“Got ’em now,” thought old Jack; “got ’em where I want ’em. They’ll all work till they drop in the harness, and it’s only up to me to keep watch that I don’t push ’em beyond the limit.” On the other hand, the Stars were nervous and fearful and altogether too eager. They seemed to realize that the Deers, unless beaten right away, would eventually leap into first place and clinch the championship. A day or two earlier they had feared the Buccaneers most, but the victory of the Deers over the Bucks had brought a new menace to the front; and the former champions, having endured the strain to the seventh inning, went to pieces generally, handing the locals a well-earned but rather staggering victory. Lefty Locke sat on the bench, again wearing Kennedy’s Blue Stocking uniform. He had warmed up a little, although the manager had scarcely a thought of putting him in under any circumstances; and the visitors had watched him with the utmost interest. For surely an unknown twirler thrown into a game at Hatfield by Kennedy, and able to stop the fierce Buccaneers in their tracks, was a real pitcher. “I wonder who he really is?” the bushers asked one another. “Stranger――that ain’t his name, never!” After the game was over, Kennedy, outwardly calm, but inwardly chuckling with satisfaction, made his way to the Central House, where he found Landlord McLaughlin ready to set out the cigars for everybody. “Well, say, Jack,” called the proprietor, as Kennedy strolled in, mopping his perspiring face, “things have turned our way, sartain. I knowed you could do it if we could only get you to take holt of the team. That there championship is as good as ourn.” “Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched, Peter,” advised Kennedy. “You’ll find the Buccaneers and Hank Bristol still in the game. Of course, they put the Boobs to the mat to-day, but our winning from the Stars keeps us neck and neck with ’em, and ready to step into fust place before we go under the wire at the finish. To-morrow we’ll have a crack at the Boobs, and Monday we get another swing at the Bucks right here to home. Monday I’ll pitch Stranger again. Watch him trim them, if the boys back him up the way they did Curley to-day.” “Say, Jack,” chuckled the old man behind the cigar counter, as he put forth box after box, “this town is sartain red-hot baseball crazy right now. Talk about Deering being dead! Why, it’s the liveliest little burg between the two oceans. Mark me, next Monday we’ll have out the best crowd that has ever seen a baseball game in these parts.” From a near-by booth came a sharp call of the telephone bell. “Mebbe that’s the report of the game at Somerset,” said McLaughlin, leaving the cigars for anybody who wanted them to take one or a handful, and turning toward the booth. “I’ll just see if ’tis, and find out how bad the Buccaneers beat the Boobs.”