Crockett fancied he would have plenty of time to tag Tubbs, for he did not conceive that the fat boy would attempt to slide. Such an attempt, however, Tubbs made, and Crockett tagged him a moment too late, for Tubbs lay with his hand on the bag as he was touched with the ball. Then the little Fardale crowd rose and cheered in earnest, shouting Obediah’s name. Singleton had scored on the hit. When the ball was tossed to Ware he angrily threw it on the ground at his feet and walked around it. “Talk about your horseshoes!” he growled. “That was the worst accident that ever happened!” “He! he!” exclaimed Obediah, as he rose to his feet. “Fooled you that time, Mr. Pitcher! You’re pretty slick yourself, but you can be fooled!” Buckhart was the next batter. Apparently Ware continued to be very angry, and he did not seem to give much attention to Tubbs. This being the case, Obediah edged off from second, elated over his success and feeling a strong desire to create further enthusiasm by stealing to third. Suddenly Warren put his hand up to his mask, as if to change it as he crouched under the bat. Instantly Ware whirled and snapped the ball into the hands of Roberts, who had darted past Tubbs and was in position to receive the throw and tag Obediah before the fat boy could get back to the bag. The coacher had uttered a cry of warning, but it came too late. “Out at second!” announced the umpire. Then the Fairport crowd had a chance to cheer. Tubbs looked ashamed and disgusted as he walked from the field. “Dern my picter!” he kept muttering over and over to himself, paying no attention whatever to the derisive laughter and words of the spectators. “Carelessness, Tubbs,” said Dick. “You haven’t been trapped that way before this year.” “And I won’t be ag’in,” promised Obediah. Buckhart was disgusted by what had happened, but, nevertheless, he hit the ball hard and fair, lifting it far into left field. After a sharp run, Milliken caught it, and Fardale’s last chance in the second inning had vanished. In her half of this inning Fairport made a strong bid for a run, getting a man safe on third; but Dick’s pitching proved too much for them, and Ware, the last hitter, went out on a weak pop fly. “There!” said Zona Desmond, nudging her cousin. “You see we’re one score ahead on even innings! Let the shower come! If it doesn’t hurry too much, I fancy we will be ahead when the game stops. How many innings make a game?” “Why, five, of course,” said Bessie. “Then they will have to play three more, or it will be no game. My, I don’t believe they will have time! That shower is coming, and it is coming fast.” “Your side had a lot of luck that time,” declared Bessie, who was still confident; “but you can’t always make runs by luck.” “What do you call luck?” asked Zona. “Why, wasn’t it luck when that big fat boy hit the ball?” “I guess not! He’s a good batter!” “He looks it!” tittered Bessie. “He is, isn’t he, Doris?”