“Well, we wanted that game; we were always crazy to beat Michigan; and it didn’t look as if we were going to get it. Michigan was playing one of those scientific games--every man fielding perfectly; pitcher and catcher working together like two cog-wheels; everything figured according to the laws and commandments of baseball. There didn’t seem to be anything to lose by following John’s scheme and so we tried it. The first batter up for our side acted as if he’d never heard of waiting. He whaled away at everything in sight and got a scratch hit somehow and went to first. And then he started down the path on the first delivery. He was thrown out, though. But you could see that Michigan was beginning to wonder. Our next man slammed around and knocked fouls and finally got a clean hit, the first for half an hour. He followed instructions and stole second easily, in spite of a pitch-out, catcher throwing low to the base. Then we had them going. The next man drew his base and the man on second lighted out for third. He ought never to have got it, but he did. Someone fumbled. After that we ran wild on the bases. Even with two out we didn’t show any sort of baseball sense. We did everything we shouldn’t have done, and Michigan found herself as far up in the air as a balloon. We got five runs across in that inning on two hits and a pass!” “And won the game?” asked Sam. “N-no, we didn’t, as a matter of fact. We ought to have, but those chaps got to me in the ninth and knocked me out of the box. I suppose romping around the bases and sliding on my ear sort of tuckered me. Anyway, they hammered me to the bench and then got two hits off Whipple and scored enough to win. Still, as John showed us, we _ought_ to have won!” “I’d like to have seen it,” said Sam. “It was some game,” assented the other. “I guess I’ll have to go out to-morrow and see you fellows play. I will if you’ll let me sit on the bench and mix in.” “I wish you would,” said Sam. “I dare say you could tell us some things that might help, Mr. Hall.” “Oh, I’m no John York!” laughed the lawyer. “I haven’t many theories, Craig. I’ve always played the game by rule of thumb, so to say. This close-harmony, inside stuff has always been a bit beyond me.” “But there’s a good deal in it, isn’t there?” asked Sam. “Inside baseball, I mean.” “Oh, yes, I guess so. Only I never could figure it. What time do you play to-morrow?” “Three o’clock, sir.” “I’ll be there.” He opened a desk drawer and dropped the package he had brought from the store into it. “Those can wait,” he said. “I like golf, but I guess I’d rather see a good ball game, after all.” “I don’t know how good to-morrow’s game will be, Mr. Hall,” said Sam doubtfully. “Most of the fellows are pretty young and we make lots of mistakes.” “Well, what’s the odds, eh? It’s fun, isn’t it? Hold on, don’t run away, Craig.”