That was Thursday. The deciding game was to be played in the city on Saturday. The Holman’s team returned to the well-nigh empty campus and settled down for the wait. Gus didn’t make the mistake of working them hard on Friday. There was a little batting and a little throwing and a long talk under the shade of the stand; and, of course, the pitchers worked their sweaters off; but there was nothing strenuous that day. One just sat around and waited――and hoped. Late that Friday afternoon Ginger was an unobtrusive unit in a group of five who lolled on the campus sward where a big elm cast an oasis of shade in a sun-smitten Sahara. It was very hot and very still, and the deserted dormitories seemed to have dropped asleep for the summer. Conversation had been desultory, but all of the morrow’s game. Now Captain Hal said smilingly, but with an undertone of earnestness: “Babe, it’s too bad you didn’t save that homer for to-morrow.” “There’s another where that came from,” replied Babe. “Not a chance,” said Dave. “They’ll walk you every time you come up.” “I don’t believe,” answered Babe. “You see, I haven’t been hitting much, and they’ll think that was just an accident.” “Brainy guys, then,” murmured Dave, pillowing his head more comfortably on one of Babe’s ample legs. “Is that so, fresh?” Babe pressed the heel of a big hand sternly on Dave’s classic nose and elicited a groan of protest. “If they’ll put the old pill where I can reach it, Dave, it’s going to travel.” “Sure, all you want is a straight one across your chest. That’s not much to ask, eh? Seems like they might do you a slight favor like that, what? Then, if it happens you can swing that old bridge timber of yours around in time, you’ll maybe get a hit!” “‘Bridge timber!’” chuckled Hal. “That’s a new one!” Ginger, sitting slightly apart, grinned. Babe grinned, too. “The old bridge timber did the trick yesterday, just the same.” Then he laughed reflectively. “Ginger was all broke up over that. He’s been after me to use one of those toothpicks, like the rest of you, and when he saw that homer he just dug his face in the dust.” “Ginger’s dead right,” said Joe Kenton. “You’d hit three times as often if you used a light bat.” “Sure,” agreed Dave. “Do you fellows think so, too?” demanded Ginger eagerly. “Of course,” replied Joe. “You’ve got the right dope, Ginger.” “I’ll say so,” said Dave. “If Babe didn’t have a solid concrete dome, he’d know it, too.” “Well, you can’t tell, I guess,” murmured Ginger. It was one thing for him to criticize the ways of his hero, and quite another thing to listen to some one else doing it! “Keep your orbs on your Uncle Babe to-morrow, Ginger,” laughed the big fellow. “I’m going to show you unbelievers just what the old bat can do.” “I――I hope you will,” muttered Ginger. “I’d like to see it.”