"Hang it all, anyway," he exclaimed disgustedly, "who'd have thought he would stop that one? I could just see myself resting peacefully at second base, and then he has to go and do a thing like that. A mean trick, I call it." Dick made a pretence of taking the matter in this light manner in order to keep up the spirits of his teammates, but not by any means because he felt happy about it. Quite the contrary. Hodge, the right fielder, came up next, but only succeeded in popping up a feeble fly that the third baseman caught easily after a short run in. White waited patiently for one to suit him, but while he was waiting, three strikes were called on him, and he retired in a crestfallen manner. In the meantime, Reddy had been talking to Winters. "How do you feel, Winters?" he had inquired anxiously, "do you feel strong enough to hold them down for the rest of this game?" "Aw, don't worry yourself about me," Winters had replied in a surly voice. "I'm all right. I never felt better in my life," but something in his voice belied his words. "All right," returned the trainer, "but remember this, my lad: if we put Benson in now, we might be able to hold them down. I'm going to take your say so, though, and let you pitch the next inning. If they get to you, however, you'll have to take your medicine. It will be too late then to put Benson in, and of course Wilson is in no shape to pitch. Now, it's up to you." "That's all right," growled Winters. Then he suddenly flared up: "I suppose if that blamed Freshie were in condition you'd have put him in to pitch long ago, wouldn't you?" "That I would, my lad," returned Reddy, in an ominously quiet voice. "Now, go in there and pitch, and don't give me any more back talk that you'll be sorry for afterward." Winters seemed about to make some hot reply to this, but after a moment's hesitation, thought better of it, and turned sullenly away, putting on his glove as he walked slowly to his position. He vented his anger on the first few balls he pitched, and they went over the plate with speed and to spare. This did not last long, however, and after he had struck out one man his speed began to slacken. The second man up landed a high fly into right field that Hodge, although he made a brave try for it, was unable to get to in time. The runner raced around to third before he was stopped by the warning cries of his teammates. "We've got 'em going! We've got 'em going!" chanted the home rooters in one mighty chorus, and Winters scowled at them viciously. The next five balls he pitched were "wild as they make 'em," and only one strike was registered. In consequence the batter walked leisurely to first, and as he neared Winters said, "Much obliged, old chap." If looks could have killed, Winters would surely have been a murderer, but fortunately it takes more than that to kill a ball player, and so the game went on without interruption.