The restored confidence of his teammates was ebbing again. Several times during the game Grant had wondered why Carson sent no other twirler out to warm up, and now the puzzling question once more flashed through his mind. With the former manager at the helm, the captain would have suggested such a precaution, but Carson was not popular with Spider. “He knows so much about the inside game,” thought Grant, “let him run things all by his lonesome. I’ll handle my end on the field, but I’m not going to give him a chance to call me by proposing something he ought to be wise to himself.” And only for what he had heard from Collier, Carson would have replaced Locke with another pitcher long ere this. With such feelings governing the “powers,” there was really small chance for the Blue Stockings to snatch the coveted championship. Indeed, it was just this sort of childishness that had prevented Carson from becoming a pennant contender on the occasions when he had managed other Big League teams. The thoroughly successful manager never permits personal feelings or whims to influence his judgment. Although Lefty’s first pitch to Dillingham would have been called a ball, the batter reached across and met it, with his club loosely held, rolling a soggy bunt into the diamond. Murray had started with the swing of the pitcher’s arm, and therefore there was no chance to get him at second. It was Locke’s ball to field, and he should have nailed Dillingham at first by twelve or fifteen feet. Somehow, he seemed to hesitate before starting after the rolling sphere, and then, when he did get it, with barely enough time to pinch the runner at the initial sack, he threw all the way into deep right. A sudden roar went up. The coacher at first shrieked for Dillingham to keep on. The one at third howled and waved his arms at Murray. Lettering one gasping snarl, Rufe Hyland chased that wild peg down, got it on the rebound from the face of the bleachers, and whipped it back into the diamond in time to hold Murray at third. At second Dalton fooled Dillingham into sliding by pretending that he was going to take a throw. The Blue Stocking fans were silent and appalled, but the stands seemed to rock with the tremendous uproar made by the sympathizers with the Specters. With second and third occupied, only one down, and Logie the hitter, it seemed a three-to-one shot that Lefty Locke had thrown away the game. “If we only had Grist or Orth or _anybody_ to go in now!” muttered Grant. “They’re all cold. There’s no time for ’em to warm up. Oh, this is fine management, and I’ll have to shoulder a big part of the blame!” CHAPTER XV THROWN AWAY In the Blue Stocking pit Carson sat gritting his teeth and muttering, but he gave no orders that would tend to relieve the situation.