"If," remarked Phil cynically. "Ever see a white black-bird, Tom?" "Oh, we'll do it!" declared Sid savagely. Tom did manage to retire Boxer without a run, surpassing himself by the excellence of his curves. He was more like himself now. Then came the memorable ninth inning, which, when Dutch started it off by fanning out, looked as if the end had come. It looked even more so when Phil Clinton also whacked only the air and there was a curious hush over the big crowd as Holly Cross walked to the plate. "Now, Holly!" yelled Bean. "Another like you gave us before. There's only two out!" It looked rather hopeless, with two out, but Holly slammed out a single bagger. Dan Woodhouse followed, and hit well, Holly getting to third in the confusion. Then came Bricktop, his red hair all awry. "For the love of Cæsar hit it on the nose, old man!" pleaded Tom. "I'll do it for your sake, me lad," answered Bricktop calmly, and he proceeded to swing on the ball. He knocked a hot little liner to Langridge, and there was a groan as the pitcher, seemingly, caught it, but it bounded out of his hands, rolled between his legs and when he had picked it up Bricktop was at first, where he was called safe, though the Boxer players protested it. Holly had started for home, but when he saw Langridge stop the ball he ran back, and it was well he did so, for he was now safe there, as was Dan Woodhouse on second. The bases were full, there were two out, and it needed four runs to win the game when Sid Henderson came up to the bat. He was as cool as if he was the first man up in a small game, and not one on whom a championship depended. "Oh, Sid, old man, bat! bat! bat!" pleaded Tom in a low voice. "Bat to win! It all depends on you, now!" [Illustration: "BAT TO WIN! IT ALL DEPENDS ON YOU!"] Sid did not reply. He was watching Langridge narrowly, for he knew that pitcher's tricks of old. Sid did not strike at the first ball, for it was away to one side, but the umpire called a strike on him and there was a howl of protest. It was quickly hushed. Langridge "wound up" again, and sent in a swift one. With an intaking of his breath Sid swung at it. Almost before he connected his bat with the horsehide he was aware that he would make a good strike. There was a sweetness to the resonant vibration of the stick, as he cast it from him, and sprinted for first. He could not see where the ball had gone, though he had had a momentary glimpse of it going over center field, but he trusted to Tom, who was in the coaching box at first, urging him on. "Oh! Oh! Oh!" "Pretty hit!" "What a soaker!" "Run! Run! Leg it, you old sock doger!" yelled the man with the two pretty daughters, as he recklessly swung his silk hat in the air. "A home run! A home run!" cried Phil, capering about, and hugging the Jersey twins, one in each arm.