But Walter’s arm had lost what little cunning it had possessed. Now and then he managed to get a ball over the plate, and when he did a rude Lynton batsman would rap it. Even the very tail-enders were hitting him now and in a trice the tying run came in and the bases were still full, with but two out. Walter faced the next batter desperately, got Buster’s signal, and let drive. It was a wild effort and only by dropping flat on the ground was Buster able to stop the ball and keep the man on third from racing home. When he got to his feet again he turned to the umpire and asked for time. Then, amidst the jeering shouts of the audience, he walked down to the box. “Look here, Walt,” he said quietly, “you’re all in. If we can keep the score tied up, we may win in the next inning. Isn’t there any other fellow who can pitch a little!” Walter looked hopelessly about the field and shook his head. “I don’t believe so. Most any of them could do better than I’m doing now, though, I guess.” He called to Smith and that youth joined them. “Smithie, can you pitch at all?” asked Walter. Smith shook his head. “I suppose I could shy the ball somewhere near the plate, but I guess that’s about all. Say, Pollock can pitch a little. I’ve seen him working with Sid Morris. He isn’t much, I guess, but he has something on it. Why don’t you give him a chance, Walt? He’d do a heap better than I could, anyway.” “Tom Pollock!” Walter shouted and waved to where Tom was sitting on his heels over in left. “Come in here!” Then, turning to Buster: “You go back to first and I’ll catch again. I can do that,” he added disgustedly, “if I can’t pitch. Say, Pollock,” he went on as Tom trotted up, “can you pitch any?” Tom hesitated, a trifle startled. “Why, I don’t know,” he answered doubtfully. “I suppose I can, a little.” “Well, for goodness’ sake, go in and get us through the inning if you can. These fellows are weak batters. If you’ve got anything at all, you can fool them. Know any signals?” Tom shook his head. Walter turned his back to the enemy and walked Tom aside. “What can you pitch?” he asked. “Nothing but an out-curve and a straight ball,” answered Tom apologetically. “That’s good enough. Now, here,” Walter laid a finger of his right hand over his glove. “One finger; see? A straight, low ball. Two fingers, a straight high one. Four fingers, a wide ball. Five fingers, an out-shoot. Get that? You watch my fingers before you pitch; see? And if you can’t make ’em out shake your head. Now, then, what are the signals?” Tom repeated them and Walter gave him an encouraging slap on the back. “You’ll do, Pollock. Don’t be afraid of them. Watch the signals and try to give me what I ask for.” And Walter walked back to the plate, tossed the ball to Tom, and donned his mask again.