If there is any situation in a ball game which calls for coolness and steadiness it is that in which the pitcher finds himself surrounded on three sides by base-runners and on the fourth by an adversary whose one desire in life is to hit the ball safely. And when that pitcher knows, besides, that before the fracas is over he or his mates must dispose of three of the enemy, that situation is greatly complicated. It’s a time when pitcher and catcher must work together perfectly and when the infield must back them up as never before. A time, too, when the slightest miscue proves fatal. Tom had not only to keep the next three batsmen from hitting safely, but he must avoid allowing a long fly, since Lynton could score two runs on as many outs if the ball went to the outfielders. And he could give no passes without forcing in a tally. As Mr. Talbot had said, it was up to him to show “real stuff.” Sam crouched and gave his signal. Shortstop got it and relayed it to the outfield. Tom wound his fingers around the ball and the shouting died down a moment. Then off shot the sphere, the Lynton batsman staggered away from the plate, and Mr. George announced “Str-r-rike!” A burst of applause came from the stand. Third baseman, who had scuttled in toward the plate, moved back again. The Blues were talking back and forth, but their remarks were drowned by the frenzied shouting of the Lynton coachers. Another delivery that dropped almost into the dust behind the plate went for a ball. A third cut the outer corner, waist-high, and the batsman swung violently at it and missed. Sam signalled and spread his hands wide. “Come on now! You can do it, Tom! Right over and make it good!” But the ball didn’t go right over. Instead it curved widely and the batsman pulled his bat back before he had completed the swing. “Two balls!” said the umpire. “Two-and-two, Tom! That’s the stuff, old man! You’ve got him worried now!” called Sam, while from the other members of the team came cheerful shouts of encouragement. “That’s the stuff, Tom! He can’t hit you!” “One more just like it, Tom! Let him hit!” “Give him a good one, Tom; we’re right here, old man!” And then, with a change of pace that caught the batsman napping, Tom sped one over the outer edge of the plate and the swinging bat was too late, and Amesville roared and clapped as the disgruntled batsman turned away. “One gone!” cried Sam, holding up a finger. “Here’s the next man, fellows!” A high one failed to prove the strike that Tom had meant it to be and he followed it with an out-shoot that was not offered at and that also went as a ball. The coachers redoubled their noise then. “You’ve got him in a hole! He’s afraid of you, Sandy! Wait ’em out! Everybody walks now!”