Green evidently believed him, for he swung at the ball wickedly. But the sphere took a queer upward jump into Billy’s mitt, and Green stepped back with a single gasp of amazement. “What you got on that ball?” he queried wonderingly. Smiling, Merry sent down another, square in the groove. This time Green stood back and watched it, then grinned. “Let her come!” he cried, and Chip knew that he had solved the jump. With that, he sent down a straight ball. Green grinned again, struck a foot above it--and was out! But the Clippers were still one run to the good. CHAPTER XXXVII. A DESPERATE FINISH. Fardale field was a pandemonium. Grand stand and bleachers alike were crazy with excitement. The band, unheard, blared forth amid the din. Men shouted and shrieked for the score to be tied, begged Merry to crack out another homer, hit each other over the head, and threatened to smash the stands with their frenzied stamping. With suddenness that was almost appalling, the din died away as Villum Kess was seen walking out to the plate. The rooters held their breath. “That settles it,” groaned a man near Colonel Gunn’s box. “That dunderhead will be the first out--it’s all over.” “Confound your impertinence, sir!” roared the irate colonel, twisting about and threatening the fan with personal violence. “It’s not--ah--all over till the last man has--ah--gone down!” Then he turned and sent another roar at the field. “Get a hit! Get a hit!” The crowd took up the swinging words. “Get a hit! Get a hit!” rose the thunder of many voices, pierced by the shrill yells of the Clipper fans, who implored Green to “Hold ’em down!” Then Kess stepped into the box, and instantly the silence fell anew. “Yaw!” squawked the Dutch lad, his voice sounding distinctly all over the field. “Didn’t I toldt you I vos goin’ to dood it! You vos a skinch, so hellup me!” “You’ll get skinned, all right,” yelled Olcott. “Let the Dutchman hit it, old man! He’s easy!” “Shut oop mit your mouth!” retorted Villum, turning angrily. As he did so, Green unwound and the sphere came down like a bullet. Villum tried to strike, but overreached himself and fell forward, sitting on the plate. “Vot der matter vos?” he inquired blankly. “Vhere vos der pall?” “Get up or you’ll have another strike called,” said Olcott. Villum scrambled to his feet. His actions disgusted the excited crowd, however, and a storm of objurgation began to rain upon him. “Take him out! Send in a ball player!” “Get the hook! Get the hook!” “By Yimini, you shoot oop!” roared Villum, waving his bat at the grand stand. “How vos I to hear der pall coming vhen you vos making such a yelling?” Green smiled and once more put the ball across while Villum was glaring at the crowd. He whirled around as the ball plunked home. “Vot vos dot?” “Strike--two!” called the umpire. “Vell, by shinks!” gasped Villum angrily. “You vos der advantage oof me dake, yes, no?”