The Wigwam was quiet and disappointed while the teams changed places. From across the diamond came the applauding cheers of the enemy. Sam, thoroughly disgusted with himself, donned protector and mask in grim silence. Joe Groom, who had been coaching at third, generously strove to take the blame.

“That was my fault, sir! I ought to have known they were up to some silly trick!”

“No one’s fault but mine,” replied Sam decisively. “I played it like an idiot!”

Benson went to bat for the home team in the last of the seventh and cracked out a two-bagger over shortstop and was caught off second a minute or two later by a quick return from Sam to Porter, who whirled instantly and pegged to Thursby. The Wigwam recovered from its gloom and cheered. Then the Mount Placid left fielder fouled out to Sam and two were gone. But the inning was not yet over, for Walters, a thin, freckled-faced youth with extraordinarily long legs, took it into his head to bunt, after once trying to knock the cover off the ball, and caught Crossbush napping. By the time Tom had gathered in the rolling ball and sent it to first Walters was making the turn. Mr. Connell was up next, and, profiting by Walters’ example, he laid the sphere down a few feet from the plate and lit out for the base like a runaway horse. By the time Sam had dashed his mask aside, got the ball and pegged to Murdock, the runner was safe and Walters was on second, and the grey shirts and the green shirts were shouting madly.

Mr. Phillips, the next batter, had one hit to his credit and, as Sam had discovered, liked a low ball. So Porter fed him high ones and got two strikes and one ball on his. Then came a foul and a second strike. Porter wasted one then and the score was two and two. Sam called for a fast one and Porter tried it. Unfortunately, Mr. Phillips outguessed him and when the ball came along he met it squarely for a long fly into left. Mr. Gifford was after it like a shot, but he had to run back a dozen yards and when he finally got his hand on it he failed to hold it. The best he could do was to recover quickly and throw to third in time to hold the second runner there. Walters scored and the game stood 4 to 1. With runners on second and third, things still looked dubious for The Wigwam, and Porter made them more so by utterly failing to locate the plate with the first three deliveries! Hanford, who was up, swung his bat and stepped back and forth in the box. Sam signalled a straight ball and got it for a strike. Hanford let it go past unchallenged, for he had two more chances and was waiting for the last one. Again Porter essayed a fast one in the groove, but this time he failed and Mr. York waved Hanford to first. The bases filled, Mount Placid cheered exultantly and the grey-shirted coachers danced and yelped; and the base-runners too did their level best to rattle the pitcher.

Mr. Williams was at bat now and Sam had what he would have called a “hunch” to the effect that Mr. Williams was dangerous at this stage of affairs. While Porter sent the first delivery in, a curve that failed to win approval from Mr. York, Sam studied the runners on the bases. At third, Walters was taking a good lead on the wind-up, but hugging the bag safely at other times. On second Mr. Connell was watching the baseman carefully in spite of his seeming recklessness. At first, though, Hanford, feeling safe from attack, was leading a good twelve feet. Sam tossed the ball back to Porter.

“Keep after him, George!” he called. Then he stooped, dropped his mitt between his knees, and gave the signal. But it was a closed fist that Porter saw, and that called for a throw-out. Porter walked to the side of the box, picked up an imaginary pebble and tossed it away. Then he tugged at his cap, wound up and sped the ball four feet wide of the batsman and straight into Sam’s waiting mitt. One step forward toward first, a quick throw, and the trick was won! Frantic shouts of warning from coachers, a desperate slide to the bag by Hanford, a scurry for the plate by Walters! But Murdock had been ready. At the instant the ball had settled in Sam’s mitt he had run toward the bag. The throw was perfect and Murdock caught it, fell to one knee and let Hanford slide into the ball as he tried for safety!

The shouts of delight came from the third-base side of the field, for across the diamond a dense silence reigned. Sam and Ralph Murdock received an ovation as they returned to the bench. Mr. Gifford slapped Sam on the back and many of the boys would have followed suit had they dared. Pandemonium reigned until Mr. York called, “Batter up, please!” When Sam, passing the plate to reach the coacher’s box at first, went by him the umpire smiled as he said softly: “Quick work, Craig!”

