For a moment it looked like a home run, and the wearers of the blue and gray leaped and shouted. In raced Ridley and Bryant and around the bases flew Bob. Out in right field the ball had fallen untouched to the ground and was now speeding back to second-baseman, who had run out to relay it in. Bob passed second and reached third just as second-baseman turned and threw, and Loom held him there. The score was 6 to 5 and only one man was out. Van Roden stepped to the plate looking determined. But he had no chance to distinguish himself very greatly, for the Wickasaw pitcher was pretty well rattled and four successive balls sent him to first at a walk. Kendall, who followed him at bat, was a substitute and owed his position on the team to his fielding rather than his batting ability. But even Kendall managed to connect with the second ball offered him, and might, with speedier running, have beaten it out to first. As it was, he made the second out and Bob’s hopes began to fall. Nelson was the next man up and Nelson had all day been unable to bat in anything like his real form. Bob decided that if the score was to be even tied in that inning, risks must be taken. “Two out, run on anything!” was his order, while Wickasaw’s catcher reminded his men to “play for the runner!” Nelson went to bat resolved to do the very best he knew how, but not at all sanguine of success. The thought that with him probably rested the fate of the nine worried him. To be sure, Chicora might be able to do something in the next and last inning, but that wasn’t to be depended upon. The time was now, when, with two runners on bases, a clean hit would put them in the lead. The first delivery looked such a palpable ball that he let it go by, discovering too late that it was an in-curve and a strike. Van Roden trotted to second and went on to a position half-way between that base and the next. Bob was ten feet away from his bag, on his toes, watching pitcher and catcher intently, ready to be off on the slightest pretext. Another ball went across the plate, and again a strike was scored against poor Nelson, who mentally called himself names and gripped his bat more fiercely. Bob decided that it was now or never. As the catcher, with a glance in his direction, threw the ball back to the pitcher, Bob started calmly up the line toward the home plate at a walk. The pitcher was walking back to the box, and for three or four seconds Bob’s leave-taking went unnoticed. Then the third-baseman discovered his absence and yelled wildly for the ball. The pitcher, wheeling about, looked here, there, and everywhere save in the right direction, ran a few steps toward second, thought better of it, and finally obeyed the frantic injunctions of half the players to “put it home,” although he didn’t see why it was necessary, since Bob, who by that time had increased his pace slightly, looked like any of the other gray-and-blue-clad fellows behind him.