Leach placed himself in position, nodded in response to his catcher’s signal, hunched his left shoulder a bit, and, whirling like a flash, threw to third. Stone had started forward with that shoulder movement by the pitcher, and was caught off the sack. Instantly, even as he sought to get back without being touched, he called for judgment on a balk. The umpires had changed positions, and now the Wyndham man was behind the pitcher. In response to that demand for a decision on Leach’s movement he grimly shook his head. “It was a balk—a plain, cold balk,” cried Nelson, on his feet. “No balk,” denied the umpire, still shaking his head. “In that case,” said the other umpire slowly, “Stone is out at third.” Nelson ran into the diamond and confronted the Wyndham man. “It was as rank a balk as I ever saw,” he asserted hotly. “What kind of a deal are you trying to give us?” “I saw no balk, and I was looking at the pitcher,” returned the umpire. “Get back to your bench.” Nelson argued in vain, while the crowd made the air ring with hoots and cat-calls. Presently the umpire threatened to pull his watch and forfeit the game, whereupon the disgusted and angry Oakdale captain walked slowly back to the bench. “You shouldn’t let him get away with it,” said Osgood. “It was a balk all right.” “Why didn’t our man call Stone safe?” rasped Grant. “Ben was caught off the sack by five feet,” said Nelson. “Two wrongs don’t make a right. But it’s hard medicine to swallow.” Thus far Chipper Cooper had not made a hit; but now, as if he, too, was fired with resentment by the injustice of the decision, he landed on the second ball pitched to him and drove it out for a clean single. “G-g-good bub-bub-boy, Chipper!” shouted Springer. “It’s a wonder he didn’t call it a fuf-foul, though.” Sleuth Piper, solemn and savage, took his place at the plate, grabbing his bat and shaking it as if he meant to make a dent in the ball as surely as Leach got it within reach. Not once did he swing, however, and the left-handed twirler looked disgusted when he had presently handed up the fourth ball in succession and thus given one of the weak batters of the visiting nine a pass. “Get the next man, Lefty,” urged Baxter. “He’s fruit for you.” With the head of the list following Springer, the Oakdale boys hoped for the best; but Phil put up a dead easy infield fly that was smothered, and the visitors had lost another splendid opportunity. Never in his life had Grant pitched better than he did in the last of the eighth. Only three batters faced him, and two of these fanned, the third putting up a foul which Stone took care of with ease. “Steady, fellows,” cautioned Baxter, as his men started for the field. “We’ve only got to hold them. Old Grant can’t keep that steam up. We’ll get to him.” Leach started the ninth as if he meant to duplicate the last turn of the Texan, fanning Captain Nelson with apparent ease.