We all bent ourselves eagerly to the work. I used all possible care and judgment in pitching, and confidently hoped to win the point, for the man at the bat was a weak striker. At the third ball pitched he struck wildly, and tipped the ball high in the air for a pop fly, straight over Fred Harrison’s head. Of course the two men on the bases risked the chance of the ball landing safe, and ran around toward home. It all depended on Fred Harrison, who moved backward, and stood waiting for the descent of the ball. From the manner in which he moved about and shifted his hands, I could see that he was more nervous than ever, and I trembled for the results. I will be fair enough to say that it was no easy fly to catch, especially for a baseman inclined to be nervous. Fred Harrison was all this. He was thinking no doubt of all that depended on his play, while the ball hung there in the air, so that, by the time it reached him, he had lost his head completely, and made a frantic grab at it which proved utterly futile. The ball went through his hands, and dropped to the ground, while the two runners scored, and the game stood 6 to 6. The next man was put out without trouble, and the inning closed. The crowd in the grand stand had suppressed their joy as well as possible out of respect to our feelings, but we could not have found fault with any demonstration, for their gain had come so unexpectedly that an outburst of cheers would have been natural. We were out of spirits, and played poorly at the bat during the first half of the ninth inning, the result being that we were retired without a run. It was only when the last of the three men was out that we realized our predicament, and prepared for a desperate tug. “Fellows,” said Ray quietly, but setting his lips firmly, “our reputation is at stake now. You know your duty, so don’t fail. We simply _must_ put those men out in one, two, three order. Then we can make up our lost ground.” The first man, however, got his base, and, on a passed ball of Dick Palmer’s, he reached second. The next two men we disposed of readily; one of them, however, made a sacrifice hit that sent the runner to third base. There were now two out. I pitched a slow outcurve to the next man, who caught it on the end of his bat, and sent it flying along the grounds to my right, but not close enough for me to reach it. George Ives dashed to one side, picked it up neatly, and tossed it to Fred Harrison. George was a strong thrower, and may perhaps have thrown a little to one side, but the ball was within easy reach of Harrison’s hands. The latter, however, in his nervousness, again misjudged the ball; it struck on the tips of his fingers and bounded away, while the runner on third base reached the home plate, and the game was lost to us by a score of 7 to 6.