The inning ended two minutes later when Way was an easy out, shortstop to first, and Rutter’s Point again took up the bat. But four runs was a desperate handicap to overcome, and Tom Haley, encouraged by success, pitched the best ball of his career. To be sure, Rutter’s Point did score once more, in the first of the ninth, Caspar Billings slamming out a two-bagger much too hot for Pete Robey to handle and sending Jensen across the plate. And after that Townsend got to first on an error by Will Scott, and the Point, with Gil Chase at bat, tried heroically to pull the game out of the fire by a ninth-inning rally. But Tom was not to be trifled with, and Chase finally went out on a long fly to center, which Fudge, making the most of his second chance of the game, pulled down without a tremor! And then the band crashed forth into a triumphant march, the stands emptied, the field was flooded with laughing, satisfied spectators, cheers were given and answered, and, surrounded by a dense throng of enthusiastic admirers, Gordon and Dick and the others tried to hear Mr. Potter’s speech as he presented to them the silver cup and the silken pennant. That speech appeared in full in Monday’s _Reporter_, together with three columns of descriptive matter and a detailed story of the game; but no one heard it now. Five minutes later, Dick, the trophy held on his knees, sat in the blue runabout, and, with the triumphant Clearfield nine following behind, was paraded thrice around the field, Morris acting as charioteer. And the crowd, loitering behind to miss none of the fun, scuttled aside and cheered and waved purple flags. Last of all, with a score-book somewhat the worse for wear clutched tightly under his arm, strode Harold, adding his shrill cheers to the general tumult. CHAPTER XXV “THE LUCKY SEVENTH” On a crisp and sunny Saturday morning, a fortnight after the game, a blue runabout automobile came quietly and circumspectly along Troutman Street, under the yellowing maples, and, with two gruff toots of its horn, slowed down and came to a stop in front of the Merricks’ gate. As the driver of the car slid the gears into neutral and kicked off the switch at the battery, a look of relief succeeded the somewhat strained and anxious expression he had worn. I think he even sighed his satisfaction as he relaxed his grasp of the steering wheel and looked toward the doorway. Along the running-board on the driver’s side of the car lay a pair of crutches, held in place by an ingenious contrivance of heavy wire.