On first, or, to be exact, well off of first and behind the base-path, Joe added his encouragement to the rest and, a bit nervously, perhaps, hitched at his trousers, which didn’t need a particle of attention. Again the wind-up, leisurely and carefully made, and again the sphere flew toward the plate. It was a ball this time, and the batsman judged it correctly and let it severely alone. The cheers from the stands had died away now. A few latecomers were searching for points of vantage well back of the foul lines. The hot June sunlight fell radiantly on the backs of spectators and straw hats had already begun to wave in front of flushed faces. A second ball followed and then a drop that fooled the Petersburg third baseman brought the second strike. “Two and two!” called Sam cheerfully. “Let’s have him, Tom!” Joe, on his toes, waited. The ball shot forward again, the bat met it, Joe leaped to the base as Hale, coming in on the run, scooped up the trickling sphere and jerked it across the diamond. Squarely into Joe’s glove it thumped, his left foot touched the bag, and the runner, puffing hard, swerved aside. “One gone!” called Joe. “Let’s have the next one, Tom!” “One!” echoed Sam, pointing a dramatic fore-finger aloft. The next batsman, however, was not to be disposed of in any such manner. He picked out Tom’s second offering and sent it speeding between Smith and Peddie and raced across the first bag without challenge. The coachers redoubled their vocal energy. Twice Tom threw to Joe and twice the runner threw himself back to safety. Then Tom gave his attention to the Petersburg shortstop. With a strike and two balls on that youth, Tom tried to sneak one across in the groove. The shortstop was ready for it and the ball went screeching into right field. Cummings came in hard and got it on the bound, throwing to second. The first runner was on third by that time and Petersburg was yelling madly on stands and bench and coaching lines.