Hicks' comrades were too generous, or heartbroken, to condemn the sorrowful youth, as he trailed to the dug-out, but the Ballard rooters had absolutely no mercy, and they panned him in regulation style. In fact, all through the game, Hicks expressed himself as being butchered by the fans to make a Ballard holiday, for he struck out with unfailing regularity at bat, and dropped everything in the field, so that the rooters jeered him, whenever he stepped to the plate, and--it was quite different from the good-natured ridicule of his comrades, back at old Bannister. "Never mind, Hicks," said good Butch Brewster, brokenly, seeing how sorrow-stricken his sunny classmate was, "We'll beat 'em--yet! We bat this inning, and in the ninth maybe someone will knock a home-run for us, and tie the score." The eighth Inning was the lucky one for the Gold and Green. Monty Merriweather opened with a clean two-base hit to left, and advanced to third on Biff Pemberton's sacrifice to short. Butch, trying to knock a home-run, struck out-_à la_ "Cactus" Cravath in the World's Series; but the lanky Ichabod, endeavoring to bunt, dropped a Texas-Leaguer over second, and the score was tied, though the sky-scraper twirler was caught off base a moment later. And, though Ballard fought hard in the last of the eighth, Ichabod displayed big-league speed, and retired two hitters by the strike-out route, while the third popped out to first. "The _ninth_ Inning!" breathed Beef McNaughton, picking up his Louisville Slugger, as he strode to the plate. "Come on, boys--we will win the Championship _right now_. Get one run, and Ichabod will hold Ballard one more time!" Perhaps the pachydermic Beef's grim attitude unnerved the wonderful Bob Forsythe, for he passed that elephantine youth. However, he regained his splendid control, and struck out Cherub Challoner on three pitched balls. After this, it was a shame to behold the Ballard first-baseman drop the ball, when Don Carterson grounded to third, and would have been thrown out with ease--with two on base, and one out, Roddy Perkins made a sharp single, on which the two runners advanced a base. Now, with the sacks filled, and with only one out-- "It's all over!" mourned Captain Butch Brewster, rocking back and forth on the bench. "Hicks--is--at--bat!" T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., his bat wobbling, and his knees acting in a similar fashion, refusing to support even that fragile frame, staggered toward the plate, like a martyr. A tremendous howl of unearthly joy went up from the stands, for Hicks had struck out every time yet. "Three pitched balls, Bob!" was the cry. "Strike him out! It's all over but the shouting! He's scared to death, Forsythe--he can't hit a barn-door with a scatter-gun! One--two--three--out! Here's where Ballard wins the Championship."