They started in by getting two men out in a hurry, and the boys from Pittsfield were laughing over the “snap.” Then a weak hit landed a runner on first. The next man was not a heavy hitter, and so, instead of trying to stop the runner, the pitcher attempted to end it by striking the batter out. That gave the man on first a chance to steal second without danger, and he did so. Then the batter rapped out a light one that was fumbled, and crossed first ahead of the ball. Burton came to the plate. He had been hitting poorly, but now there was a look of grim determination on his dark face. “Get old ‘south-paw,’ Winnie,” called one of the players to the pitcher. The twirler grinned and nodded. He was confident, for he had been fooling Burton all day on a slow drop. To start off, he sent a straight whistler over the plate so near to the batter that Burton was forced to jump back. Then the pitcher fancied he had his man unnerved. The spectators were shouting and cheering, trying to rattle both pitcher and batter. The second ball was a slow drop. Burton waited for it, got under it, hit it, lifted it into the air with awful force. Away it flew over the ground and down among the cottages, and, when last seen, it was bounding merrily among the trees, making for the lake, which showed blue in the distance. Round the bases sped the runners, and three scores came in before the ball was overtaken and returned. It was a “homer” for Burton, and he had placed Newport one score in the lead. The crowd cheered itself hoarse, and the boys from Pittsfield looked disgusted. The next batter sent up an easy one for the shortstop, and Newport was out. The M. C. I.’s came in growling. They were determined to win the game by hard batting in the ninth. “Get onto Burton, fellows,” said the captain. “We must do it right here. We can if we try.” They did try, but Burton was doing great work just about that time. He had won the game by his hit, and now he did not propose to lose it by his work in the box. The bases filled up, however, with only one man out. A good hit meant two runs. Then came two decisions on a rattling double play, and Merriwell got both of them right by swift work. Both were declared out, and the game was over—Newport had won! Some of the Institute men started to growl, but the captain cut them off sharply. “It was the best umpiring I ever saw!” he exclaimed, enthusiastically. “Mr. Merriwell, we owe you our thanks. You did a beautiful job, and I believe you made this game one of the best ever played on this ground. There were any amount of close decisions, and I think you had all of them right. Newport beat us to-day, but I am not raising a growl.” He shook hands with Frank, and the Newport captain came up and did the same. The pitchers of both teams stated that never before had they been so well satisfied concerning the rules on balls and strikes.