Tom wanted very much to reply, “Get me out of this!” but he didn’t. He still hoped that he could pull himself together again. If he could get through this inning with no further damage, he told himself, he could rest awhile and come back feeling better. But he was doomed to disappointment. The succeeding hitter settled Tom’s hopes then and there. Leaning against the first ball pitched, he cracked it far out into left field, cleared the bases, and put himself on third! Petersburg went delirious. Tom, dazed, watched Sam Craig, ball in hand, hurry toward him and heard Frank Warner’s shrill and angry voice behind him. What Sam said he didn’t know. Warner was facing him scowlingly. “That’ll do for you, Pollock,” he said disgustedly. “You to the bench.” Tom turned with hanging head and walked across the diamond. It seemed a long way to where the three or four substitutes were sitting and he was horribly conscious of the gaze of hundreds of eyes. When Toby Williams, hurrying by him, said, “Hard luck, Tom!” he made no answer. A half-hearted ripple of applause was given him as he went off, a ripple which quickly broadened to a wave as Toby Williams took the ball from Sam Craig. Coach Talbot held out Tom’s coat to him. “Not your day, Pollock,” he said kindly. “Too bad.” Tom smiled with an effort as he sank into his seat. Johnson offered him a dipperful of water, and Tom accepted it and pretended to drink. But, although his mouth was parched, he was not thirsty. At the end of the bench Pete Farrar observed him with ill-concealed satisfaction. Steve Arbuckle, the manager, brought his score-book from farther along the bench and seated himself beside Tom. “That was a tough inning, Tom,” he said cheerfully. “Don’t you mind, though. We’ll get them yet, old man. You don’t look very fit to-day. Heat troubling you?” “No, I don’t think so,” murmured Tom. “I don’t know what. I--I feel sort of done up. What’s the score, Steve?” “Seven to six,” was the answer. But it was no sooner made than Steve was forced to change it. An infield hit had been fielded to the plate by Frank Warner to head off the man on third and the ball had rolled out of Sam Craig’s hands. The tying run was in and the runner was safe on first. It was what Steve growlingly called a “bone-head play,” for had Frank thrown to first he could easily have caught the batsman. That miscue worried Toby so that he passed the next man and allowed a hit to the succeeding one and the bases were filled once more. But a foul to Buster ended the inning a minute or two later with the score 7 to 7.