Schaeffer went through the movements which seemed to indicate that he was going to whip the ball over with terrific speed, but now, instead of a scorcher, he sent in a ball that seemed to hang and drag in the air, and Rollins struck too soon. “You’re out!” said the umpire. “That’s the goods, Zack!” laughed Kenny, pounding his mitt. “They can’t touch you. Put this sorrel-top in cold storage for me.” “Only one down!” cried Fargo. “Show this bunch of panhandlers what you can do when you try, Red.” Pollock stepped briskly to the plate, waited for a ball which looked good to him, and smashed it out for a single. Hagin, fleet as the wind, had been held at second. When Tom Burley came up, determined to atone for his fielding error, the runner took advantage of the catcher’s fumble of the first pitch, pilfering third for all of the backstop’s quick recovery and fine throw to the sack. Burley evidently wanted to bunt, but Schaeffer kept the ball too high, finally forcing the batter into popping a weak infield fly, which was smothered with ease. “It’s up to you, old man,” Fargo said, in a low tone, as Lefty passed him. “We’ve got to tie up the score, anyhow.” As Lefty faced the Texas twirler, the latter’s lip curled in that irritating sneer, and he promptly returned to his tactics of trying to get the batter’s nerve. Unfortunately for him, Locke did not rattle. He ducked a couple of whizzers sent straight at him, and then, when Schaeffer handed up his famous inshoot, he lashed a sharp grounder into the diamond, which smacked the pitcher squarely on the instep. There was a roar of pain, followed by a volley of furious language from Schaeffer. Then, recovering himself, he dove after the ball, secured it, and lined it home. It is probable that he had lost his head for an instant. Had he remembered that two men were out, he might have thrown to first and stopped the score; for he could have caught Lefty. Apparently he seemed to think that the only way to stop it was to put the ball to the plate. Bill Hagin had not been napping, however. At the first crack of leather meeting wood, he shot like a rocket toward home, slid feet foremost, and Kenny got the ball on him only when his spikes were shining above the platter. In his rage Schaeffer poured forth a volley of blackguarding language which got the umpire after him, and he might have been put out of the game had not his backstop hustled out into the diamond and grabbed him by the arm. “Don’t be a fool, Zack!” he snapped. “Keep your trap shut, or you’ll be canned. Can you go ahead with the game?” The twirler, managing to choke down his wrath, limped around the slab a few times, and then toed the rubber again. He was still furious, however, and Al Ogan landed on the first ball for a line-drive over the head of the shortstop. But for a phenomenal catch by Cinch Brown the Hornets might have scored more tallies.