But it wouldn’t do to put all the work on Fortune, and Chester realized it. The next man on the list, Berger, was the weakest sort of a batsman. It wouldn’t do to trust to Berger to bring in the two runs needed to tie the game. So he waved that youth aside and looked about him. Here were Poor and Tucker, but they weren’t likely to perform much better than Berger. “Where’s Lippit?” demanded Chester of the team at large. No one seemed to know, and so everyone began to yell at once for “Jerry! Jerry Lippit!” An answer came from back of third and Jerry raced across the diamond. Chester seized him by the arm, whispered instructions, and pushed him toward the plate. The uproar died away. The crowd watched almost breathlessly. At second, Jordan pawed the earth and shouted. At first, Jones danced about and uttered taunts, keeping, nevertheless, a sharp watch on the boxman, who had a way of turning with disconcerting quickness and throwing to first. But when first baseman left the bag Jones took a twelve foot lead and redoubled his antics. Behind him was Chester, coaching. Over by third stood Lyman. The voices of the two crossed the diamond like pistol volleys, crashing by the ears of the opposing pitcher, who, in spite of his efforts to keep cool, was plainly worried. The first ball proved it, for it struck the plate; and the enemy howled with mingled glee and derision. Catcher walked down the alley a few steps before he tossed the ball back. Pitcher nodded, hitched at his belt, rubbed a hand in the earth, and poised himself again. The catcher gave his signal, the ball sped to the plate, catcher caught it and almost with one movement sent it streaking to second. Jordan was a good fifteen feet away at the instant. He made one step toward second, saw the futility of it, and then, turning, dug out for third. A groan went up from the watchers. Shortstop, who had taken the throw-down, started along the path after the runner, then, pausing, snapped the ball to third baseman. Jordan, headed off, doubled back. Third closed in a few steps and then threw to second baseman, who was now covering the sack. Again Jordan turned, but they were closing in on him fast and it seemed that the end had come. But Fortune once more took a hand. Second baseman tossed the ball to pitcher, who had run over to back up third baseman. The throw was an easy one, over Jordan’s head, but it went high, and, although the pitcher got it in one hand, it was at that moment that Jordan, grown desperate, rushed for the third bag. Pitcher was on the base line and Jordan struck him full in the breast with his shoulder. Down swept the hand with the ball, as the pitcher staggered aside, and thumped against Jordan’s back. Tom, watching from twenty feet away, groaned. Then, in the next instant, he was dancing like a dervish and whacking Willard on the back! For the ball was rolling in the dust and Jordan was clutching third base frantically! Pitcher had dropped the ball! And on second