A lull followed. Cy Russell, in splendid shape and aching to retrieve the blunders made by his predecessor, easily disposed of the batters who faced him during the eighth and ninth innings. Lefty was equally fortunate; and the tenth inning opened with the spectators on tiptoe with excitement, and some of them so hoarse they could scarcely speak above a whisper. Again it was Eddie Lewis who came up first, and the sympathizers with the Blue Stockings seemed to take it as a good omen. All around the field the visiting rooters were waving hats and yelling like demons. Russell put the first ball squarely over for a strike, and followed it with another. Lewis cracked the third one to left field for a two-bagger. With a concerted yell, every fan leaped to his feet. When Lewis made second safely they seemed to forget to sit down, so great was their excitement. “Lay down a bunt, Dirk,” Kennedy said quietly, as Nelson came up. The catcher obeyed the injunction to the letter. He bunted the ball within two yards of the plate just as Lewis started for third. Russell was on the alert and ready, and, rushing swiftly toward the horsehide, he snatched it up and shot it with the speed of a bullet into Harris’ hands. Lewis beat the throw, however, and was called safe, while Nelson reached first without difficulty. “Here’s the run! Here’s the game!” came from the crowd as Jack Daly walked coolly to the plate. “Lewis will score!” A safe hit or a long fly meant victory, if Locke continued his fine work and shut out the home team in the last half of the inning. Lefty, swinging two bats to make one seem lighter when he should hit, felt his heart thudding like a trip-hammer. On all sides men were waving their arms wildly and making a tremendous tumult. If only Daly could do it! Locke followed Daly, and he wondered vaguely whether he could make good if the third baseman failed. Russell’s first ball went wide of the plate. Another one came across waist high, and Daly fell on it with all his might. There was a twist on the sphere, however, and, instead of a smashing line drive, a short fly to right field resulted. Burns called out that he would take it, and Russell raced behind Fargo to back up a throw to the plate. Burns made the catch easily, and was ready to throw Lewis out if he attempted to score. The Blue Stockings’ fielder was taking no chances, however. He stuck to third, waiting for something safer to take him home. The witnesses who favored the Hornets applauded the catch, while the opposition strained their lungs rooting for Locke. The latter felt a queer tightening of his throat as he toed the line. Again the opportunity had come for him to show what he could do. Russell had never been cooler or less flurried. He worked skillfully until two strikes and as many balls had been called. The fear came to Lefty that he was going to whiff, and he set his teeth, watching the pitcher like a hawk.