Nelson gave his tingling bare hand a shake and returned the ball to Locke, who seemed to perceive it just in time to thrust out his gloved right and catch it a bit awkwardly. They saw him shake his head from side to side with a queer motion and pass the back of his left hand across his sweat-moistened forehead. His face was drawn into hard, set lines, which seemed like lines of pain. Before looking again for Nelson’s signal, he walked all the way around the slab, staring down at the ground as if seeking for something he had dropped. And these queer movements brought the uncertainty leaping back into the heart of Laughing Larry and others. There was speed in the next one――speed enough, it is true; but Schwartz could not have reached it had his bat measured two feet more than it did. It went past Nelson, and clean to the stand, from which it rebounded. “Wait it out, Dutch,” urged a coacher. “He’ll hand you a pass yet.” Schwartz knew how to wait, as he proved by ignoring the next pitch, which barely failed to cut a corner. Three balls were called――three balls and two strikes. Again Lefty gave his head that queer, side-swaying shake. His teeth were set and his lips drawn back. Receiving the ball, he held it gripped tightly in both hands beneath his chin, while he leaned forward to get the catcher’s sign. Upon the crowd fell a great hush, in the midst of which the voices of Locke’s teammates, calling encouragement, could be distinctly heard. Schwartz, his confidence apparently unmarred, waited, sturdily alert. Lefty nodded, swung backward, swung forward, slashed the air with his arm――pitched. It was a hook-curve, sharp, and breaking toward the outside corner. Schwartz swung his bat as if it weighed no more than a toothpick. But, marvelous hitter though he was, that curve fooled him, and he was out. CHAPTER XIV A WILD HEAVE Championship prospects for the Blue Stockings had led an unusual number of rooters for the team to follow it around on the short jumps, and now, with the fanning of Schwartz, they made a tremendous racket. The following batters might be equally dangerous, but, with the sturdy Dutchman disposed of, the prospect of holding the threatening Specters was bright indeed. Not a few felt, like Larry Dalton, that to get Schwartz at this time was as good as disposing of two men. As Bugs Murray took Schwartz’s place, however, the great bulk of the gathering howled for a safety. “Get a hit! Get a hit!” was the cry. “Put us in the game, Bugs!” “He’s just as easy, Lefty, old boy,” chuckled Dalton. “Sew it up right here. This game counts. We need it.”