Rider, the Browns’ third sack artist, waited out two offerings and then slammed the next down the base line to Billy White. Billy was having a bad day, and, although he knocked the ball down, he couldn’t heave it to Jim in time to get his man, and another black mark was set against Billy’s fair fame. This poor beginning was speedily remedied, though, when the Toonalta right fielder hit to Despaigne, and Vic, performing one of his circus stunts, grabbed the ball as it bounded past him well to the right and tossed it to Wayne as the latter sped to the bag. Still going, Wayne half turned and chucked underhand to Jim, completing as pretty a double play as one would wish to see. Medfield voiced delight and approval and relief very loudly and very long while Ellis walked to the plate and faced Chase, grimly determined to get a hit. But Chase knew his opponent’s weakness and toyed with him until the score stood two strikes and one ball. Then, however, Ellis managed to connect with the next delivery and send it high into the air behind first base. For a long moment it looked safe, but Wayne got under it after a hard run and squeezed it.

For the Chenangos, Colton flied out to shortstop, Billy White hit to second and was out on a close decision that brought a howl of protest from the blue nine’s supporters and Hoffman made his first—and last—hit, a bounder over shortstop’s head. Wayne went up with the encouraging applause of the Medfield supporters in his ears and faced Ellis calmly. He had been twice up and had two hits to his credit, and he meant to keep his score perfect. But he was reckoning without Fate, for after Ellis had pitched a wide one on the supposition that Hoffman would steal on the first ball, and then had sneaked a low strike across—low ones constituted Wayne’s batting weakness, and he knew the fact and meant to profit by the knowledge—the hit-and-run signal came, Wayne swung at a high one on the inside, missed it and watched the ball hurtle down to shortstop and saw Gas put out at second. Wayne disappointedly tossed his bat to June and went back to the field.

Toonalta started the seventh with the head of her batting-list up. This was Brook, her centre fielder, a player with some reputation for getting to first and for moving along afterward. So far, though, he had not lived up to that reputation, since in three times at the plate he had reached the initial sack but one, that being when Chase had passed him in the nerve-racking fourth. He was due now, as it proved, to sweeten his average, and at the expense of Billy White, for when he swung at Chase’s second delivery and slammed it straight at Billy the latter made his second error of the game. The ball went through him, and had Brook taken advantage of his chance he might easily have reached second. As it was, though, he hesitated at first and Collins, who had come in fast on the ball, pegged promptly to Wayne and Brook was forced to scuttle back to safety.

East laid down a sacrifice bunt and retired, but, with only one man gone and the speedy Brook on second, Toonalta’s chance to pull the game up high and dry looked bright. But when Burns had hit to Jim Wheelock and Jim had trotted across the bag and then held Brook at third the visitors’ stock sank again. Gore ended the suspense by sending a high one to Hal Collins.

Wayne was requested to “start it up” when he went to the plate for the last of the inning, and the audience loudly reminded him that this was the lucky seventh! But it wasn’t lucky for Wayne, since, in spite of his resolve to bat for a clean thousand, his attempt at a hit was only a roller to Ellis and he was out before he had gone half-way to first. Vic Despaigne fell victim to Ellis’ skill, yielding the Toonalta pitcher his first and only strike-out of the game, and Chase, after nine deliveries, four of which were fouls, found something to his liking and whanged it into right field. It was a long one and might easily have put him on third, but the redoubtable Browne, he of the home-run fame, raced back to the corner of the field and made a one-hand catch that moved even the enemy to wild acclaim.

The eighth began with the Toonalta’s fifth batter facing Chase, but by the time it had ended five others had toed the rubber. That inning rivalled the fourth for hair-raising suspense. Hunt, the Toonalta catcher, began the trouble by hitting safely between Jim Wheelock and Wayne for one. The subsequent batsman was an easy out, popping a fly to Chase. Rider outwaited the pitcher and finally got a pass, advancing Hunt to second. With two on bases and the hard-hitting Browne coming up, the Blues’ chances might have been bought for a penny. To make things look more desperate, it was apparent that Pete Chase was weakening. Jordan was hurried out of his sweater and sent off to warm up and Hoffman and Chase met midway between plate and mound and conversed earnestly while the Toonalta “rooters” howled jeers and polite insults.

“Play ball! Quit stalling!” “It’s got to happen! Get through with it!” “Good-night!” “He’s all in! Take him out! Take him out!” “Let him stay! We like him!” “Make ’em play ball, Mr. Umpire!”

Chase was for passing Browne, but Hoffman wouldn’t consent. “Feed him high ones, Pete,” he muttered, “and cut the corners, but, for the love of Mike, don’t groove any!”

