“It only takes one, Pete!” called Tom Crossbush from the bench. “Make him pitch to you!” Then Mr. Williams slipped a cog and what was meant for a straight, slow ball went past well over Steve’s shoulder and a howl of delight went up from the bench. “He’s got to put it over now!” called Mr. Gifford. “Just tap it, Pete!” Hanford glanced a bit nervously toward where Sam was taking a ten-foot lead off third. Suddenly the Mount Placid catcher became alarmed. A hit meant two runs and a tied score! Beckoning to Mr. Williams, he advanced halfway toward the box and the two consulted. This was the visitors’ chance to jibe and they took advantage of it. “You’ve got them worried, Pete!” “Up in the air, fellows! Here’s where we tie it up!” “Play ball! Play ball!” The coachers added their contributions, while Sam, dancing about at third, seriously interfered with the conversation between Mr. Williams and Hanford by threatening to steal home every instant. Finally the Mount Placid battery returned to their places and Hanford knelt and gave his signal, or pretended to. What followed was a pitch-out, a quick peg to the pitcher by Hanford and an equally speedy throw to third, and Sam, two yards from base, was caught flat-footed for the third out! CHAPTER XIV TIED IN THE EIGHTH The Wigwam was quiet and disappointed while the teams changed places. From across the diamond came the applauding cheers of the enemy. Sam, thoroughly disgusted with himself, donned protector and mask in grim silence. Joe Groom, who had been coaching at third, generously strove to take the blame. “That was my fault, sir! I ought to have known they were up to some silly trick!” “No one’s fault but mine,” replied Sam decisively. “I played it like an idiot!” Benson went to bat for the home team in the last of the seventh and cracked out a two-bagger over shortstop and was caught off second a minute or two later by a quick return from Sam to Porter, who whirled instantly and pegged to Thursby. The Wigwam recovered from its gloom and cheered. Then the Mount Placid left fielder fouled out to Sam and two were gone. But the inning was not yet over, for Walters, a thin, freckled-faced youth with extraordinarily long legs, took it into his head to bunt, after once trying to knock the cover off the ball, and caught Crossbush napping. By the time Tom had gathered in the rolling ball and sent it to first Walters was making the turn. Mr. Connell was up next, and, profiting by Walters’ example, he laid the sphere down a few feet from the plate and lit out for the base like a runaway horse. By the time Sam had dashed his mask aside, got the ball and pegged to Murdock, the runner was safe and Walters was on second, and the grey shirts and the green shirts were shouting madly.