“Batter out,” cried the umpire, and the three omnibuses again became noisy. Two more men were easily disposed of, and we closed our opponents out without a run. Thus far the fun had been all our own, while the grand stand had kept silence. Immediately on leaving the field to take our innings, several of us ran over to the omnibuses to greet our friends. “Why were you so late?” I called to Clinton Edwards. “We drove all the way over――didn’t come by rail, for we knew we couldn’t hire omnibuses in this hole of a town. We didn’t start early enough, and I was afraid we were going to miss part of the game. It’s all right now, so go in and win. We are ‘wid yez.’” We failed, however, to make a run in our half of the first inning, three of our men, in succession, succumbing to the skilful pitching of Arnold. This gave the grand stand a chance, and they responded with a will. They had recovered from their first surprise by this time, and settled down to their original plan of shouting us into demoralization. It was a vain task, however, with those noisy omnibuses opposite. Clinton Edward’s party paid them back in their own coin every time, and the effect upon us was proportionately inspiring. No runs were made on either side in the second inning. In the third inning their first batter secured a hit, the first one of the game, and reached his base amid howls from the grand stand. He reached second through a bad throw of Dick Palmer’s. The next batter then struck a pop fly up in the air just over short-stop. George Ives stood waiting for it, when the runner from second base ran full tilt into him, upsetting him and reaching third base while the ball fell to the ground. We claimed a foul, but the runner declared that Ives was directly in his path, where he had no business to be, and the umpire decided against him. George may have been in the runner’s path, but it was plainly a trick, for no runner would have attempted to run from second under such circumstances except with the intention of knocking George down, as he could only in that way gain third base. Immediately a warm discussion took place in which the runner became so actively engaged that he thoughtlessly left his base, and stood several feet off. Percy Randall noticing this, and having picked up the ball unobserved by the others, called out, “Mr. Umpire, have you called time?” “No,” was the response. “Then how is that?” asked Percy, quickly touching the runner with the ball. “The runner is out!” said the umpire beckoning to him to come in. Chagrined and mortified, the runner walked sulkily in. The Park men were badly upset by this clever dodge, for they felt confident of securing a run, there being no men out, and a man on third. They did not regain their lost advantage, and we closed the inning with the score still blank.