Four to one now and only two innings left! The Wigwam realised the fact that if the game was to be pulled out of the fire, and they had by no means given up hope yet, something must be done now, that it wouldn’t do to count on a ninth-inning rally. And so they went at the task very determinedly, very carefully. Mr. Gifford, the first man up, showed no eagerness to hit. Instead he allowed Mr. Williams to put a strike and two balls over before he made his first attempt. Then he swung and a foul-tip resulted. At two-and-two Mr. Williams chose to try a curve and, since the batter refused to be deceived by it, put himself in the hole. Amidst a strained silence Mr. Williams wound up again and sent in one of his deceptive slow balls. But Mr. Gifford had profited by experience, and guessed what was coming. The result was that he hit slowly and caught the offering fairly a foot from the end of his bat and the ball went arching gaily and gracefully into centre field and Mr. Gifford went speeding quite as gaily—if not so gracefully—to first base. That hit, for it was a hit, landed untouched between centre fielder and shortstop, with second baseman just out of the running. It was the fielder who scooped up the rolling ball and set himself for the throw to second. Unfortunately for him, however, second base was for the moment uncovered. Mr. Williams and Mr. Gifford arrived there simultaneously an instant later, but by that time the centre fielder saw no reason for throwing!

That was a fine opening for the inning, and no mistake! And The Wigwam jumped and shouted and pounded each other’s backs and barked out their cheer. And Steve Brown scuttled to third and shouted himself hoarse in the desperate attempt to upset Mr. Williams’ coolness; desperate, since the Mount Placid pitcher was not easily rattled.

Joe Groom went to the plate looking determined, but only succeeded in flying out to shortstop. Tom Crossbush managed to reach first on a scratch-hit past third baseman. Murdock struck out miserably. The Wigwam’s hopes began to dim. But with Sam up something might yet happen to their liking, and so they cheered him encouragingly and held their breaths while Mr. Williams did his utmost to put him out of the way.

A strike—a ball—another ball, by a scant margin—a foul-strike! Sam watched and waited, gripping his bat tightly, and looking as cool as if the outcome of the game might not depend on the next delivery. Perhaps Sam’s confidence affected Mr. Williams. At least it is probable that the Mount Placid pitcher never intended to send across just what he did, for the ball came up to Sam with nothing on it but the cover and Sam smote it lustily and thirty-odd youths sprang into the air and shrieked deliriously!

Around the bases sped Mr. Gifford, his flannel trousers a grey streak above the turf, and behind him came Tom Crossbush. Off for first leaped Sam, while, far out in right field, the ball was leisurely descending to earth. Eight fielder was sprinting desperately toward the fence that enclosed the ground on that side. If only, prayed the Wigwam supporters, that ball would land on the other side! But it didn’t. It came down a dozen feet inside the boundary, and Cather, with a final plucky spurt, shot his hand into the air and—well, then fielder and ball went down together and rolled over! There was one breathless instant of uncertainty, broken by the triumphant yells of The Wigwam when Cather, scrambling to his feet, searched the turf hurriedly, recovered the ball and made a wretched throw to second baseman. At that moment Mr. Gifford was trotting across the plate, Tom Crossbush was past third, and Sam was rounding second. Second baseman sped the ball home, but too late to catch Tom, and Hanford desperately pegged it to third. But Sam reached the bag just as the ball did and had one scuffed shoe snuggled against it when Mr. Connell tagged him none too gently.

Four to three now! Only one run needed to tie! Two out, but a man on third! If only Porter could make good! Mr. Gifford consulted Thursby and The Wigwam waited anxiously. Then a cheer went up, for Peterson was off the bench and pawing at the bats! Porter was coming out! Peterson was to bat for him! A hit would tie the game!

Dan Peterson received a veritable ovation as he hurried to the plate. He was loudly invited to contribute a hit, a two-bagger, a home run! To bust it! To tear the cover off! To—to——

Then quiet returned, or, rather, comparative quiet, for the coachers had no intention of letting up on their babel. From back of first base Joe Groom shouted at the top of his lungs to Sam on third, and back of Sam Mr. Gifford clapped his hands and added to the noise. And then Mr. Williams brought down upon himself ridicule and wrath by deliberately passing Peterson! The Wigwam was incensed indeed! Mount Placid and Greenwood, however, laughed and applauded, and Peterson, deprived of the chance to distinguish himself as a pinch-hitter, scowled darkly at Mr. Williams as he walked unwillingly to base.

