“That will do,” interrupted the wrathy captain. “I don’t care how much baseball you know, you’ll have to obey me if you play on this team, and you may as well understand that at once. You can see that you threw away a chance for a run by hitting into that double play.” Ned Osgood was not the sort of fellow to relish this style of talk even from the captain of his nine, and for a moment he was tempted to make a sarcastic rejoinder. Something prevented him from doing this, however, and he walked onward toward third, shrugging his shoulders. His manner was so irritating to Nelson that for the moment, even though Osgood had shown himself to be the best available man for the position he filled, Jack was tempted to bench him instantly. This temptation was put aside, but it was followed by an immediate decision to stand no more foolishness from Osgood. The alarm that had been awakened in the bosoms of the Wyndhamites by Grant’s safe drive was dissipated in joy over the defensive work of the home team, which had prevented the Texan from advancing further. Boys and girls of Wyndham High cheered in concert and waved their banners, while the crowd of older sympathizers made a great uproar. Like Nelson, Grant had been extremely annoyed by Osgood’s pigheaded action, and the Oakdale pitcher was somewhat disturbed as he resumed his position on the firing line. “Hard luck, Rod,” said Stone, the somewhat taciturn catcher, as he buckled on the body protector. “It wasn’t luck,” denied Grant; “it was mulish foolishness, nothing less.” Laughing and well satisfied, the Wyndham lads capered to their bench, where Leach, seeking for his bat, listened and nodded as Captain Baxter gave him a word of instruction. “Don’t try to kill that wild and woolly Texan’s speed, Lefty,” said Baxter. “He’s burning ’em over like bullets, and we’re swinging our heads off. Just try to meet ’em, that’s all.” Grant’s annoyance was made still further apparent when he opened with a weirdly wild heave over Stone’s head that would have counted against him as a wild pitch had there been a runner on the sacks. “Going up,” shouted some one from the Wyndham bleachers; and, in an effort to rattle the pitcher, the crowd redoubled the racket it was making. Seeing that the pitcher was unsteady, Stone began to fuss over his mask strap, which had suddenly become unsatisfactory and needed adjustment. The entire Oakdale team felt the tension of the moment, and Stone’s subterfuge met their approval. On the other hand, it led their opponents to protest against the delay and urge the umpire to make them play. Apparently getting the mask strap fixed at last, Ben resumed his position behind the pan and squatted to signal between his knees. Rod shook his head, and the catcher changed the signal. Then Grant nodded and pitched.