Contrary to the fears of a good many Blue Stockings, Lefty still seemed to be “there with the goods.” To be sure, he stalked out to the mound with a gloomy face and wrinkled brow, which was the very antithesis of his usual cheerful, good-humored expression; but when it came to bending them over, he showed every bit of his old-time skill for the first three innings. It was in the fourth that Larry Dalton, who had been watching his friend closely, began to notice a change. Red Callahan, an uncertain hitter, was at the bat. The southpaw pulled him with a pretty outcurve, following with a clever drop; and then, with two strikes and only one ball called, he whipped over a fast, straight ball, which would have cut the heart of the plate had not Red fallen upon it joyfully, smashing it out for a canter to first. It was not a very bad slip; pitchers fail every day through underestimation of a poor hitter. But carelessness had never been one of Lefty’s faults, and Dalton’s eyes widened with surprise as the Specter infielder romped down to the initial sack, and stood there grinning. The look of surprise deepened on Larry’s face when Locke gave the next batter three balls in succession, meanwhile allowing Callahan to steal second. “That’s the game!” barked the Specter coachers jubilantly. “Make him put ’em over, Jack. He ain’t such a wonder, after all. Too bad, Lefty, old boy. Losing your control?” “Make those dubs shut up!” snapped Locke, turning to the umpire. “They can talk to their own men, but not to me.” The coachers received a perfunctory warning, and naturally, when they saw that the pitcher objected to their remarks, they redoubled their efforts, simply altering the person. Dalton could scarcely believe his ears. To think of Lefty Locke being bothered by a little hot air! Ordinarily he simply grinned aggravatingly, or gave an excellent imitation of a deaf mute. It seemed incredible, and a furrow of anxiety flashed into place between Larry’s brown eyes. Lefty managed to pull out of the hole, but the mere fact that he had allowed himself to get into it was enough to cause his teammates to worry. The fifth inning passed with the score still one to one――both runs had been made at the very beginning of the game. In the sixth the Blue Stockings scored another tally, a lead which they held in spite of the desperate efforts of their opponents in the final half of the inning. During the seventh and eighth Lefty’s pitching came near giving a number of people heart failure. It was by turns mediocre to a degree, and superbly brilliant. He would get himself into holes by inexcusable carelessness, and then, when he seemed on the point of blowing up, he would steady down and make the spectators shout joyous approval. Throughout this erratic performance Billy Orth sat on the bench, watching the work of the grim, frowning portsider with alternate dismay, delight, and wonderment.