When the Inn next went to the bat it was seen that she had substituted a new player for the one who had thus far been holding down second base. The new man was about six feet tall, and fully thirty-five years old, and his face seemed dimly familiar to Bob. And when, having gone to bat, he lined the first ball pitched between first and second for three bases, Bob recognized him as “Monty” Williams, an old Princeton player who had made a reputation for himself while in college as a star ball-player. In that inning the Inn netted three runs, and the score was no longer so one-sided. But Bob was worried, and as the teams changed sides he made his way to the captain of the opposing team. “Look here,” he said, “I don’t think it’s a fair deal for you fellows to play Williams. He’s an old college player, and we know that he isn’t staying at the Inn. He’s visiting over at Bass Island.” “Oh, what’s the use in being fussy?” asked the other good-naturedly. “This isn’t a championship game; we’re only here for the fun of playing. Besides, Williams hasn’t played baseball for at least ten years.” “Well, it isn’t according to the understanding,” answered Bob; “but if you insist on playing him, all right; it’s a bit raw, though. We’re playing fellows on our side some of whom aren’t sixteen years old; and we’re not playing a single one of our councilors.” “Well, why don’t you? Go ahead and play any one you like. We don’t care who you play; we’re here for the fun of playing, that’s all.” “All right,” answered Bob; “I don’t intend to be nasty about it. We’ll beat you, anyhow.” “That’s the stuff,” laughed the other captain. “Go ahead and do it.” But it didn’t look very easy during the next two innings. To be sure, the Camp managed to tally two more runs, but the Inn wasn’t idle. The next time Williams came to bat the bases were full, and as a result of the long drive he made into left field three tallies were set down to the Inn’s credit, and a minute or two later Williams made it four by heady base stealing. That tied the score, 8 to 8. Bob didn’t mind a defeat at the hands of Chicora Inn very much, but to be beaten two games running was more than he could relish; and while he was doing a lot of hard thinking Tom came to the rescue: “Say, Bob,” he whispered, “we’re going to be licked if you keep Wells in there. That fellow Williams can hit him easy.” “I know it, but they insist on playing Williams. They say I can put in any one I want to, but we haven’t played our councilors, and I don’t want to start it now. And as for Wells, there isn’t any one on our team can do any better.” “Get Billy Carter to pitch.” “Billy Carter? Who’s Billy--? You mean Joe’s brother? Can he pitch? Thought he was a crew man.” “He is, but he pitched for the Yale freshman nine last spring, and I’ll bet he’s a peach!” “Good stuff! Will he play, do you think?” “I don’t know, but he seems a decent chap. Get Joe to ask him.” “I will. Oh, Joe! Joe Carter!”