“I don’t believe he is rattled, just the same. I think he will hit the ball, even if he doesn’t get a——” Crack! Hal hit it. He hit it savagely, too, and it went out like a bullet. Flint was running when bat and ball met, and the speed of the stocky lad as he dashed over second and tore down toward third was surprising to all who did not know his ability. It was a clean two-bagger, and as Hal dashed down to second he saw Conway gathering up the ball. With the ball in Conway’s hands, good judgment should have stopped Darrell at second base. Flint, however, had crossed third and was trying to score. Darrell became ambitious to stretch his two-base hit into a three-bagger, or his anger robbed him of judgment, or perchance, he was reckless of consequences, for he kept on toward third. Conway lined the ball into Crockett’s hands. Crockett whirled, and a single glance showed him it was too late to cut off the run. “Third!” rang out Roberts’ clear voice. “Third it!” On a dead line the ball sped from Crockett’s hands into those of Macon, who put it onto Hal with ease. This made the third man out. “Well, of all the fool tricks!” muttered Buckhart, in disgust. “What made him try that? Tubbs was squawking for him to hold second. He lost his head completely.” Dick said nothing, but somehow a strange feeling of uncertainty came over him. As he walked out to the pitcher’s box he spoke to Hal, slowly shaking his head. “That was a mistake, Darrell,” he said. “You had a pretty two-bagger. Should have anchored fast at second.” “Are you beginning to kick so soon?” retorted Darrell in a low tone. He did not wait for a reply from Dick, but turned his back and sought his position. “Oh, well! Oh, well!” cried Crockett. “One measly little run doesn’t count in this game. Here’s where we go after a dozen.” “Dern my picter! I hope you git um!” cried Obediah Tubbs derisively. “We’ll stand round and watch yer while yer do it.” “You see he did get a hit, Bessie!” triumphantly exclaimed Zona Desmond. “Yes, and I saw him get out at third,” returned Zona’s cousin. “That was fine playing, wasn’t it! What do you think of it, Doris?” “I am afraid he tried for too much,” confessed Doris. But in her heart there was another fear, of which she whispered no suspicion. CHAPTER XVII. AT THE CRITICAL MOMENT. “Start her up, Crock! Start her up, old boy! Start her up!” cried Roberts, as the first Fairport batter walked out. “Show us ’ow you do it,” invited Billy Bradley. “Dern my picter! I am afraid of that dozen runs they are going to git!” piped Obediah Tubbs. “Put it over, captain, old boy, and see what they will do with it,” urged Bob Singleton. “Let her sis-sis-sis-sizz!” chattered Jolliby, as he reached centre field. “We’re all watching yer!” “Put her into the old pocket, pard!” rumbled Buckhart, holding up his big mitt behind the bat. Dick began with a speedy one, close to Crockett’s knees.