“He’s out of this game, Dick,” said big Bob Singleton soberly. “He’s off his feet now, and in less than three minutes he’ll have a beautiful pair of eyes. What are we going to do for a catcher?” Dick shook his head and looked around hopelessly. “Can you catch, Bold?” he asked. “Sorry,” answered Owen Bold, “but I can’t do a thing behind the bat.” By this time the spectators were aware that Buckhart had been knocked out of the game, and suddenly a man rose from the bleachers and attracted attention by calling in a loud voice to Dick: “Howdy, Captain Merriwell! I am on hand to keep my promise! Told you you could depend on me if you needed me! I’ll go under the bat and surprise the gaping multitude.” It was Hep Hoboson, the tramp. He descended from the bleachers and walked toward Dick, lazily dragging his feet. The crowd shouted at him derisively and advised an officer to put him off the ground. “Go back and sit down!” commanded the policeman. “If you don’t I’ll have to put you out.” “I want to speak with me friend, Richard Merriwell,” said Hoboson, touching the brim of his dirty slouch hat. “Jest a word, please?” Dick saw the tramp and was seized by a queer inclination to find out what Hoboson could do behind the bat. Immediately he approached the officer and said: “It’s all right, sir; I’m going to use him in the game.” “That’s where your head’s level,” chuckled Hoboson, pulling his hat still farther over his left eye. “We’ll paralyze this crowd with our remarkable battery work.” Having cast off his tattered coat, the hobo adjusted the body protector and mitt, pulled a mask on, and took his place under the bat. Already he had told Dick what signals he would use. “This will be a great game!” sneered one of the Rockfordites. “They must be crazy to use that dirty bummer. Can’t they get any one else?” Evidently Hoboson heard these words, for he turned and wagged his mitt in the direction of the speaker. “Wait a minute, me friend,” he advised. “Don’t judge by appearances. Appearances are often mighty deceiving.” He then signaled to Dick for a rise, and Randolph swung at the ball. Once more the batter touched it, but this time he put up a high foul. Without removing the mask, Hoboson got under the ball and easily smothered it as it came down. “Dern his picter, he done something, anyhow!” cried Obediah Tubbs, in relief. “This is just the beginning,” said Hoboson, as he tossed the ball back to Dick. “Don’t be afraid of your wing, me boy. Let it out. Speed ’em over, and see me take care of this end of the diamond.”