But although Jack Tappen drove out a two-bagger over shortstop’s head and Pete Robey got safely to first on an error by the third baseman, the next three players went out in order, Lanny on a foul that was pulled down by third baseman, Fudge on strikes and Tom Haley on a weak effort to second baseman.

Encouraged by the valiant cheers of its supporters, the Point went to work in its half of the seventh in a very business-like way. Townsend beat out a bunt in front of base, Morris Brent hit safely into short left field, advancing Townsend, and Gil Chase sent a hot one through the pitcher’s box which Tom couldn’t handle. With the bases full, things looked bad for Clearfield. Tom knocked down House’s drive, however, held Townsend at third, and worked the first out. Then Leary, after spoiling three good ones, fouled out to Lanny, and Clearfield breathed easier. But Pink Northrop, although a tail-ender on the batting list, came through with a hit that brought shrieks of delight from the Point sympathizers and sent two runs across. Billy Houghton trickled a slow bunt toward first and the man on third tried for the plate. But Gordon, running in fast, got the ball to Lanny ahead of the runner and the side was out.

“You’re up, Harry,” announced Dick. “There’s a fine opening for a bright young man between third and short. See what you can do.”

“I’ll try it, but I’m batting pretty punk,” replied Harry doubtfully. “What’s the matter with a bunt, Dick?”

“Nothing doing, Harry. Hit it out. Get to first and try a hit-and-run with Will.”

But Harry’s effort was a weak grounder that bounded nicely into shortstop’s hands and there was one out. Gordon, behind first, looked worried as Will faced the pitcher. But, “Pick out a good one, Will,” he called cheerfully. “He hasn’t much on it.”

Will, profiting by the advice, sought to select one to his liking and Porter very soon found himself in a hole. The umpire didn’t like Porter’s offerings any better than Will and after six deliveries Will walked to first.

“That’s the stuff!” cried Jack Tappen, relieving Gordon on the coaching line. “He’s all in! Whale it out, Gordon! Here we go, fellows!”

Gordon swung viciously at the first ball across and the third baseman stepped cautiously back. Then came a wide one that Gordon disdained. The next was likewise a ball by a narrow margin. At first Will was dancing back and forth and Jack was coaching at the top of his lungs, while from behind third Lanny was offering his budget of advice and comment. Porter wound up again, Will started for second and Gordon swung his bat. There was a crack as ball and bat met, and Will, nearing second, saw Lanny’s entreating gestures and never paused in his stride.

Out in center field the ball was bounding along the turf and Gordon was already rounding first. Luck helped Clearfield then, for just as center fielder slackened his pace to get the ball the latter struck against a tuft of the coarse grass in front of him and bounded erratically aside. At third Lanny waved Will on to the plate. Gordon, pausing a few yards past first, took up his running again while the center fielder turned and raced back for the rolling ball. When he reached it Gordon was sliding to second in a cloud of dust and Will was halfway to the plate. The fielder, Jim House, made a beautiful throw, but Will beat it, and the best the catcher could do was to hold Gordon on second.

On the Clearfield bench the purple-hosed players cheered and cavorted, while on the shady side of the diamond a strange silence held. Way tapped the base impatiently with his favorite bat and Harry implored him to hit it out. Porter looked nervous for the first time.

“He’s up in the air!” shrieked Harry. “Wait for your base, Way. You don’t have to hit it! He’ll pass you! Here we go! Here we go! Here——”

Harry paused only because Way had picked out the first ball offered him and had banged it across to shortstop. Gordon scurried to third and Way raced toward first. Shortstop got the ball on a low bound, cast a hurried look toward third and pelted it across to first. But the throw was poor and although first baseman got it he dropped it the next instant and the umpire spread his hands wide.

“Watch home!” implored the catcher. But Gordon was taking no chances with only one out and contented himself with dancing up the base line a few yards to draw the throw. The ball went back to pitcher and pitcher and catcher met and held a conference. Gordon spoke to Lanny and Lanny nodded.

“Well, I guess we’ve got them guessing, Harry,” he called across.

