So, with the score 6 to 4, Petersburg went desperately to bat in the eighth while the shadows lengthened across the diamond and the crowd on the stand began to dribble down to the field. Joe made the first out in that inning, taking a sizzling drive from Catcher Beale’s bat. After that Smith threw out the centre fielder and Pitcher Gorman got a life on Smith’s fumble of his grounder and took second when Tom walked the head of the list. But it was all over a minute later when a fine throw from Sam Craig caught the pitcher flat-footed off second. Sam led off for Amesville in the last of the eighth with a scratch hit that proved too slow for second baseman to field in time. Tom Pollock tried hard to get a hit, but finally fanned, and Smith was instructed to lay down a bunt and advance Sam Craig. It was at this moment that Joe saw Jack leave his place on the bench and speak to Coach Talbot. What was said between them Joe couldn’t hear, nor did he try to, but after a minute of indecision Mr. Talbot nodded his head and Jack returned, looking, as Joe put it afterwards, like the cat who ate the canary. “You and Bat got it all settled?” asked Joe laughingly as his friend seated himself again. Jack rewarded Joe with a somewhat sheepish glance as he nodded. After a moment he said in a low voice: “It was about Frank.” “What about him?” asked Joe, his gaze travelling to the end of the bench. “You’ll see,” replied Jack evasively, and that was all that he would say. Smith’s attempt to bunt resulted disastrously, for Gorman would have none of it and the first thing Smith knew he was in the hole. When, with two strikes and two balls against him, he tried to hit it out, the ball slammed itself into Gorman’s glove and Smith was gone. Sid Morris had better success, for he got a hit down the alley between second and shortstop and Sam Craig advanced a base. Then Joe learned the meaning of Jack’s converse with the coach. Mr. Talbot recalled Jack, who had been half-heartedly awaiting his turn, and summoned Frank Foley. “Foley! Take a whack at it. Don’t try to bend your bat. Just put one through.” Foley, surprised, leaped from the bench. “Me, sir?” he asked. “Yes, hurry up!” Foley hurried. Half a dozen eager hands stretched out as many bats toward him and, seizing a couple, he hurried to the plate, swinging them eagerly. Foley’s friends in the stand applauded warmly and Joe viewed Jack quizzically as the latter sank back into his place on the bench. “Jack,” began Joe in a whisper. Jack turned on him rudely. “Oh, dry up!” he muttered. Joe chuckled. “You’re a fine hater, aren’t you?” he asked. “That’s got nothing to do with it,” declared Jack, reddening. “Frank’s worked hard all spring and――and he deserved to get in.” “Of course, he did, and I’m glad, Jack, mighty glad. And it was decent of you, you old poser, to let him――――” “Dry up and watch the game,” begged Jack. “I hope he does something!”