Chase nodded none too confidently and went back to his place and Browne swung an eager bat above his shoulder. Possibly eagerness was Browne’s undoing, for he bit at the first one, which was almost shoulder high and far wide of the plate, but he only smiled when Gas asked him if he was practising and Medfield yelled its delight. The next offering was a ball that sent the batsman staggering back from the plate and brought hisses and cries of “He’s trying to hit him!” from the Toonalta bench. Gas, though, knew that Chase wasn’t trying anything of the sort, that the explanation was far simpler, that, in fact, Chase was rapidly pitching himself out and losing control. But he only spoke more confidently than ever.

“Let him live, Pete! There aren’t any cigars in this game!”

Browne scowled. “If he beans me the first thing you know’ll be a bat alongside your head, Fresh!”

“I should worry,” answered Gas pleasantly, dropping to his knee to signal. “Come on, Pete! Make it good, old man! Don’t waste ’em on him!”

Pete did waste one, though, for the ball passed wide of the plate. Browne laughed. “Got you scared, haven’t I?” he jeered.

“Scared blue,” replied Gas. “Watch your head this time.”

But the next one came with a hook and looked good and Browne let go at it. It wasn’t labelled “Home Run,” though, this time, for it went straight to Vic Despaigne, back of the goal path, and Vic took it neatly on the bound, studied the situation, and heaved to White. Hunt was two yards from the bag when the ball reached third base, and, although he made a clever slide, he should have been out. But, as before stated, this was not Billy’s day, and Hard Luck was still after him. Perhaps the throw was a trifle low, but Billy should have held it, nevertheless. But he didn’t, and while he was searching for it around his feet Hunt slid to safety, the bases were filled, and Toonalta was crazed with joy.

Chase started badly with Ellis and put himself two in the hole at once. At third, Hunt was taking long leads and doing his utmost, ably assisted by the coacher there, to rattle the Blues’ pitcher, and it looked very much as though he was succeeding until Chase suddenly turned the tables on him by a quick peg to White, who had crept close to the bag unobserved. Caught two yards off, Hunt did the only possible thing and dug for the plate. But the ball was ahead of him and he doubled back again. Chase and Despaigne took a hand in the contest and in the end Hunt, making a despairing slide for the rubber, was ignominiously retired. Rider and Browne reached third and second respectively during the excitement, but, with two gone, the situation looked far brighter.

Chase settled down to recover lost ground with Ellis and managed to get a strike across. But his next attempt failed and the score was one-and-three. Hoffman signalled for a straight one and held his big hands wide apart. “Put it over, Pete! Let him hit it!” he cried. And Pete earnestly endeavoured to oblige and failed miserably, and the umpire waved the Toonalta pitcher to first!

Bases full again, two down and the head of the list coming to bat! Now if ever, it seemed, Chase should be derricked and the falling fortunes of the Chenangos entrusted to Jordan. The spectators demanded the change loudly, even rudely, but Joe Taylor, out in right field, was deaf to the inquiring looks sent him and made no sign. Even Chase showed a desire to quit; while, over behind third, Jordan was awaiting the summons. But the summons didn’t come, then or later, and Pete Chase, looking a bit bewildered, philosophically took up his task again and turned his attention to Brook.

Now, Brook, in spite of his reputation, had so far failed to get a hit, and, as Joe explained later, it was on this that the latter based his calculations. Brook would, he thought, be so anxious to deliver that he would very probably fail altogether. Five times out of ten it is questionable policy to put a new pitcher in when bases are full and any sort of a hit means runs. As often as not such a procedure proves to be jumping from frying pan to fire. Had Toonalta chosen to substitute a pinch-hitter for Brook, Joe was ready to switch pitchers, but failing that he decided to trust to Chase and, more especially, perhaps, Hoffman. Whether Captain Taylor’s reasoning was good or bad, in the abstract, on this occasion it was vindicated. With one strike and two balls on him, Brook was offered one that was just above his knees and square over the base, and he went for it. And so did Hal Collins, and caught it almost in the shadow of left field fence, and another tragedy was averted!

In their half of the eighth, the Chenangos went out in one, two, three, order, Collins flying to centre, Wheelock fouling to third, and Taylor being thrown out at first. In the ninth, Toonalta tried very hard to add to her score, but, when the first batsman was retired on an easy toss from Chase to Jim, she lost some of her ginger. Even Billy White’s fourth error, which put Burns on first and seemed to pave the way for a tally, failed to arouse the visitors to much enthusiasm. Probably they thought they could hold their opponents scoreless for another half-inning and were satisfied to call it a day. Gore, however, woke them up when he hit cleanly past Despaigne and advanced Burns to the second station, and the Browns’ coaches got busy again and once more things looked dark for the home nine. But Hunt fouled out to Hoffman—and the big catcher’s expression as he looked at the rival backstop was beautiful to see if you were a Chenango sympathiser!—and the Blues’ first baseman, who had played a star game all the afternoon, ended his services at the bat, and incidentally the inning, by fanning. Chase received an ovation for that strike-out as he returned to the bench, and he deserved it.

