"Since you have---er---missed your opportunity, you---er---can do nothing, now, but let it pass. Let them imagine, from day to day, that sentence is still suspended and hovering over them." Wily Dick Prescott had been to see Mr. Gadsby, just before the arrival of the principal. In his other capacity of reporter for "The Blade" the High School pitcher had said a few earnest words to his host. Mr. Gadsby, with his eye turned ever toward election day and the press, had been wholly willing to listen. CHAPTER XXIII THE AGONY OF THE LAST BIG GAME "Ya, ya, ya! Ye gotter do somethings!" This from Mr. Schimmelpodt. That gentleman was waving one of his short, fat arms wildly. It may as well be stated that from the smaller extremity of that arm, namely, his hand---a small crimson and gold banner attached to a stick cut circles in the air. "Go to it, Gridley!" "Get busy! You can't take a black eye at this end of the season." Gridley High School with a season's record of one tied game and a long tally of victories, seemed now in dire straits. Sides were changing for the last half of the ninth inning. Gridley had taken seven runs. Wayland High School, with six runs already to their credit, was now going to bat for the last inning unless the score should be tied. The perfect June day, just before commencement, had brought out a host. Wayland had sent nearly four hundred people. The total attendance was past four thousand paid admissions. Herr Schimmelpodt, who, since his first enthusiasm, had not missed a game, was now among the most concerned. The band was there, but silent. The leader knew that, in this state of affairs the spectators wanted to make the noise themselves. "Oh, you Dick!" "Strike 'em out as fast as they come up." "Save Gridley!" "Aw, let somebody have a game," roared a voice from the Wayland seats, "and we need this one!" "Prescott, remember the record!" "No defeats this year!" "Don't give us one, now!" Dick & Co. were in full force on the nine today. True, Dave Darrin sat only on the sub bench to-day, but he was ready to give relief at any moment if Gridley's beloved pitcher, Prescott, went under. Holmes was out in left field; Hazelton was the nimble shortstop; Dalzell pranced at the first bag on the diamond; Tom Reade was eternally vigilant on second base. Gridley's High School girls, devoted feminine fans as any in the world, were breathing soft and fast now. If only Dick, backed at need by the outfield, could keep Wayland from scoring further, then all was well. If Wayland should score even once in this inning, it would make a tie and call for a tenth inning. If Wayland scored twice---but that was too nerve-racking to contemplate. Then a hush fell. The umpire had called for play. Dick let drive with his most tantalizing spitball. The leather fell down gracefully under the Wayland's batsman's guess, and Purcell mitted the ball. "Strike one!"