Lew Morris, leaning on the door of the carriage, chatted with Alice, drawing on his vivid imagination for pictures of the nine as they were probably looking now, away up there in Galena. He could see, he thought, Hiram Porter devouring the ground as he made his bases with a giant's stride, his handsome face glowing with mingled heat and determination. He could even hear Larry's voice, in a stage whisper, crying, "Go it, Hiram!" And he could see Larry, at third base, when the Catalpas were in the field, making one of those superb running catches of his, Ben Burton looking on, "as if he would eat him up," added Lewis, jocularly. "Why should Ben want to eat Larry up?" asked Dr. Selby, innocently. "Does he love him so?" "On the contrary, quite the reverse," laughed Lewis. "Larry is showing himself to be the best player in the nine, and as Ben thought that _he_ was the best, and is finding out that he is not, he loves Larry accordingly. Besides that, he is jealous of Larry for other reasons," and the young man fixed a bold look on the blushing face of Miss Alice. She turned away to see if another bulletin were not ready, and the doctor shook his head deprecatingly at Lewis. There was much time for talk, however, before another despatch from the seat of war appeared. The impatient crowd, panting in the heat that was more and more oppressive as the sun approached the west, flung all sorts of appeals upwards to the windows of the office of _The Leaf_. There was no response, although Mr. Downey, as if to contradict Hank Jackson's loud jeer that the editor had gone to sleep, showed his shaggy head at the window and made a negative motion with the same. There was no news. Finally, just as some of the less patient were beginning to make their way homewards, like a banner of victory, the sheet of paper again appeared. This time, it was blazoned with these returns:-- _7th inning--Catalpas, 1; Galenas, 0; 8th inning--Catalpas, 0; Galenas, 1._ "An even thing for the two innings!" cried Lew Morris triumphantly. "The Galenas cannot possibly pull up in the last inning! The game is ours! The game is ours!" Lew's jubilant shout was taken up by the crowd, which now grew denser again, and the excitement mounted to fever heat as the sun sank behind the cotton-woods below the town. Satisfied that the game and the championship were virtually won, some of the elder citizens, after exchanging congratulations with everybody that had a word of joy on their lips, walked homewards. But some of them stopped on the road and turned a listening ear towards the main street to hear the rousing cheer that soon went up, telling the town and all the Stone River Valley that the game was won and that our nine had captured the pennant of Northern Illinois. A grimy and inky young imp, on the roof of _The Leaf_ building, hoisted a particularly inky and grimy flag as the editor hung out from his window this bulletin:--