He quite ignored a coaxer which Lefty tried him with, and the latter, taking a signal from Fargo, sent over a whistling high inshoot. Kenny smashed it full and fair, driving it out on a line over the head of Sandy Rollins at second. Then he dug his spikes into the ground, and went flying down the line to first at a speed which showed that hitting was not his only accomplishment. As before, it was Hagin who raced forward, scooped up the ball on the run, and lined it to second. Brown had taken a fair lead, however, and made the second sack by a hair’s breadth, amid a cloud of dust. “Got ’em going, boys!” yelled Schaeffer. “They’re e-easy. Now, Pete, you know what to do.” Nevens, third baseman, evidently did. He was prepared to sacrifice, but Locke kept the ball high so that it was difficult for him to bunt effectively. He was finally forced to hit, and hit he did, though not safely. Nevertheless, he pounded the ball into the diamond, and the two runners advanced, while he was thrown out at first. “That’s the stuff,” laughed Schaeffer, as he stepped out with his bat. “Here’s where we pull the Hornet’s stinger.” He had a peculiar swaggering gait, and carried himself in a manner which showed how thoroughly he appreciated his own ability. Lefty felt an intense desire to fan the fellow, who seemed so cocksure of himself. He was glancing at Fargo, ready to take the signal, when he saw that Schaeffer had crowded up to the plate, his toes well over the box line. “Get back,” Locke said sharply. “Aw, pitch the ball!” snapped Schaeffer. “What’s bitin’ you?” “You’re out of your box,” declared Lefty. “I’m liable to hit you.” “I’ll take a chance, Willie,” the Texan retorted offensively. “I ain’t seen you pass up anything very dangerous so far.” Nevertheless, at the umpire’s command, he edged back grudgingly, but persisted in keeping a bit of his toes over the line. “The close ones for him,” Lefty decided swiftly. “With that reach of his, he can hit anything a foot outside the pan.” He therefore shook his head when Fargo signaled. When the big backstop changed the sign, Lefty, after a glance at the base runners, used a short, swift delivery, and passed up an inshoot, intending to keep the ball close to the knuckles of the batter. Schaeffer stepped in, and was unable to dodge that shoot. It caught him glancingly, high up on the body, and made him stagger a bit. Then, growling a few choice epithets, he obeyed the umpire’s signal to take his base. “That man stepped out of his box, Mr. Umpire,” Fargo protested. “He wouldn’t have been hit if he’d kept his place.” “Aw, cut that out!” snarled Schaeffer, limping in an exaggerated manner. “I was hit a-purpose. Just wait, my young squab,” he added out of the corner of his mouth to Lefty. “I’ll get _you_.” The umpire refused to reverse his decision.