“Here’s where we break it up, fellows!” responded Harry. “On your toes, Way! Here we go!”

Porter glanced over his infield, tugged at his cap, hitched his trousers, studied the catcher’s signal and wound up. But the throw was to first and Way was nearly caught napping. Twice more Porter tried to clear that base, and then, anticipating a steal, threw out to the catcher. But Way hugged first and only grinned, while the umpire announced “One ball!” Then a curve went over the corner of the plate and Jack Tappen had a strike on him. The Point infield was playing close and Jack knew that a bunt would not help any. He let the second strike go by, a deceptive drop, and then came the signal from Harry.

“Make it be good, Jack!” called Harry. “Here we go! Here we go!”

Porter wound up again and Way started for second. It was now or never for Jack and desperately he glued his eye to the oncoming sphere, swung and felt the pleasant tingle that announced that he had hit it! Then he was racing for the base. Shortstop had the ball a dozen feet back of the base line. Second baseman ran to cover that bag. Perhaps he thought a throw to the plate would fail to head off the speeding runner from third, or perhaps he had some idea of starting a double play. At all events, Chase tossed the ball quickly toward second. It reached there simultaneously with second baseman and Way. Second baseman made a grab for it and got it, but at that instant Way, sliding into the bag feet-foremost, collided with the defender of the sack and the ball trickled away in the dust. Gordon slid across the plate, Way was safe at second and Jack was grinning from first!

That misadventure was the Point’s undoing. Porter went to pieces then and there. Pete hit a liner that sent in Way, put Jack on third and himself on second; Lanny, enjoined to wait for his base, stood idle while the pitcher slammed four balls past him, and then, with the bases full, and one out, Fudge, with the score two strikes and two balls, resisted the temptation to swing and was presented with his base. Jack was forced across for the fourth tally.

Tom, eager to add his mite to the slaughter, hit a beautiful drive toward left field and the runners started around. But Caspar Billings performed the impossible. Although the ball was at least a yard over his head, he knocked it down with his right, spoiling what was intended for a two-bagger, and sped it to the plate ten feet in front of Pete, who, with the possible exception of Caspar himself, was the most surprised youth on the field. Back flew the ball to third, but Lanny had luck with him and somehow managed to slide into the bag ahead of Caspar’s descending arm.

Encouraged, Rutter’s Point set about getting the third out, and Porter settled down to deceive Harry Bryan. But Harry, realizing that in all probability this would be his last time at bat, and seeing what a fine opportunity was presented him to write his name on the annals of fame, was cautious and watchful. Porter worked a low ball over for a strike, followed it with a ball wide of the plate, coaxed him with a slow one that failed to entice Harry or please the umpire and then tried to sneak a fast one across in the groove. But Harry saw it coming, laid all his strength along that slender piece of ash he held and swung! And when the excitement was over three more runs had been piled on to Clearfield’s score and Harry was seated, breathless but happy, on third, having lined out a two-base hit into deep center and taken third on the throw to the plate. That ended it, however, for Will Scott popped a foul into first baseman’s hands.

With the score ten to four against them the Rutter’s Point team was discouraged and beaten. It tried half-heartedly to get a man around in the last of the eighth and managed to stop Clearfield in the first of the ninth, although some poor base-running on the part of the visitors did more than any efforts of the home team to save the plate in that inning. And in the last half of the ninth the Point actually got a runner as far as third. But there he stayed while the next two batsmen fell before Tom’s slants and a third sent up a short fly that settled comfortably into Pete Robey’s hands and brought the game to an end.

Clearfield cheered Rutter’s Point, in the intoxication of the moment using the regular High School slogan, and Rutter’s Point cheered Clearfield and bats were gathered up and the two teams started off the field. They came together at the corner of the hotel and Caspar called to Dick: “We’d like to try you again, Lovering, some time.” And Dick answered: “Glad to play you, Billings. We’ll talk it over soon.”

Morris Brent laid a hand on Gordon’s arm and pulled him aside. “Say, Gordon, I’ve got my car here. Come on back with me, won’t you? I’ll get you home quicker than the trolley will do it.”

