Dick whispered a few words to Jack Tappen, and Jack sped to first and whispered a few words to Gordon. And Gordon turned his head inquiringly toward the bench, caught Dick’s emphatic nod, and renewed his shouting. “What did you tell him, Dick?” asked Harold, in a low voice. Dick smiled. “You wait and see, Harold,” he said. Will Scott was up now, with one ball to his credit. Mason had made three attempts to catch Bryan napping at first, and now he directed his attention to the batsman again. A waister went for a strike, a wide one followed and scored the second ball, and then Mason wound up once more and shot his arm out. And as he did so Fudge leaped away toward third, Bryan sped for second, and a cry of “There he goes!” went up from the visitors’ bench. Will Scott glued his eye to that ball, swung and missed it. Houghton made a desperate attempt to cut off the runner at third, but failed, and bedlam broke loose. Mr. Potter knocked the silver trophy off its base in his excitement, and only caught it at the edge of the “press-stand” table. Harold kicked his legs in air and tossed his score-book up. Mr. Anthony Brent nearly broke his walking-stick. Morris challenged everyone within hearing to deny that that was the prettiest double steal that had ever been pulled off. Louise clapped her hands until her palms ached and her white gloves threatened to rip. And some six hundred other folks did whatever it occurred to them to do, and did it just as noisily as they knew how! Dick Lovering, Manager of the Clearfield Baseball Club, only smiled quietly and made little marks in his score-book. A minute later Scott was perched on first base, Mason having been totally unable to locate the plate, and Gordon faced the pitcher. Bases full, two out, and the captain at bat! Well, it was a fine situation, no matter what might come of it. The Point infield crept toward the plate. Everyone talked loudly to the pitcher, as much, perhaps, to tranquilize his own nerves as to encourage Mason. Mason, it seemed, needed encouragement. He was palpably unstrung, and the first ball he pitched proved it, for it was as wild as a shooting-star, and if Billy Houghton had not leaped sidewise and sprawled on his elbow it would have been by him and let in a run. But Billy stopped it, and Fudge scuttled back to safety at third. Mason worked a slow ball over for a strike on the next attempt, and that seemed to settle him somewhat. Gordon let one go by and found he had judged it correctly. Then a foul back of first base made the standing two and two. The noise had diminished, and now an almost breathless silence enveloped the field. Only the voices of the coachers were to be heard. “Oh, come on, Fudge! Take a lead! That’s better! Hold it! On your toes, everyone! Look out for a passed ball now! Here’s where we score a few!” “Pick out a good one, Cap! Make him pitch to you! Here it is! Here it is!” But Gordon refused to offer at it, and, “Ball!” announced the umpire.