“It’s got to be good, now, Gordie!” yelled Jack. “Lean on it! Lean on it! Make it a homer, Cap!” Mason wound, unwound, sped the ball toward the plate, bat and ball met and a sudden swelling pæan of joy went up as the spectators leaped to their feet and craned their necks. But Gordon, speeding down the first-base line, and the other runners, spurning the dust between bags, slowed up and turned disappointedly back. The hit had gone foul by several yards. A brand-new ball was thrown to the pitcher, and Gordon picked up his bat again, waited until the runners had regained their bases, and then once more faced Mason. That new white ball looked good to him! What he feared most now was that Mason would pitch a bad one and that he would have to take his base on balls. To be sure, that would force in another run, but Gordon wanted more than that. Something told him that if Mason put one over he could hit it! Perhaps it would have been well if Mason had sacrificed a run and passed the Clearfield captain, but Mason couldn’t be expected to know what was to happen. He wanted to strike the batsman out and end a deplorable inning, and Billy Houghton wanted the same thing. And so Billy spread his hands wide and Mason was just a bit more careful than usual and the ball sped forward fast and straight. And Gordon felt his heart jump as he saw what was coming. Every muscle tightened, his bat swung sharply, there was a _crack_ that was easily heard outside the field where an eager army of small boys had their eyes glued to all available cracks and knot-holes, and Gordon was racing for first! Over Leary’s upstretched glove traveled the ball into the outfield. Jim House made a desperate effort to get it on the bound, missed it, whirled and scuttled back toward the fence. It was Pink Northrop, right fielder, who finally recovered it and threw it frantically in to second baseman. But by that time three joyous youths had crossed the plate and Gordon was sliding, in a cloud of dust, to third. And he might have kept his feet, at that, for poor Caspar, seeing the game slipping away, muffed the throw. Gordon had come through with a clean three-bagger! The score stood five to one! The “lucky seventh” had proved itself! [Illustration: “The Lucky Seventh had proved itself”]