The Dutch lad seemed awkward. He committed no glaring errors, but it seemed to the crowd that any one would have been better at second than he. However, Fardale was now committed, and every rooter hoped for the best as the Fardale yell began to ring out: “Ha, ha, ha! ’Rah, ’rah, ’rah! Rigger-boom! Zigger-boom! All hail--Fardale! Fardale! Fardale!” The Clipper sympathizers had no regular yell, but they made good with a thunder of feet stamping, and a roar of shouts and yells. For an instant these fell silent while the two umpires announced the batteries, then they rose again into a wild storm as the Fardale nine trotted out and took the field. “Play ball!” cried the strike umpire, adjusting his mask. Ironton stepped out. The game was on. CHAPTER XXXV. THE FIGHT OF HIS LIFE. “Ve vos all pehind you, Chip!” squawked Villum Kess, capering around second. “Take your time, old man,” advised Clancy. “Let this boob hit it,” grinned Billy Mac, as Ironton stepped into the box. Frank paused. He had seen clearly that Green was a whirlwind, and decided to hold his best ball, the jump, in reserve. If Green was really Diggs, then he had his work cut out for him. “Get on to that guy on second!” yelled a fan. Villum Kess had come to rest plumb on his bag, and stood waiting. “Play off there, you lobster!” shrieked another rooter frantically. “Blay off yourselluf,” returned Villum hotly. “Shud oop und say less. Make a glam of yourselluf if I vas a lopster yes, no! Yaw! You vait till you show me!” Frank nodded to Billy, and put over a low, straight ball. Ironton waited. “Strike--one!” The Clipper shortstop was a wicked hitter, as Merry knew. Seeing that he stood up close to the plate, Chip put over a sharp inshoot, and again the umpire called a strike, as Ironton swung vainly. He refused to bite at two teasers, however, and again Merry used his in. As if sensing the ball, Ironton pulled back and chopped. Crack! Merry reached after the hot liner in vain. It went straight toward the position that Kess should have been playing, while Ironton dug down toward first, amid wild whoops from the bleachers. Then Villum did a surprising thing. Flinging himself out toward the ball, he lost his balance and slid forward, whirling around. He came down in a cloud of dust. “By glory, he sat on it!” yelled the fans. Villum reached beneath himself and pulled out the ball, staring at it in mild astonishment. “Put it over, you boob!” shrieked Clancy. Kess looked up, saw the runner nearing first, and scrambled to his feet. With astonishing precision, he sent the ball to Clancy, and the umpire motioned Ironton out. “It was an accident!” cried Craven, on the coaching line. “He’s an idiot!” “Go avay mit yourselluf!” squawked Villum, brushing the dust from his shirt. “Vait till I vos shown you how you don’d blay, yes, no!”