“Last man!” called Sam as Smith went to the plate. In the stand they were on their feet, a few trickling down the aisles to be ready to start for home. The man with the grey gloves left his seat and, unnoticed, strolled along toward the Blues’ bench. Perhaps Sam made an error of judgment when, instead of passing Smith, he tried to get him for the third out, for, in spite of Tom’s best efforts, the Lynton pitcher found one to his liking and leaned against it. Had he hit it fairly it would have tied the score then and there, I think; but he didn’t, and the ball, arching toward first, came down safely behind that bag and a few feet inside the foul line. What might have been expected then happened. Smith, taking a daring lead, stole on the second pitch and, although Sam stepped forward swiftly and threw as straight as an arrow, slid to the bag in safety. That caused Tom to falter for the first time that day and, almost before anyone realised what was happening, the next batsman was walking to first. Lynton, shouting and dancing, saw her hopes revive. A pinch-hitter was sent in for the next man up. He was a tall, ungainly youth and looked anything but dangerous. But looks are sometimes deceitful. That awkward-appearing youth soon showed himself a canny batsman, and the first thing Tom knew he was in the hole with two balls against him and no strikes! And then, sensing the psychological moment, Lynton called for a double steal as Tom sped the next delivery to the plate. Off for third scudded Smith and down to second flew the next runner. The ball sailed to the plate, as nice a strike as you like, and---- “_Hit it!_” implored the Lynton coachers. “_Hit it!_” But above their cries sounded a voice that reached Sam with startling, galvanizing effort. “From the ear, Sam! From the ear!” [Illustration: “From the ear, Sam! From the ear!”] And Sam, getting the ball in spite of the batsman’s desperate swing, seized it from his mitt, jerked his arm back and, without a move from his place, launched it to second. In raced Smith from third and down at the middle base the runner was sliding in a cloud of dust. And then it was all over. Down came second baseman’s hand, the runner slid into it, and Mr. George, slackening up as he trotted past, jerked a hand over his shoulder. “_He’s out!_” he cried. CHAPTER XXIV FIRE! Mr. Hall and Mr. Talbot, on their feet, smiled at each other in satisfaction as the throng surged over the field. “Some game!” said the former. “I should say so! Well, glad to have met you, Hall. And--er--by the way, in regard to that Barry case. Seems to me we might--er----” “My idea exactly,” replied the other heartily. “I’ll very gladly advise a settlement to my client. I’ll drop around in a day or two and we’ll talk it over. Good-bye!”