrown out at first. The next two men went out, and it was up to “Snub” Mooney to rescue the runner on second. This Snub did by dropping a “Texas Leaguer” behind third, Tony George getting to third on the hit and racing home when the fielder unwisely threw to second to get Snub. Snub slid into the bag unchallenged, and Tony got to the plate before the ball from second baseman reached the catcher.

But the Spaniards came back in their inning and added two more tallies, making the score 4 to 1. In the fifth the Towners went down in one, two, three style, for Frank Lamson was pitching a much better game than a fortnight before and the whole team from the Head was playing together in very snappy form. There was some improvement in the Towners as well, but they displayed an unfortunate disposition to make errors at critical times. Tim Chrystal was slanting them over in good shape, but both Phillips and George Dodson found him for long hits every time they came up. The game held more excitement than had the first contest, and Mr. Trainor, very warm and perspiring, was forced to make a number of close decisions at bases. Whenever he did so loud hoots of derision came from under the green sunshade! Mr. Trainor’s office was no sinecure that hot afternoon!

It was the seventh that saw things happen. Manuel Sousa waited and got his base. Morgan laid down a bunt half-way to the pitcher’s box, and Frank juggled the ball and both runners were safe. “Snub” Mooney went out, third baseman to first, advancing the runners. Tim Chrystal, who had so far failed to connect, smashed a line drive into short center. Sousa and Morgan tallied, but Tim was out in an attempt to reach second on the throw-in. With two gone, the inning looked about over, but Toby, next up, took advantage of Frank’s momentary let-down and pushed the ball down the third base line just out of reach of the accomplished Phillips, who had so far fielded his position like a veteran—which he probably was. After that, although Frank threw to first repeatedly in an effort to catch him, Toby stole second on the third delivery, beating the throw by inches only,—but beating it. Billy Conners fouled off two strikes, watched two balls go past him, fouled another for good measure, and then landed on a drop and raised it high and far into center field.

Hal Mason had scarcely to move out of his tracks to take it, but somehow he let it get away from him after it had settled into his hands, and Toby, legging it like a jack rabbit, raced around third and slid the last ten feet to the plate in a cloud of yellow dust and scored without question. Then Tubby Knowles, desperate and determined, tried his very best to bring Billy Conners in from second but only succeeded in popping a fly to shortstop. But the score had changed to 4 to 4, and the Towners had bright visions of another victory.

Tim Chrystal began badly, though, by passing Frank Lamson. Then Mason singled to left and George Dodson sent a long fly to Tubby Knowles, which that rotund youth captured after a breath-taking sprint, almost to the foul line. Frank took third and Mason reached second.

Tracey Gay rolled one toward third. Frank scored and Tracey was safe at first on a wide peg by Tony George. Tracey stole and a moment later Arnold worked Tim for a pass and filled the bases with but one down. Things looked bad then for the Towners, and no better when the renowned Phillips, after a conference between Toby and Tim, was purposely passed, forcing in another tally. Then, however, Pete Lord struck out and the Spaniard’s shortstop, after knocking two screeching fouls in among the carriages and automobiles and almost producing heart failure in the Towners, popped a weak fly to Billy Conners at first, and Toby drew a deep breath of relief.

The Towners came back in the eighth with another tally, making the score 6 to 5, when Manuel Sousa, with one down and Gus Whelan on second, landed on one of Frank’s fast ones and drove it far out into right field. Tracey Gay got under it and made a spectacular catch, but his throw-in was short, and by the time Arnold had got it and relayed it to the plate Gus Whelan had tallied. Try as they might, however, the Towners could not even up the score, for Chuck Morgan, after beating out a slow bunt, was caught going down to second.

The Spaniards went to bat with the evident intention of putting the game on ice there and then, for First Baseman Lord connected with the first ball Tim offered him and slammed it so hard at Chuck Morgan that Chuck had to drop it and hunt around before he could get his stinging hands on it once more. Then Frank tried to bunt twice and failed, and, with two strikes and one ball on him, rolled one down to third.

