With no one batting ahead of him, Locke advanced to the pan in the last of the eighth without instructions. The first ball was too close, but the second came slanting over, and he bunted. Again it was the unexpected, and never had a prettier bunt been pulled off. Nevertheless, it was only Tom’s wonderful knack of starting at high speed with the first jump and covering the ground like a streak that enabled him to reach the sack a gasping breath ahead of the ball. “Safe!” cried the umpire. The Bullies started to kick, nearly every man on the team taking part in it. The crowd hooted and hissed, but it was only the nerve of the umpire in pulling his watch which finally sent the Bancroft players, growling, back to their positions. There was so much money wagered on the game that they could not afford to lose it through forfeiture; but henceforth they badgered the umpire on almost every decision, even scoffing when he declared in their favor. Labelle sacrificed Locke to second. Stark, thirsting for a hit, hoisted a fly to center. Then, just as the visitors were breathing easier, Crandall smashed a drive into right field. Locke was on the way to third even before bat and ball met. Sockamore, coaching, seeing Tom coming like the wind, took a desperate chance, and, with a furious flourish of his arms, signaled for him to keep on. Out in right field Mace got the sphere and poised himself for a throw to the pan. There was a choking hush. Staring, breathless, suffering with suspense, the watchers waited. “Slide!” yelled Sockamore, with a shriek like the blast of a locomotive whistle. Spikes first, Locke slid. The whistling ball spanked into Bangs’ clutches and he lunged to make the tag. But Tom’s feet had slipped across the rubber, and the downward motion of the umpire’s open, outspread hand declared him safe. Again the Bullies protested, and again the umpire was compelled to produce his watch. With difficulty the excited crowd was kept off the field. Laughing, Stark had helped Locke to rise, and made a show of brushing some of the dust from him. “It’s your game that wins to-day, if you can hold them down now,” declared Larry. “It was bunting when they weren’t expecting it that did the trick. Oh, say, there’ll be some sore heads in Bancroft to-night!” Henry Cope came bursting out of the crowd back of the bench to shake hands with Locke. “Sufferin’ Moses, whut a game!” he exclaimed. “If I ain’t under the doctor’s care ter-morrer it’ll be queer. Keep ’em right where they be, an’ we’ve won.” “Lots of good that will do us when the game is counted out of the series,” sneered Hutchinson. “Even if they count it out,” returned the grocer, “folks round this town’re goin’ to have a heap o’ Bancroft’s money t’ spend.” Reddy Crandall did not score. He had done his part well, and he uttered no complaint when Anastace failed to hit.