Amesville had her batting eye with her to-day and Buster started things moving at once. By the time Tommy Hughes was thrown out at second on an attempted steal one run had crossed the plate and the fifty or sixty youths who had followed the Amesville team to the enemy’s lair were cheering hilariously. And when Tom stepped into the pitcher’s box they cheered again.

From the first it was evident that Tom’s offerings were not breaking right. Clever fielding held Petersburg away from the platter, but two hits were made off Tom in that initial inning and one man got as far as third.

In the second neither side scored. Calvert, the Petersburg pitcher, settled down and quickly disposed of the next three batters on the Amesville list, and Tom managed to strike out the opposing catcher and pitcher, no great feat, and then gave a base on balls to the head of the Petersburg list. But a long fly was pulled down by Tommy Hughes, out in centre, and the trouble was over.

Things went along uneventfully until the fourth, Tom now and then showing a flash of real form and receiving eager applause from his school-mates on such occasions. But it was sharp infield work that held the enemy at bay through those first four innings, for Tom’s slants were not difficult to reach to-day and more than once the smallest ounce of luck would have slid a Petersburg runner across the plate. In the first of the fourth Amesville filled the bases by some slashing stick-work on the part of Meyers, Warner, and Morris, Sidney contributing a pretty bunt that rolled along first-base-line so slowly that neither pitcher nor first baseman could reach it before Sidney had crossed the bag. Then Smithie brought groans of disappointment by fanning. With two gone, it was up to Joe Kenny, and Joe was not much of a hitter. But by looking and acting anxious to hit, Joe caused the Petersburg pitcher to waste two balls. Then a strike went over and then a third ball was called. After that Joe had only to wait. A second strike followed, but what should have been a third went a little wide of base and Joe walked, pushing in a run. The Petersburg pitcher had a touch of nerves then and Sam Craig slammed safely for a base, scoring two more and going to second on the throw to the plate. Amesville was howling joyfully now, and Petersburg was anxious. There was a conference in the box between the Petersburg pitcher and captain, while Tom took his position at the plate. Joe Kenny was on third and Sam Craig on second, and there were two out. The Amesville rooters begged loudly for a hit.

“Just touch it, Tom, just touch it!” shouted Tommy from back of first. “He’s easy, old man!”

Being a pitcher and, to the Petersburg battery, an unknown quantity as yet—he had been easily struck out on his previous appearance at the plate—Tom was not viewed seriously by the enemy. A wide one went as a ball without an offer from Tom. Then what was meant to be an out-drop went wrong and the pitcher paused to pull himself together. A good one, straight over the plate, was missed by the swinging bat. Then, with a change of pace, Petersburg’s slab artist offered a slow ball. But he didn’t fool Tom with it. Tom hit at it a trifle too soon, but he got it, and the ball flew straight and hard down the first-base-line, over the baseman’s head, and into right field. It was a clean one-bagger and it scored Kenny and Craig and left Tom on first.

Buster went to bat, and Tom got the signal to steal on the third pitch. He made it by a clever slide. Buster was two strikes to the bad now. The pitcher made it two and two and then curved a slow ball inside. But Buster connected with it and the sphere flew across the diamond. Tom lighted out for third at the crack of the bat and ran his hardest, but Buster was easily out at first and the inning was over.

Now base-running to a pitcher already tired is no great aid and Tom went into the box a minute later feeling rather the worse for wear. The first batsman obligingly sent up a short fly which Captain Warner got by a run back into the outfield, but the next man was a canny batsman and before Tom knew it the score was two balls and no strikes. An out-shoot, Tom’s best ball, barely cut the corner for a strike. Sam Craig signalled for a low one and a third ball resulted. There was nothing to do then but try the groove, and this Tom did. But there was little speed in what was meant for a fast ball and the batsman cracked out a long two-bagger into left field. Then Tom’s troubles began in earnest.

His curves refused to break for him where they should, his drop bit the plate, and his fast ball no longer had any “ginger.” And he was conscious that his arm was hot and tired and that his head was aching. With two strikes on the next batsman, a straight ball was offered and was slammed into right field for a base, bringing in Petersburg’s first tally. Having tasted blood, the enemy became unmanageable. Before he knew it, almost, the bases were filled and there was but one out! Then, Sam Craig doing his best to settle him down, Tom finally struck out the Petersburg catcher. Hearty cheers rewarded this performance and it seemed that Tom had found himself again. But four balls was the best he could do against the opposing pitcher and another run was forced across.

