The next Blue batsman bunted toward third, and although he went out himself, he had placed the first man on second. The Blue’s best batters were coming up, and the outlook wasn’t encouraging. The sharp, short cheer of the Blue’s adherents rattled forth triumphantly. But Pritchett wasn’t dismayed. Instead, he settled down and struck out the next man ignominiously. Then, with two strikes and two balls called by the umpire, the succeeding batsman rolled a slow one toward short-stop and that player, pausing to hold the runner on second, threw wide of first. The batsman streaked for second and the man ahead darted to third and made the turn toward home. But right-fielder had been prompt in backing up and the foremost runner was satisfied to scuttle back to third. The Blue’s first-baseman came to bat. He was the best hitter on the team, and, with men on second and third, it seemed that the Blue was destined to wave triumphantly that day. “Two down!” called the Crimson captain encouragingly. “Now for the next one, fellows! Don’t lose him, Tom!” “Two out!” bawled the coachers back of first and third. “Run on anything! Well, I guess we’ve got them going now! I guess we’ve got them going! He’s sort of worried, Bill! He’s sort of worried! _Look out!_” For the “sort of worried” one had turned quickly and sped the ball to third. “That’s all right!” cried the irrepressible coacher. “He won’t do that again. Take a lead; take a lead! Steady!” Pritchett glanced grimly at the two on bases and turned to the batsman. He was in a bad place, and he realized it. A hit would bring in two runs. The man who faced him was a veteran player, and couldn’t be fooled easily. He considered the advisability of giving him his base, knowing that the next man up would be easier to dispose of. It was risky, but he decided to do it. He shook his head at the catcher’s signal and sent a wide one. “Ball!” droned the umpire, and the blue flags waved gleefully. The next was also a ball, and the next, and the next, and-- “Take your base,” said the umpire. “Thunder!” muttered Chick nervously as the man trotted leisurely down the line and the sharp cheers rattled forth like musketry. “Bases full!” “He did it on purpose,” said Roy Porter. “Burton’s a hard-hitter and a clever one, and Pritchett didn’t want to risk it.” “Well, a hit now won’t mean a thing!” grieved Chick. “It’ll mean two runs; just what it meant before,” answered Roy. “Who’s this at bat?” “Kneeland,” answered his neighbor on the other side, referring to his score-card. “What’s he done?” “Nothing. Got his base twice, once on fielder’s choice and once on balls.” “That’s good. Watch Pritchett fool him.” They watched, breathlessly, in an agony of suspense. One ball; one strike; two strikes; two balls; a foul; another foul.