At first the struggle had seemed to lie between the Blue Stockings and their old-time rivals, the Hornets. Well into July these two organizations had it nip and tuck, and the Blue Stockings had no sooner forged definitely ahead than they were menaced by the speedy Specters, who were playing this year as they had never played before. Back and forth they zigzagged, until at length the Blue Stockings, thanks in no small measure to the astonishing work of their young southpaw wonder, managed to accumulate a scanty lead, and hold it by the skin of their teeth. If they could only manage to pull through this series in good shape, they could afford to lose a game or two of the return series, and still enter on the last Western circuit with a slight advantage. Lefty lined a few to Dirk Nelson, and, having found the plate, nodded to the batter, who stepped up to the rubber again. The Blue Stockings’ owner had been right in saying that Locke had taken the measure of the opposing team. The ability to size up swiftly and accurately a batter’s strong and weak points, likes and dislikes, was something which had contributed much to the southpaw’s extraordinary success. He believed he knew the sort of ball Forbes could not hit safely; and promptly, though without any appearance of haste, he proceeded to hand it up. To the delight of the fans, the batter missed. The second one he fouled. Then he let two go by. Finally he missed again, having been fooled at last by a sudden change of pace and a slow drop when he expected speed. As he sauntered toward the bench in elaborate affectation of indifference, the spectators chortled gleefully, while a ripple of returning confidence swept over the Blue Stocking players. “Never mind that!” cried Murray, the visitors’ captain, from the coaching line. “Get off that hassock, Rowdy. On your toes! Now, Jim, let’s have one of the old-timers mother used to make.” Donovan, the famous Specter twirler, was also a clever stickman. During the past season his hitting average had been little short of the three-hundred mark, and he was especially noted for helping along a streak of luck. He walked up to the plate, bat swinging nonchalantly, on his face that confident grin which annoys many a pitcher who pretends that he is not disturbed. Lefty eyed him coolly for an instant; then his eyes dropped to where Nelson crouched, giving a signal. He shook his head. With some slight reluctance, the catcher responded by calling for another ball, and shifted his position the barest trifle. A second later the sphere came whistling, with a slight inswerve, across the batter’s shoulders. Forbes’ bat found nothing but empty air. “Str-r-rike!” called the umpire, flinging up his right hand. “Look out for those, Jim,” called Murray. “Make ’em be good!”