Steve Brown was up then, and Steve had played in hard luck all day. Not once had he been able to get to first. This rankled in Steve’s breast, and as he faced the Mount Placid pitcher he resolved that this time, his last opportunity, he would not be foiled! On the first ball pitched Peterson legged it for second and Sam danced forward halfway along the base line toward home. But Hanford knew better than to risk a throw to second and contented himself with a motion that sent Sam scuttling back to third. Steve had offered at the delivery and so had one strike on him. To bring in a run he must hit safely and Steve waited his chance. But before it came something happened.

On second Peterson, perhaps disgruntled at the trick worked on him, was set on showing his contempt for the enemy by risking a lead that simply cried for punishment. On each wind-up he went fully half the distance to third. Now Hanford was canny enough, but that was too great a temptation for him to resist. And so he gave a signal, Mr. Williams turned quickly, stepped out and shot the ball to shortstop. Peterson was twelve feet off base and there was but one thing to do and that was to keep away from the ball long enough for Sam to score. So he set out toward third and Sam looked on and watched his chance. It came when shortstop tossed the ball over Peterson’s head to third baseman. Then Sam set out desperately. And that, of course, was what Hanford wanted. Third baseman turned and pegged to the plate while Sam was still ten feet away. But, alas for Hanford’s hopes! The ball slammed into the dust and, although he tried desperately to get it, he failed, and while he was still groping for it with one hand and striving to block off Sam with his body that youth slid to safety in a cloud of red dust and Peterson romped to third!

Mount Placid listened gloomily to the visitors’ wild outpouring of joy, saw them drag the runner to his feet and pull him ecstatically to the bench, saw Hanford, rather pale and wrathful, slap the dust from his clothes, recover his mask, and disspiritedly send the ball back to Mr. Williams; saw, too, Mr. Connell on third trying his best to look as if he didn’t know he had thrown the game away!

“W! Rah! I! Rah! G! Rah, rah, rah! W! Rah! A! Rah! M! Rah, rah, rah! Wigwam! Wigwam!! Wigwa-a-arm!!!” And Dick Barry cavorting about like a thing built of springs, waving his arms and kicking his legs and shouting his voice away! And the score 4 to 4, and everyone on the third base side very, very happy and noisy!

And then, after a minute, when one more run might have given the visitors the victory, when Steve had still another strike to be scored against him, Peterson, made careless by his previous good fortune, took just that extra inch forbidden by safety—and the coacher—and slid back to the bag too late!

That was disappointing, but there was another inning, and if only they could keep Mount Placid from adding to her score; and could themselves put just one other little tally across——

And so Mount Placid went to bat for her half of the eighth looking firmly resolved to do or die, and Mr. Gifford, pulling a pitcher’s glove on, stepped into the box to do his best. Peterson took the councillor’s place in left field, Peterson rather chastened in spirit now. Mr. Williams, first batter, was an easy victim to the infield, going out at first, Steve to Murdock, and Cather followed him, the assist going to Tom Crossbush. That brought the head of the Mount Placid list up, and Mr. Cochran had a fearsome glint in his eye as he faced the substitute pitcher. Mr. Gifford’s offerings were not very baffling and the rival first baseman landed on the second delivery and sent it speeding down the alley between shortstop and third. One base was all he got, however, for Joe Groom, running in like a streak, fielded prettily to second. Then Benson followed with a hit past third and Mount Placid had runners on first and second. But the danger was over a moment later when Smith, lifting a long fly to the outfield, saw it settle cosily into Simpson’s hands.

Then it was the ninth, with Steve Brown up and only one run needed. Steve and Mr. Gifford and Ed Thursby consulted a minute ere Steve stepped to the plate. “You’ve got to get your base somehow, Steve,” said Mr. Gifford. “Think you can hit him?” Steve looked doubtful.

“I’m going to make an awful try,” he said grimly.

“Maybe if you can get him in a hole——” began Ed.

“Bunt,” said Mr. Gifford. “That’s your best chance. Swing like fury on one and then watch for a good one and just hold your bat in front of it. If you connect, run like the dickens, Steve!”

“If I should get to first don’t you sacrifice, Ed. Make the bluff, but don’t swing. That fellow Hanford’s slow on throwing-down and I can beat him easily.”

“Batter up!” called Mr. York.