in spite of Gordon Smith’s urging, and Captain Lyman’s quick, straight throw to the catcher killed him off at the rubber. But the score was 2 to 2, and Amesville settled back with sighs of satisfaction. Five hits for a total of seven bases was not bad in three innings, they argued, and a continuation of such work should win without trouble. But a continuation proved more than the Brown-and-Blue was capable of. Petersburg went down one, two, three in the fourth inning, but so did Amesville, and in the fifth and sixth she did little better so far as results were concerned. Calvert, after that first wobble, settled down to a fine, steady pace. In the fifth Sid Morris got to first on a pass and in the next inning Joe made his first hit of the game when two were down. But, although Cummings was passed, Sam Craig struck out. In the meanwhile Petersburg made the most in the fifth inning of a pass, a hit, and an error. Tom presented the first batsman with his base, thereby paving the way for trouble. The left fielder, who had already tasted blood in the third, got a safe hit past Smith and first and second bases were occupied with no one out. Captain Lyman’s drive got away from Tom Pollock’s glove and when he had recovered it the bags were all filled. The next man proved an easy out, retiring after four pitched balls, but Catcher Beale came through with a two-bagger to right that brought two more tallies across. Tom struck out the next pair. With the score 4 to 2, Amesville, as has been said, failed to help herself to anything in that inning or the sixth. Calvert was pitching his best, and Calvert at his best was a hard nut to crack. Petersburg retired in order in the sixth and seventh, Tom adding two more strike-outs to his growing list. When Tom Pollock went to the bat in the last of the seventh Amesville arose and demanded runs. “Here we go! It’s the lucky seventh! All up, High School! Here’s where we tie them!” The cheer leaders waved their megaphones and brought forth lusty encouragement, while Petersburg, fewer in numbers, but possessed of willing lungs, hurled back defiance from across the sunlit field. Joe, squeezed in between Jack and Steve Hale on the home bench, listened silently to the discussion. Coach Talbot was talking to Gordon Smith, next up, but the others were having it back and forth. Manager Mifflin, his black-covered score-book across his knees, was biting the end of his pencil nervously. “Someone’s got to start something this inning,” Sid Morris was saying. “He’s going to crack again before this game’s over, you mark my words. And when he does we want to be right there, fellows.” “Calvert’s gone twelve innings,” said Speyer, “without shedding a feather, and it looks to me as if he could do it today.” “He’s shed a few feathers already,” replied Jack. “We had him going nicely in the third, and if things had worked right we might have been running yet. What happened at third, Walt?”