“We must have some more runs, boys,” said Cameron, as his players gathered about him. “Jump right in now and make them. Not too many, but enough to have the game safely in hand.” They responded by getting a single score, and it seemed that pure accident prevented the piling up of several more. In the last of the seventh the Merries did not make a run, Weaver seeming to have them at his mercy. Again in the eighth, although Cartersville got two men onto the sacks, no scores were made on either side. The ninth inning opened with the score three to one in favor of the locals. “That’s really lead enough,” said Cameron; “but one or two more runs will not spoil the game. I want you to make two scores, boys. You have a fine opening, for Moran starts it.” “I’ll agree to get a hit,” said Moran, “if they’ll just help me circle the bags.” He was positive he could get a hit then, but some of his conceit evaporated when he fanned twice and was fooled both times. There had not been much complaint against Starbright’s work as umpire, for Cartersville was holding the lead and fancied that lead could be increased any time. Just now Moran was unable to kick, as he was swinging at the balls. Apparently Merriwell put the next ball just where the batter wanted it. But again Moran missed, greatly to his dismay. “Oh, you’re a mark!” sneered Madison. “Wait till I git at him! I ain’t got no hits to-day, but I’ve been waitin’ for this chance.” Johnson was in position to strike. “Look out fo’ me, ma-a-an,” he grinned. “Dis time I puts it ober de fence. Allus does it once in a game.” He tried hard—too hard, in fact. Like Moran, he fell an easy victim to Merriwell’s arts. Frank was now pitching in his best form, having thrown off all attempt at deception. Madison swore he would get a hit. He realized that his reputation as a heavy batter had suffered that day. The crowd yelled and hooted at Frank, seeking to rattle him, but his face was perfectly grave and he seemed deaf to the uproar. In the stand he saw a veiled woman, who sat silent and rigid, her gloved hands clasped. He knew she was watching him, her heart heavy with despair, for it seemed that the locals had won. At the beginning of the game Merry had resolved not to let Madison get a hit. Now, as the fellow came up for the last time, Frank pitched with bewildering speed, his curves being sharp and baffling. Although every ball pitched was a strike, Starbright had confidence in Merry and declared two, at which the batter did not offer, to be “balls.” Then Merry wound up with his surprising slow ball, which seemed to hang in the air, and Madison struck too soon. “You’re out!” cried Starbright. “Well, it’s all right, fellows,” laughed Cameron. “You have to hold them down, that’s all. It’s easy for Weaver. The game is ours.” Frank spoke to his players in low tones as they gathered around him at the bench.