The next batsman, who was Petersburg’s left fielder, showed none of the nervous impatience of the previous player. He stood square to the plate, crowded a little, and looked at Tom steadily as he poised his bat. Sam Craig, as he squatted to give his signal, glanced down the base-line toward where the runner on third was pawing the earth a few feet from the bag, ready on the instant to race for the plate. Tom’s glance followed Sam’s for an instant as he wrapped his fingers about the ball. That runner on third was disquieting. Even, though, Tom comforted himself, if he did steal home the score would still be 3 to 2. It would be best to give all his attention to the batsman and not allow that dancing, shouting figure over there to take his mind from the real task, which was to strike out the man at the plate. A ball was called and then a strike, Tom risking a “knuckler” with good results. Then there was a brief instant of panic when the next delivery went wild and bounded into the earth at the right of the plate. But Sam dropped in front of it and saved a run then and there. There was a warning note in his voice as he sped the ball back. “Take your time, Tom! Now, right over with it!” Tom frowned as the ball slapped back into his glove. He had allowed that fellow on third to take his mind from the ball at the moment of delivery. He must stop that or something would happen. Very resolutely then he strove to close his ears to the “Hi! hi! hi!” of the coacher’s voice and his eyes to the figure that leaped back and forth along the base-line there. And he succeeded, for his next ball broke sharply out and down and the bat passed over it with a vicious swish and the umpire announced “Strike two!” It was two and two now. Sam did not intend that Tom should waste any, for he signalled for a low one outside. And Tom pulled at his visor, hitched up his trousers, glanced idly about the bases, and fingered the ball. Then back went his arms behind his head, up came his foot, and---- “_There he goes!_” shrieked a dozen voices. A babel of warning shouts burst on the air. Half-way between third and home the runner, head down and legs twinkling, was eating up the space. At the plate Sam Craig with outstretched hands begged for the ball!