The rooters of the visiting team did their best. But the fans who swore allegiance to Bob Somers drowned their efforts in a turbulent roar. The Stars didn't present the neat appearance of the Kingswood team, their uniforms, no two of which were alike, bearing unmistakable evidence of hard usage. The eyes of many were centered upon Tony Tippen, the crack pitcher of whom so much had been heard. Tony was a farmer's son, tall, gaunt, and angular of frame. His face, burnt to almost a coppery hue, indicated that much of his time was spent out in the open. Tony had the reputation of being a cool, imperturbable chap whom nature seemed to have forgotten to supply with nerves. "Have you fellows done practicing?" sang out Nat. "Good! Our boys'll wade right in." "We'll need only ten minutes," yelled John Hackett. "That's right. Let's get the ball rolling in earnest," said Tony Tippen, in a deep bass voice. Quiet settled over the crowd. The boys were too much interested in getting a line on the opponents of the "High" to make any noise. They presently had to confess that the visitors had a dash and vim about their practice which promised an exciting contest. CHAPTER VII FOUR TO NOTHING "Play ball!" These two words, uttered in a loud, authoritative tone, sent a sort of electric thrill through the impatient audience, which was only waiting for the first opportunity to expend its superfluous energy in a hair-raising yell. The Stars having won the toss, Tony Tippen went to his place on the mound, while Dave Brandon, smiling in his usual good-natured fashion, walked briskly to the plate. "He'll have to show the best in the shop to faze old Dave," chuckled Tom Clifton to Catcher Phil Brentall. "'Jack Frost' couldn't do it, could you, Jack? Ah! Tippen is going to let 'er fly. Watch him." The boys were already watching with wide, staring eyes. They saw the pitcher "winding up." Then almost instantly the ball seemed to smack into the catcher's mit. "Strike one!" called the umpire. "Suffering doughnuts!" gasped Tom. "Why didn't he swing on it?" "I've heard it is hard to lam the ball when Tippen is on deck," said "Jack Frost." "Cheer up, Tom. The game isn't lost yet." Once more the pitcher sent in the ball. "Strike two!" "Great Scott!" breathed Tom. "Gee! I hope Dave takes a chance on the next." Dave Brandon had no intention of being caught napping a third time. He had been stunned into momentary inaction by Tippen's terrific speed and the quickness with which he delivered the ball. Doggedly determined, he faced the pitcher, realizing that the eyes of hundreds were upon him, and that he was there for the good of the school. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Professors Hopkins and Ivins and Mr. Rupert Barry. Warily, he watched the cool, grinning face of Tippen.