“Why, much obliged,” murmured Gordon, “but——”

“Oh, come on! I want you to see how dandy it runs.”

“I’m not insured,” laughed Gordon, trying to pull away from the other’s detaining hand.

“Oh, pshaw! I won’t dump you out. I’ll run as slow as you like. Come on.”

“Well, all right,” agreed Gordon without enthusiasm. “Oh, Dick! I’m going back with Morris. I’ll see you this evening.”

Morris led the way toward the pier, where the Clearfield road joined the shore avenue, and Gordon saw the blue runabout standing at the side of the road. It was a very attractive little car, in spite of the layer of gray dust which sullied the shining varnish.

“Isn’t she a peach?” demanded Morris. “And go! Say, I went nearly forty miles an hour in her the other day!”

“Yes,” replied Gordon dryly, “Dick saw you, I guess. He said you were racing with the trolley.”

“Oh, shucks, not that time! I was only doing about thirty then. I had to slow down for a team. You ought to have seen me the other morning on the Springdale road. That was going some, I tell you!”

“Well, if you try any thirty mile stunt to-day I’ll fall out the back of it,” warned Gordon.

“I won’t. Wait till I start it. All right. In you get. Pretty comfortable seats, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” agreed Gordon as the runabout swung around in the dusty road and headed toward Clearfield at a moderate speed. “Does—does your father know about it?”

Morris chuckled. “No, not yet. I don’t want him to, but I suppose some busybody will tell him.”

“Bound to,” said Gordon. “Especially if you do such spectacular stunts as you did the other day. Folks on the trolley, Dick said, expected to see you go off the road any minute.”

“Pooh! Folks who don’t drive autos always think that. Why, you’re just as safe in this thing as you are in the trolley. Safer, I guess. Remember when the car jumped the track year before last and killed six or seven people?”

“Yes, but I’ll take my chances with the trolley,” replied Gordon. “There it goes now. I wonder if the fellows caught it.”

“Sure. Anyway, we’ll soon see. I can catch that trolley as though it was standing still!” Morris pulled down his throttle and the little car bounded forward with a deeper hum of its engine. Gordon grasped the arm of the seat beside him.

“Never mind!” he exclaimed. “I don’t care whether they did or not, Morris! Pull her down!”

Morris obeyed, laughing. “Shucks,” he said, “that wasn’t fast. We were only going twenty-five or six miles an hour.”

“How do you know?” grumbled Gordon, relaxing his grip.

Morris indicated the speedometer with his foot. “That thing tells you,” he explained. “Watch the long hand. We’re doing sixteen now. I’ll hit her up a bit. There, see the hand move around? Twenty—twenty-two—twenty-four——”

“That’ll do, thanks! And for the love of mud, Morris, keep her away from this fence!”

“Why, there’s five feet there,” protested the driver.

“Y-yes, but the old thing wabbles so it gives me heart failure!”

“You just think it does,” returned Morris. “I can keep her as straight as an arrow if I want to.”

“Want to, then, will you?” laughed Gordon uneasily. “And—and here’s another car coming, Morris. Hadn’t you better slow down a little?”

“Say, you’re an awful baby,” commented the other. But he lowered the speed of the car still further and, to Gordon’s relief, hugged the fence pretty closely while a big gray touring car shot by them in a cloud of dust. Morris turned a speculative, admiring gaze on it as it passed.

“Thirty-five easily, she’s making,” he said. “Some day I’m going to have one like that. These little cars are all right to knock about in, but they’re too light to get much speed out of.”

“How fast do you want to run, anyway?” grumbled Gordon. “Isn’t twenty miles an hour fast enough?”

“You wait till you run one and you’ll see,” laughed Morris. “Why, twenty miles will seem like standing still to you!”

“It’s fast enough for me,” sighed Gordon. “Besides, this road is so rough that—Morris!”

But Gordon’s cry was too late. There was a bump, a crash, the sound of splintering wood, and——