Tony George threw to second too late and both runners were safe. Then, however, Tim struck out Hal Mason and Dodson, and, swinging fearsomely, only succeeded in sending a foul to Tony George which that youth juggled but eventually saved. Tracy Gay got a safety past third, but Lord decided not to try for the plate, since Tubby Knowles had come in fast and had scooped up the ball before Lord was well around third. With the bases full, Arnold went to bat looking very determined. But there were two down and, as Tim refused to send him anything he could line out, he finally brought the inning to an end by flying out to center fielder.

Snub Mooney, first up for the Towners in the ninth, drew a base on balls, but was out when Tim Chrystal hit to shortstop. Tim went on second when Toby placed a short fly behind first base that no one could reach. Then Billy Conners hit down the alley between shortstop and third, and suddenly the bases were full with only one out, and the Towners on the bench and their friends in the stand were shouting joyfully. Perhaps it was the noise and the vociferous coaching of the opponents that affected Frank Lamson’s command of the ball. At all events, after pitching two into the dirt and one over Tubby Knowles’s head, he worked a drop over for a strike and then plugged Tubby in the ribs. Tubby very promptly sat down on the plate and stared speechlessly, breathlessly, and accusingly at the pitcher until Tim trotted in from third and prodded him into activity with his toe.

“Beat it, Tubby!” said Tim. “Go ahead down! You’ve tied the score!”

Tubby, amidst laughter and wild acclaim, got to his feet groaning loudly and, a hand pressed anxiously to his side, limped to first. The Towners whooped joyously. The score was 6–6, the bases were still full, and there was but one out!

Frank Lamson and Catcher Dodson met and talked it over, and then Arnold walked in from second and they talked it over some more. And the enemy hooted and gibed and demanded action. Frank went back to the mound and Arnold to his position. On the bases the runners, encouraged by shrill shouts from the coachers, took long leads. Toby, at third, ran half-way to the plate on Frank’s first wind-up, with the result that the delivery was wild and Dodson only prevented a tally by blocking the ball with his body. Then Frank threw to third quickly and unexpectedly and Toby had a narrow escape. Once more Frank tried it, but this time Toby was watchful. Then Frank walked out of the box and signaled to Phillips, and the third baseman advanced some ten feet from base to meet him. Frank kept an eye on Toby while he and Phillips conferred, and although Snub Mooney raised a wonderful racket back of base and Toby threatened dashes to the plate, the latter had no chance to get home. Frank and Phillips whispered with heads very close and then Phillips returned to the bag, Frank walked back to the box, apparently rubbing the ball with his hands, and Toby danced along the path again. And then—well, then Phillips took the ball from under his arm, stepped after Toby and dug him none too gently in the ribs with it! And Mr. Trainor waved his hand and said, “Out at third!” in a rather disgusted tone of voice. And Toby, surprised, dismayed and, it must be confessed, decidedly peeved, dropped his head and joined Snub on the coaching line.

“That’s a kid trick,” he said to Phillips, contemptuously.

“Bush league stuff,” supplemented Snub. “Why don’t you play the game fairly?”

The big third baseman grinned mockingly as he turned after throwing the ball back to Frank. “Keep your eyes open, fellows,” he replied. “You’re easy!”

By that time the Towners had flocked across from the bench, protesting angrily. “Hiding the ball’s forbidden,” declared Gus Whelan. “How about that, Mr. Umpire?”

“He’s out,” replied Mr. Trainor, calmly. Gus and the others sputtered, but Toby sent them back.

“There’s no rule against the hidden-ball trick,” he told them. “It was my fault. I ought to have seen it. It’s all right, though, fellows. We only want one run. Let’s have it. Hit it out, Tony!”

But Tony swung helplessly under one of Frank’s fast ones and let the third delivery go by and heard it called a strike.

“Gee, I wish he could hit it,” muttered Toby to Snub. “If we can only get Billy to third we can get him in. I’ll coach here. You beat it down to first, Snub, and take it there. Manuel’s up after Gus.”

Frank tried the batter with a wide one that didn’t fool him, and it was two and two.

“It only takes one, Tony!” called Toby. “Pick out a good one!”