Toonalta jogged into the field with a fine confidence, or an appearance of it. She had only to keep the adversary from crossing the plate to win, and since the fifth inning the Chenangos had failed to show anything dangerous. Perhaps the home team itself was more than doubtful of its ability to pluck that contest from the fire, although certainly Joe Taylor showed no sign of dejection. Joe insisted loudly and cheerfully that now was the appointed time, although he didn’t use just those words. What he really said was: “Now come on, Chenangos! Get at ’em! Eat ’em up! Here’s where we start something! Hit it out, Larry! Let’s get this right now!”

But Colton was a disappointment, for he only rolled one to the pitcher’s box when he tried to bunt down first base line and was out in his tracks. Billy White was called back once to make place for Brewster, but even as the pinch-hitter strode to the box Taylor changed his mind again and it was finally the unlucky Billy who stood up at the plate. Just how Billy managed to outguess Ellis was a mystery, but outguess him he did, and presently he was trotting down the path to first base while Vic Despaigne tried to stand on his head and every other Medfield adherent made a joyful noise!

Joy, however, gave place to gloom a few minutes later when Hoffman, after almost securing a two-bagger—the ball only went foul by two inches—sent a hot one straight into third baseman’s glove. As the ball went back to the pitcher the audience started its exodus, for with two down and the runner no further than first, the end was discernible—or so they thought. But what followed only proved again the famous adage that the game isn’t over until the last man’s out.

Wayne got his bat from an anxious-faced June, a June too downhearted to even put a “conjur” on it, listened to Taylor’s instructions to “just meet it, Sloan, and try for the hole between first and second,” and took his place in the trampled dust of the box. Ellis was cautious and deliberate and was putting everything he had on the ball. Wayne let the first one go by and was sorry for it, since it cut the outer corner of the plate and went for a strike. Then Ellis tried him on a wide one, waist-high, and followed it with a second strike, a drop that fooled the batsman completely. Ellis attempted to sneak one over close in, but overdid it and the score was two-and-two, and Wayne realised that a whole lot depended on his judgment of the next offering. Possibly Ellis meant to fool Wayne with a change of pace, for what came next was a slow one that looked tempting. Wayne yielded to the temptation. Then he flung his bat aside and was streaking to first amidst the triumphant shouts of the spectators. At first, Taylor waved him on, and Wayne circled and dug out for second. Centre and left fielder were on the ball together and left fielder made the throw in, but it arrived only when Wayne was stretched in the dust with one toe on the bag. On third, Billy White was listening to excited instructions from Hoffman, while, from the sides of the field, came pÆans of delight. Those spectators who had wandered from their seats or points of vantage fought their way back again, crowding and pushing and questioning. Joe Taylor was sending in Brewster for Despaigne, and Hunt, the Toonalta catcher, in spite of his confident reassurances to Ellis, looked disquieted.

On second, Wayne, mechanically slapping the dust from his new togs, hoped hard for a hit. He knew nothing of Brewster’s batting prowess and wished with all his heart that Hal Collins or Jim Wheelock was up. A hit would bring him in from second, with White ahead of him, and win the game. Then he was off the base, watching the shortstop from the corner of his eye, listening for warnings from the coach at first, ready to speed ahead or dodge back. But, with an eager runner on third, Ellis was taking no chances. Nor was Hunt. Once the catcher bluffed a throw-down, but the ball only went to the pitcher, and neither White nor Wayne was fooled.

Brewster looked nervous, but he didn’t act so. He judged the first offering correctly and let it go, started to swing at the next, changed his mind, and heard it called a strike and held back from the third, which dropped at the bag and almost got away from Hunt. The shouting of spectators and coaches was having its effect on Ellis at last. A third ball followed. The uproar increased. Even the base-runners added their voices to the pandemonium of sound. Ellis fumbled his cap, looked around the field, rubbed a perspiring hand in the dust, took the signal very deliberately, although it could mean but one thing unless Hunt had decided to pass the batsman, wound up slowly, and pitched.

Perhaps it would have been the part of wisdom to have walked Brewster, under the circumstances, but Toonalta chose otherwise and so things happened as they did. The ball, fast and straight, went to the plate like a shot from a gun, but Brewster was ready for it. A fine, heartening crack sounded over the diamond, the ball sailed off toward left field, Billy White sprang into his stride and Wayne lit out for third. Left fielder came in on the run, got the ball on the first long bounce, set himself quickly, and plugged it home. It was a good throw and it reached Hunt only one stride from the plate. But that one stride was sufficient to bring victory to the Blues and defeat to the Browns, for when Hunt fell to his knee and swept the ball downward Wayne was stretched on his back with one scuffed, dust-covered shoe fairly on the rubber!

After that, confusion, cheering, a grinning, white-toothed June pulling Wayne to his feet, an influx of shouting, happy Medfieldians, amongst them Arthur Pattern, and hands thumping Wayne on the back as he pushed his way toward the bench. He was breathless, dusty, and tired, as he added his feeble voice to the cheer for the defeated rival, but he was terrifically happy at the same time.