A year before Ware had been rather slender and slight, but in the last twelve months he had developed wonderfully, and was now a rather well-built chap. With the ball in his hands, which were pressed together in front of his breast, he settled himself on his feet with his toe upon the slab. Barron Black took his place at the plate, and barely was he in position when the Fairport player delivered the ball, which whistled past the batter’s shoulders, so near that the latter was driven back a little. Warren snapped the ball back to Ware, who sent it in a second time with astonishing quickness, catching Barron slightly off his balance and thus securing a called strike. Instantly Dick spoke to the players near him on the bench. “Look out for that trick of his, boys. You saw how he worked it. Don’t let him play that on you. Be ready for the next one when he drives you back with an inshoot.” With two strikes and two balls called, Black hit a hot one along the ground between Macon and Roberts. Macon managed to touch it so that it was deflected and bounded straight into Roberts’ hands. The shortstop sent it humming across to first, and the leading Fardale batter was out. “There you are!” shouted the Fairport crowd. “That’s the way we do it!” “’Ow hunfortunate!” muttered Billy Bradley, as he walked into the batter’s box. Billy got a wide one and let it pass for a ball. Then came a swift inshoot that made him jump away, and once more Warren snapped the ball to Ware, who instantly returned it. Bradley had remembered Dick’s cautioning words, and he was not fooled by this piece of business. The ball was a straight, swift one, and he met it with a resounding crack. Out on a line it went, but Roberts thrust up his bare right hand and gathered it in with a—spat! It was swift and beautiful work, and the crowd had good cause to cheer heartily. “’Orseshoes!” shouted Bradley, who had dropped his bat and started for first, only to stop suddenly when he witnessed the spectacular one-hand catch. “Didn’t I tell you, girls!” laughed Bessie Dale. “You told us,” admitted Doris. “But both of our boys hit your wizard of a pitcher.” “They hit the ball, but they didn’t get safe hits. Safe hits count, you know.” “Had that last one been six inches higher Bradley would have made two bases on it,” asserted Doris. “Oh, yes, if, if!” said Bessie. “But if’s don’t count in this game.” Dave Flint took his place to strike. “Here’s your third victim, Jack, old boy!” bellowed Anson, from first base. “He is just as easy as the others.” Ware smiled in a confident manner. He threw the first ball straight at Dave’s head, but Flint avoided it with ease. The next one was a drop, and the boy with the scar gently lifted it over the infield for a safe single. “There! there!” breathed Doris Templeton. “Now you see!” “Here comes Hal!” exclaimed Zona. “What will he do?”