But Doncaster again held the lead and it was up to Harrisville to get a run across. The bleacherites did all they could to help, and June’s was a conspicuous voice amongst them. Even Sam seemed to sense a desperate crisis, for he roused himself from the lethargy produced by a feast of peanuts and barked wildly. Cross went out, third to first. “Cob” Morgan, the dark-visaged first baseman, reached the initial station safely by reason of a fumble on the part of shortstop. Jones started to the plate but was recalled and LaCroix took his place. LaCroix was a thick-set, hook-nosed Canuck. Opinion in Wayne’s vicinity differed as to the advisability of putting “Nap” in, but it was generally conceded that Steve Milburn generally pulled the trick and that events might vindicate his judgment in this case. And events surely did. Nap LaCroix leaned against the first offering and hit to short right and there were two on. The Harrisville “rooters” cheered and yelped and, considering their scarcity, made a brave uproar. Possibly it had its effect on Henderson, for he wabbled for the first time in the proceedings and walked O’Neill. The bleacherites arose to their feet and waved hats and coats and newspapers madly. Wayne did his share, June yipped, and Sam, squirming in Wayne’s arms, barked frantically. Another pinch-hitter was sent in, this time in place of Leary. “O you Joe Casey!” bellowed the audience. “Hit it out, Joe!” “Remember yesterday, Joe!” The young pitcher, who Wayne gathered had been ingloriously hammered the preceding afternoon, didn’t look like a likely candidate to pull the game out of the fire, for he presented a very awkward appearance at the plate. But he didn’t have much chance to show his prowess for Henderson pitched two balls before he got a strike over and then followed with two more, forcing in the tying run and exiling himself to the showers. The audience shouted joy and relief and settled down to their seats again. But they still sat on the edges, for the game was still to win. Linton tried hard to deliver but only hit across the infield to shortstop and LaCroix was an easy out at the plate. The new pitcher for Doncaster was slow and heady and he was cutting the corners very nicely, it seemed, for he wafted two strikes over on Cotton before the Badgers’ box artist knew what was happening, and Harrisville saw her hopes descending. Still, in the end Cotton almost came through. With the score two-and-two, he met a straight one and lifted it gloriously against the sky for what looked like a circuit hit. Harrisville arose as one man and shouted hoarsely and triumphantly, for that ball looked exactly as though it meant to ride right on over the left field fence. The fielder hiked back on twinkling feet, looked over his shoulder, raced on again, turned, stepped back until his shadow loomed large against the boards behind him, and put up his hands. And that deceitful ball just came right down into them as though pulled