Tom was doing his best to follow Sam’s signals, but his command over the ball was weak. Once he tried a “knuckle-ball,” in the hope of disposing of a batsman who had two strikes and three balls on him. But the “knuckle” started all wrong and swooped down before it crossed the plate, and Tom had given another pass and forced over the third run. By this time Coach Talbot was watching anxiously and Toby Williams was warming up. Captain Warner strode in from his position at second, scolding angrily.

“For the love of Mike, Pollock, let ’em hit it if you have to, but don’t pass ’em! What’s the matter with you, anyway? I thought you could pitch! Gee, you’re a lemon and no mistake! Now settle down and do something. Get us out of this.”

Tom wanted very much to reply, “Get me out of this!” but he didn’t. He still hoped that he could pull himself together again. If he could get through this inning with no further damage, he told himself, he could rest awhile and come back feeling better. But he was doomed to disappointment. The succeeding hitter settled Tom’s hopes then and there. Leaning against the first ball pitched, he cracked it far out into left field, cleared the bases, and put himself on third!

Petersburg went delirious. Tom, dazed, watched Sam Craig, ball in hand, hurry toward him and heard Frank Warner’s shrill and angry voice behind him. What Sam said he didn’t know. Warner was facing him scowlingly.

“That’ll do for you, Pollock,” he said disgustedly. “You to the bench.”

Tom turned with hanging head and walked across the diamond. It seemed a long way to where the three or four substitutes were sitting and he was horribly conscious of the gaze of hundreds of eyes. When Toby Williams, hurrying by him, said, “Hard luck, Tom!” he made no answer. A half-hearted ripple of applause was given him as he went off, a ripple which quickly broadened to a wave as Toby Williams took the ball from Sam Craig. Coach Talbot held out Tom’s coat to him.

“Not your day, Pollock,” he said kindly. “Too bad.”

Tom smiled with an effort as he sank into his seat. Johnson offered him a dipperful of water, and Tom accepted it and pretended to drink. But, although his mouth was parched, he was not thirsty. At the end of the bench Pete Farrar observed him with ill-concealed satisfaction. Steve Arbuckle, the manager, brought his score-book from farther along the bench and seated himself beside Tom.

“That was a tough inning, Tom,” he said cheerfully. “Don’t you mind, though. We’ll get them yet, old man. You don’t look very fit to-day. Heat troubling you?”

“No, I don’t think so,” murmured Tom. “I don’t know what. I—I feel sort of done up. What’s the score, Steve?”

“Seven to six,” was the answer. But it was no sooner made than Steve was forced to change it. An infield hit had been fielded to the plate by Frank Warner to head off the man on third and the ball had rolled out of Sam Craig’s hands. The tying run was in and the runner was safe on first. It was what Steve growlingly called a “bone-head play,” for had Frank thrown to first he could easily have caught the batsman. That miscue worried Toby so that he passed the next man and allowed a hit to the succeeding one and the bases were filled once more. But a foul to Buster ended the inning a minute or two later with the score 7 to 7.

And so the game went for two more innings, Toby Williams pitching very good ball, all things considered, and holding the enemy scoreless. On the other hand, the Petersburg pitcher was steady as a rock and Amesville failed to get a runner past second. In the eighth inning, however, Toby had a bad ten minutes and Petersburg drew ahead by one tally, a lead that was soon cut down in the first of the ninth when Sam Craig started things going with a safe bunt that put him on first, from which station he was advanced by Toby Williams’s sacrifice. Then Buster singled, Meyers drew a pass, and, with bases full, Captain Warner lined out a two-bagger into right and scored two runs. Before the inning was over two more had been added and Amesville breathed easier.

Tom watched from the bench, listening to Steve Arbuckle’s muttered comments as he worked a busy pencil over the score-sheet, and hoping devoutly that Amesville would win. If she didn’t, the fellows would, he knew, blame the defeat on him. And they would be right in doing so. With a three-run lead when she took the field for the final half-inning, Amesville seemed sure of the victory. But a bad ten minutes followed. Petersburg sprang to the assault viciously and hammered Toby Williams until, when there was a runner on third and one on first and only one out to the visitors’ credit, Pete Farrar was hustled to the rescue.

Pete met scarcely a better fate than Toby. Petersburg scored a run and filled the bases. Then a clout to Sidney in right field, which he caught after a desperate chase half-way to the infield, scored another runner and made the second out. There were still men on third and second and Petersburg’s captain was up. But Fate was kind to Amesville and a liner into Smithie’s glove ended the combat. Amesville had won, 10 to 9, and the series stood one game each. All depended on the third contest, a week away.

Tom, glad of the outcome but discouraged and disheartened, rode tiredly back to Amesville with an aching arm and a splitting head. He had, he told himself bitterly, pitched his last game of baseball!