But the inshoot which Dave half expected did not come. Instead Tony Tippen slipped over a tantalizing slow ball, and Dave's vicious lunge came a fraction of a second too late. "Three strikes and out!" bawled the umpire, amid shouts of approval from the Star crowd. The rest of the inning passed quickly, not a player reaching first. The members of the school team looked glum but resolute as they sallied out into the field. They had not started off with the dash and brilliancy many expected. "But never mind," said First Baseman Tom Clifton, fiercely. "We've eight more innings coming to us." "Batter up!" commanded the umpire. John Hackett, looking very important indeed, strode to the plate. "Jack Frost" rubbed a little dust on the ball. He raised his arm in the air, brought it down again, and a snappy drop was speeding toward the batter. John Hackett made a mighty swing--and missed. "Rah, rah, rah for 'Jack Frost'!" came from the field. Jack was a little nervous. He had not yet gained his usual control of the ball. The next two went wide of the plate. Hackett, however, landed on the fourth. But the pitcher scooped up the bounder which resulted and retired the batter at first. Kirk Talbot was the next to face the pitcher. At the very first ball delivered he sent a hot line drive whipping straight toward Charlie Blake. Charlie, though still struggling against a feeling of nervousness, easily made the catch. Jeff Wilber, right fielder of the Stars, reached first on balls; but Nat Wingate's effort to advance him was nipped by Dave Brandon's clever catch of a high fly in left field. "Ha, ha!" chuckled Tom Clifton. "It will take more'n Tony Tippen's pitching to win this game. You can bet we'll get on to his curves before long. Who's up--you, Blake? Don't let Nat rattle you. He's beginning his holler already." Charlie selected his favorite bat. He reflected that when Nat Wingate tried to rattle a fellow he generally made a pretty good job of it. He tried to deaden his ears to the sarcastic quips which the captain of the Stars was now hurling toward him. "It's easy, Tippen!" bawled Nat. "He couldn't hit a stuffed pillow. You've got him going." "I'll bet he'll be going to first the next minute," muttered Tom, hotly. "My, I hope we do soak it to this crowd." "Shoot 'em over--shoot 'em over!" howled John Hackett. And the imperturbable Tippen did shoot 'em over with a maddening skill and persistency which made the high school rooters fairly gasp. It seemed but a moment before the players found themselves trooping out upon the field again with a dull and deadly feeling that Tony Tippen was more than living up to his reputation. The crowd, ready to voice its approval or disapproval, yelled earnestly at every opportunity.