It was the weak spot, the yellow streak coming to the surface. With two out and no one on the sacks, there was really little danger that Locke could make a home run; yet Elgin was afraid. From over at one side, in the midst of the little knot of Deering fans, Peter McLaughlin seemed to realize Elgin’s purpose by the time Bert had handed up the second wide one. “He’s scat!” yelled the old hotel man. “Yaller――yaller! He don’t dare put one over! He’s quittin’!” The coachers took up the cry of “Yellow,” and Elgin viciously bit his under lip. “I’ll just put one bender over,” he decided. “I’ll show them that I’m not afraid to slant one across.” Using his curve, he put the ball over; but it never reached the waiting hands of Yapp. Again Lefty met it fairly, and again it went whistling out on a line. This time, however, neither infielder nor outfielder could touch it. Only for a long rebound from the fence into the hands of a player, who promptly returned the sphere to the diamond, Locke, covering ground like a deer, would have turned the hit into a homer. McLaughlin and the Deering bunch were howling themselves purple in the face. Old Jack Kennedy, on the coaching line, flapped his arms and laughed at Elgin, whose face was pale as a sheet of paper. “Why, he knows how to hit you, Elgin. He can do it every time,” said the old manager. “If the head of the list wasn’t up now, I’d go in myself and pound him across. Collins,” he snapped, as Chick came out from the bench with a bat, “if you dodge a bean ball this time I’ll fine you a week’s pay. Take it on the nut if he throws it.” “If he――if he does,” muttered Elgin hoarsely, “you’ll carry him home in a box.” “Oh, no――oh, no!” derided old Jack. “Why, you couldn’t crack a pane of glass with your swift one. Get hit, Chick, if he throws at you――get hit.” “All right,” grinned Collins. “Let her come.” Elgin pitched only once to Collins before something happened. Yapp snapped the ball back, and Bert, catching it with one hand, was kicking a pebble out of the pitching box when a sudden wild yell arose. He turned in surprise, and saw Locke racing down from third, actually attempting to tie the score by stealing home. And that with the head of the batting order up! The astounding unexpectedness of such a thing took away Elgin’s breath, and made him hesitate for a fraction of a second. Yapp, leaping forward to block the runner off, shrieked for Elgin to throw the ball. Awaking suddenly, Bert threw it. In his haste, however, he whipped it wide, and Yapp was forced to reach in the wrong direction. Lefty Locke hit the dirt feet first, shot under the Buccaneers’ catcher, and scraped one foot across the rubber. “Safe!” shouted the umpire, his hands outspread.