And Tony did that very thing the next instant when Frank tried to sneak one over in the groove. Tony met it not quite squarely, but he met it and the ball shot across the infield and for the first moment looked like a safe hit. But Arnold dashed to the right and, although he couldn’t make the catch, knocked the ball down. Billy Conners was turning third, but Toby seized him and shoved him back by main force, for Arnold had recovered the ball and finding that he was too late to get the runner at second or first, was pegging to the plate.

“I could have made it!” gasped Billy, disappointedly.

“You didn’t have a chance,” answered Toby. “Now listen. Hug your base until I shout ‘GO!’ and then don’t stop to look or anything. Just beat it! Understand?”

“All right.” Billy got his foot on the base while Frank received the ball back from the catcher and glanced around the field. The bases were filled once more and at the plate Gus Whelan was tapping his bat eagerly.

“Two gone, fellows!” called Arnold. “Play for the batter!”

Frank folded his fingers around the ball and settled for the wind-up. And at that instant Toby stepped across the base path and held up his hand.

“Hi, Frank!” he called. “That ball’s ripped! We want another one!”

Frank looked the ball over. “No, it isn’t. It’s perfectly all right.”

“I tell you it is ripped! Let’s see it!”

“Go on and play the game,” shouted Phillips.

“I want to see that ball,” demanded Toby, advancing into the diamond.

“It’s all right, I tell you,” replied Frank impatiently. “Get off the field, Toby.”

“If it’s all right show it to me then.”

Frank muttered, stepped out of the box and tossed the ball to Toby. “Have a look, then, and hurry up,” he growled.

“Go!” yelled Toby. Instantly Billy Conners streaked for the plate, Toby stepped to one side and the ball went bounding across the base line. Pandemonium reigned. From second came Tubby, galloping for all he was worth, from first raced Tony. Phillips, after an instant of surprise, scurried after the ball. Billy swept across the plate. Toby waved Tubby on. Over near the fringe of the autos and traps Phillips was scooping up the ball. But by the time he had rescued it Tubby was rolling over and over in a cloud of dust across the plate and Tony was sliding, more scientifically but no less effectually, into third!

The entire infield flocked about the umpire. Six voices shouted together. At first Toby smiled gently and winked at Tony George. And Tony, breathless but delighted, sat on the bag and winked back.

“One trick,” murmured Toby pleasantly, “calls for another.”

All the protests failed to aid the Spaniards and Mr. Trainor patiently explained that as time had not been asked for or called, the ball was still in play. “Your pitcher,” he said, “threw the ball out of the field and the runners scored, as they had a perfect right to do.”

“But Tucker called for the ball!” exclaimed Frank. “It was a trick! He hadn’t any right——”

“There’s nothing in the rules forbidding that,” answered the umpire gently. “You didn’t have to throw it to him, you know.”

“You call that fair playing?” demanded Phillips bitterly.

“According to the rules of the game it’s fair,” was the response. “I can’t go back of the rules.”

“It’s a low-down, measley trick!” declared Frank hotly. “Those runners ought to be sent back, Mr. Trainor.”

“It was a trick, of course,” was the reply. “But so is hiding the ball, don’t you think? One isn’t any worse than the other and the rules don’t prohibit either, Lamson. Play ball, please.”

But it was several minutes later before the Spaniards accepted the inevitable with bad grace and went back to their positions. As for Arnold, though, it is only fair to say that he made little protest, for he was possessed both of a sense of humor and a sense of justice. Phillips, however, scowled darkly at Toby and Tony as he returned to his base.

“Cheating,” he said grumpily, “is the only way you fellows could win.”

“Keep your eyes open,” replied Toby sweetly.

Then the game went on. But the Spaniards had lost their grip, and Frank Lamson, too angry to care much what happened, passed Gus Whelan and allowed Manuel Sousa to land against a straight ball and send it speeding over shortstop’s head. Tony trotted home unhurriedly and Gus took second. Chuck Morgan brought the inning to an end by fouling out to the catcher.

After that, with the score 9 to 6, the Towners had only to hold their opponents for the last of the ninth, and, although Tim Chrystal threatened to make trouble for himself by passing the first man up, he soon settled down again, and by the time the runner had stolen second and reached third on a put-out at first there were two down, and Frank Lamson ended the contest by ignominiously striking out.

The Spaniards’ cheer for the victors was noticeably faint.