The noisy plaudits of the assembly redoubled when the next player to face the Benson pitcher drove a liner above the head of the second-baseman and Dan ran home. There was, however, no concerted cheering, everyone acting upon his own impulse, while above the din steadily rose the stentorian cries of Silas. “I told ye our boys could play ball!” he roared. “We’ll beat ’em! We’ll send ’em home with their tail-feathers all pulled out! Hoein’ corn is th’ ticket for th’ Benson nine! Who-o-o-p! Ho-e-e-e!” Walter smiled as he watched the excited spectators, in his mind contrasting the motley crowd with the well-organized and united cheering and singing that rose from the “bleachers” of the Tait School when the school nine was battling on the diamond. The difference was so marked that, full of the thought of the lack of knowledge on the part of the assemblage, he smiled in an added air of condescension. Then he turned to one of the Rodman nine who was selecting a bat, preparatory to following the player whose turn to face the pitcher had been loudly proclaimed by the scorer. “Take a good hold of your bat,” suggested Walter. “Don’t take the end of the bat. Put your hands a little farther up and don’t try to ‘kill’ the ball. Just meet it with your bat. There’s force enough in the ball to send it as far as you want it to go if it just strikes the bat――that is, if you keep a good grip.” “Is that the reason why you made such a long hit?” inquired the player as he left Walter and stepped to the plate in place of the batter, who had popped a little fly directly into the hands of the pitcher. “That was a ‘bunt’ I made,” said Walter tartly. “Not much of a bunt at that,” laughed the player. Half angry and yet amused, Walter watched the batter as he swung back, and then as the ball sped toward him, lunged forward and struck with all his might. “Strike,” called the umpire promptly. “Of course it’s a strike,” said Walter as he seated himself beside Dan on the grass. “Look at the great awkward clouter,” he added as the batter again endeavored to strike with all his might. “What’s the fellow thinking of? Is he trying to drive it across the road yonder?” “If Josh hits it once that’s about where it will go,” replied Dan quietly. “Yes; but he can’t hit it!” retorted Walter triumphantly as the batter was called out on strikes after he had made another terrific attempt to hit the swiftly thrown ball. “That’s three out,” he added as he and his companion arose. “Dan, if you can keep up your good work those Benson fellows will be a sorry looking lot when they start for their native lair.” Dan, however, did not respond. Taking his position near the box, he began to throw the ball swiftly, first to one baseman and then to another. In a brief time the game was resumed and Dan’s labors were renewed. “Ball one,” called the umpire after the first ball was delivered.