Amesville was still in the lead with one run, the score being 4 to 3, when Buster Healey strode to the plate with a confident swagger and tapped his bat determinedly. But pride goeth before a fall, and it took just two deliveries to dispose of the head of the Blue’s batting-list. A nice fast ball swept past him, breast-high, and the umpire announced a strike. Buster smiled scornfully. Again the Lynton pitcher wound up and sped the sphere forward and this time Buster liked what was coming and swung for it. But the ball was a drop and Buster’s bat slid over the top of it and the ball trickled some three feet in front of the plate. Buster lit out for the bag, but the ball reached it while he was still only half-way along the path and he turned disgustedly toward the bench. The Lynton supporters in the stand, a noisy two or three hundred in all, howled their glee and the umpire called “Batter up, please!” That meant Walter White, and Walter, realising that in all probability his team would have no other chance to add to their total, took his place and faced the pitcher coolly and craftily. He meant to get to first somehow. Once there, he would trust to his speed or to Tom or Tommy Hughes to bring him home. The first delivery was wide of the plate, and Amesville, on the bench, shouted derisively. Walter swung his bat back and forth over the plate in an effort to disconcert the pitcher. Another ball went by. “That’s the stuff, Walt!” called Thorny. “Make him pitch, old man!” Then came an out-shoot that went for a strike and a foul that fell harmlessly in the stand and put the score two and two. A trace of anxiety crept into Walter’s face as he awaited the next offering. The pitcher was very deliberate, wrapping his fingers about the ball with more than ordinary care and giving the impression that he was about to offer one of his most eccentric curves. But what really came was a fast ball, high and straight over the centre of the plate. That was enough for Walter. Around came his bat, there was a sharp _crack_, and the ball streaked across the diamond, past shortstop, who made a gallant and desperate effort to reach it, and well into the outfield. Walter stood triumphantly on first and Amesville shouted joyfully. Tom knew that Walter would steal if he got half a chance and so he allowed the first ball to pass unconcernedly. It was high and wide, for the catcher expected the Blue’s captain to try for second. But Walter knew better than to try a steal on the first delivery. Then came a strike, a drop that settled down knee-high as it reached the plate. It was likely then, Tom reasoned, that the pitcher would pitch another ball, probably a wide one, in the hope of making him reach out for it. And Tom’s guess was the right one, for that is just what he did. And the score was one and two. On first base, Walter leaped and shouted, and from the bench came encouraging cries. “He’s up in the air, Tom!” “Wait for your base! He can’t put ’em over!”