“Oh, wow, wow!” laughed Buster mockingly. “It’s a good thing the stand was behind Yapp. They’d never found that wild heave if it hadn’t been. Keep on shooting your face off, peacock. We like it.” “You’d never get to first any other way,” said Elgin. “Congratulate yourself.” “Never mind him,” called Yapp, as the catcher for the Deers walked out to the plate. “Put a nail in this Coffin. You can do that just as well as you can Kilgore.” “Why, you’re a real wit, Yappy,” said Coffin. “Why don’t you get his umps to call time while you laugh at your own jokes?” “Speaking about jokes,” returned Yapp, “you’re one. I heard Kennedy kept you in the game and put you behind the bat for your hitting. Well, you won’t fat your average off Elgin.” Now, Yapp really knew Coffin’s weakness, and, with Elgin’s perfect control, the man was worked for a strike-out, although Brown stole second while this was taking place. “Don’t exert yourself,” said Elgin, looking around at Buster; “’twon’t be necessary.” Lefty Locke was the hitter now, and Elgin seemed to have little doubt in his mind as to what he could do with him. “You thought you was something when you made the Blue Stockings, didn’t you?” said Elgin, as Lefty took his place in the box. “I beg your pardon,” returned Locke. “I think you’ve got me mixed with some other man.” “Oh, you do, eh?” sneered Bert. “Call yourself Stranger now, eh? I sure don’t blame you at all.” “Why don’t you pitch instead of talking so much?” demanded Lefty impatiently. “Oh, I’ll pitch in a minute,” returned the other, nodding to Yapp to signal. “You seem in a big hurry to strike out.” Lefty made no further remark, but waited in position to swing easily at anything the pitcher might put over. Nevertheless, two strikes were called on him, and he had not attempted to hit one, much to the amusement of the great crowd, before he finally got what he wanted. The ring of wood meeting leather brought a gasp from the crowd. It was a line drive straight over the head of Berlin, who jumped vainly for it. Now, at Elgin’s suggestion, the fielders had all been switched round to the left; for, despite the fact that he was a left-hander, Locke frequently hit hard into left field. This movement had brought the right fielder almost in line with that tremendous drive; otherwise he could not have touched it. The change enabled him to make a marvelous running bare-handed catch which robbed Lefty of a three-bagger, at least, and prevented Brown from tying up the score. “Oh, dear, dear!” sighed Peter McLaughlin, sinking back into his seat. “What a crack! What luck! Why, that fellow can hit ’em――he just can.” Brown, swinging toward home after crossing third, and being told that it was useless to run, twisted his mug at Bert Elgin. “Luck saved you that time, Mr. Pouter Pigeon,” he said. “You’re due to get yours good and plenty before the day is over.”