Then the lobsterman let out a roar like that of an enraged lion. He shouted an order to his companions, and they leaped forward and caught up the bats of the Fairhaven players. “Charge!” thundered McLane. Without a moment’s delay, the stonecutters charged at the lobsterman’s heels, and he led them into the mob of hoodlums back of the first-base line. The bats began to rise and fall, and thudding blows were followed with howls of pain, while the ruffians fell over one another in their desperate attempt to get away. “Out of the gate!” shouted McLane. “Get off the field or we’ll annihilate every one of yer!” The thugs offered little resistance. Some of them were beaten down and trampled on. Those who could fled toward the gate and lost no time in obeying the lobsterman’s order. Like a lot of cattle the most of them were driven from the field. Some were badly injured, and two or three were dragged off by their friends. The spectators who were not concerned in this encounter stood up and watched it breathlessly. The few ladies who remained on the field were badly frightened, and some of the men who accompanied them were alarmed. It was all over in a surprisingly short time. Having driven the leaders of the mob off and warned them not to return unless they were seeking broken heads, McLane led his triumphant little band back to the Fairhaven bench. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, stepping forward a bit, “it’s a shame anything like this should happen, but we jest had to do it. Don’t you be scared any more. It’s all over. There won’t be any more trouble this afternoon. This game will go on all right, and it’ll be on the level, too. Jest settle down and watch the best team win.” After that the game did go on in a regular manner, and the spectators were thoroughly respectful in their behavior. Whenever a Maplewood player did an unusually clever piece of work McLane and the stonecutters led the cheering for him. The leaders of the hoodlums did not dare return to the field, and the most of those who belonged in Rockford got away on the first trolley car after they were driven off the ball ground. It was a thoroughly exciting game and particularly interesting because of the fact that Bold was compelled to retire from the box and Jack Cole filled his place. When Jack succeeded in striking out two batters in the first inning he pitched and led the third man to lift an easy foul that dropped into the hands of Billy Bradley, John Cole nearly yelled himself black in the face. “That’s my Jack!” he shrieked, waving his old hat in the air and dancing around. “That’s the boy Benton Hammerswell chucked off his team! Jest you watch him now and see what he can do pitching when he has good support! He’ll show you something!” Jack could not complain of his support. From the very first it was gilt-edged. Occasionally he was batted hard, but the fielding behind him held the enemy in check.