A strike--a ball--another ball, by a scant margin--a foul-strike! Sam watched and waited, gripping his bat tightly, and looking as cool as if the outcome of the game might not depend on the next delivery. Perhaps Sam’s confidence affected Mr. Williams. At least it is probable that the Mount Placid pitcher never intended to send across just what he did, for the ball came up to Sam with nothing on it but the cover and Sam smote it lustily and thirty-odd youths sprang into the air and shrieked deliriously! Around the bases sped Mr. Gifford, his flannel trousers a grey streak above the turf, and behind him came Tom Crossbush. Off for first leaped Sam, while, far out in right field, the ball was leisurely descending to earth. Eight fielder was sprinting desperately toward the fence that enclosed the ground on that side. If only, prayed the Wigwam supporters, that ball would land on the other side! But it didn’t. It came down a dozen feet inside the boundary, and Cather, with a final plucky spurt, shot his hand into the air and--well, then fielder and ball went down together and rolled over! There was one breathless instant of uncertainty, broken by the triumphant yells of The Wigwam when Cather, scrambling to his feet, searched the turf hurriedly, recovered the ball and made a wretched throw to second baseman. At that moment Mr. Gifford was trotting across the plate, Tom Crossbush was past third, and Sam was rounding second. Second baseman sped the ball home, but too late to catch Tom, and Hanford desperately pegged it to third. But Sam reached the bag just as the ball did and had one scuffed shoe snuggled against it when Mr. Connell tagged him none too gently. Four to three now! Only one run needed to tie! Two out, but a man on third! If only Porter could make good! Mr. Gifford consulted Thursby and The Wigwam waited anxiously. Then a cheer went up, for Peterson was off the bench and pawing at the bats! Porter was coming out! Peterson was to bat for him! A hit would tie the game! Dan Peterson received a veritable ovation as he hurried to the plate. He was loudly invited to contribute a hit, a two-bagger, a home run! To bust it! To tear the cover off! To--to---- Then quiet returned, or, rather, comparative quiet, for the coachers had no intention of letting up on their babel. From back of first base Joe Groom shouted at the top of his lungs to Sam on third, and back of Sam Mr. Gifford clapped his hands and added to the noise. And then Mr. Williams brought down upon himself ridicule and wrath by deliberately passing Peterson! The Wigwam was incensed indeed! Mount Placid and Greenwood, however, laughed and applauded, and Peterson, deprived of the chance to distinguish himself as a pinch-hitter, scowled darkly at Mr. Williams as he walked unwillingly to base.