A sharp, hissing intake of concern swept over the crowded stands. As Lefty reeled, catcher and umpire both leaped forward with outstretched arms; but their aid was unnecessary. The southpaw was conscious of a single brief instant of blackness, which passed like a lightning flash, leaving him a bit dizzy, but otherwise quite himself. “I’m all right, Spider,” he said quickly, as the Blue Stocking captain rushed up and slipped an arm about him. “It was only a glancing tap.” “Are you sure?” persisted Grant anxiously. “Hadn’t you better lay off, and let me run someone else in to bat for you?” Lefty laughed aloud, and took his stick from Dillingham. “Not on your life!” he retorted emphatically. “Think I’m going to quit _now_?” As if to prove that the accident amounted to nothing, he shook off the captain’s detaining hand, stepping quickly back to the rubber. The fans shouted their relief and their appreciation of Lefty’s nerve. Donovan’s face wore a slightly strained look. Though no stretching of the imagination could have laid a shred of blame upon his shoulders, the hitting of a batter often disturbs a pitcher’s nerve. This may have had some effect on his next delivery, or may not. At all events, when Locke swung at the ball in fine shape, there was a sharp, clean crack, and the horsehide went humming into the outfield midway between Aldrich and Schwartz. With a concerted roar, which eclipsed every sound that had gone before, the great mass of people crowding the stands leaped to their feet, and followed with straining eyes the progress of the tiny sphere of white. Away it sped to the right of deep center, both fielders racing like mad to get under it. Having a big lead to start with, Nelson was off like a streak of light for third. He had crossed the base, and was being urged on down the home stretch before Schwartz snatched up the horsehide, whirled, and sent it whizzing straight toward the plate, with that wonderful sweep of his powerful arm for which he was famous. It was a perfect throw. For a second or two thousands of hearts stood still, fearing it would be successful. Locke’s brain and muscle had done its work well, however. An instant before the ball plunked into the catcher’s waiting mitt Nelson flung himself across the rubber in a cloud of dust, and the umpire shouted: “Safe!” CHAPTER VI A SUMMONS FROM THE MANAGER Lefty, having rounded first, pulled himself up abruptly, and trotted toward the clubhouse, the whoops and yells of many thousand delirious baseball “bugs” ringing in his ears. A wave of white-clad players surged after him, but Locke had almost reached the gate before the crest of it overtook him. An expression of happy contentment illumined most of the faces. “Laughing” Larry Dalton, the happy-go-lucky, brown-eyed second baseman, was grinning broadly as he flung one arm over the southpaw’s shoulder.