This Tom proceeded to do, and found that it was indeed as Bert had said. The first ball pitched seemed good, but Tom let it go by, and had a strike called on him. The next one was a ball, but the third one was a hot curve that looked good, and ordinarily Tom would have taken a chance and swung at it. Now, however, he was resolved to follow Bert's advice to the letter, and so allowed the ball to pass him. "Gee, that guy's scared stiff," someone yelled from the bleachers, and the crowd laughed. It certainly did seem as though Tom had lost his nerve, and his teammates, who were not in on the secret yet, looked puzzled. Tom paid no attention to the shouts from the grandstand, and his well-known ability as a "waiter" stood him in good stead. True to Bert's prediction, the pitcher eased up a little when winding up for the next ball, and Tom saw that he shared the general impression that he had lost his nerve. The ball proved to be a straight, fast one, and Tom slugged it squarely with all the strength in his body. Amid a hoarse roar from the watching thousands, he tore around the bases and slid into third before he was stopped by White, who was waiting for him. "Gee, Tom!" ejaculated the excited and delighted shortstop. "How in time did you ever think of such a clever trick. You sure fooled that pitcher at his own game." "It wasn't my idea, it was Bert's," said Tom, truthfully. "Whoever's it was, it was a crackerjack one, at any rate," said White, jubilantly. "If Flynn can only get a hit now we'll have a run, and it looks as though we would need all that we can get." Flynn, in accordance with instructions from Reddy, laid an easy bunt down toward first base, and, although he was put out, Tom scurried over the plate about two jumps in front of the ball, and the first run for the Blues had been scored. The small band of loyal rooters for the Blues struck up one of the familiar college songs, and things looked bright for their team. The opposing pitcher was not to be fooled again, however, and while Drake was waiting for a ball to suit him he was struck out, much to the delight of the hostile fans. Thus at the end of the seventh inning the score stood two to one in favor of the Maroons, and their pitcher was "as good as new," as he himself put it. Now Dick went to bat, and waited, with no sign of the nervousness that was beginning to be manifested by his teammates, for a ball that was to his liking. He let the first one go past, but swung hard at the second, and cracked out a hot liner right at the pitcher. Most pitchers would have let a smoking fly like that pass them, for fear of injuring their hands, but evidently this boxman was not lacking in nerve. The ball cracked into his outstretched mitt with a report like a pistol shot, and he held on to it. "Out!" shouted the umpire, and Dick, who had started to sprint to first, walked to the bench with a disgusted air.