It was not until the ending of the fourth inning, however, that the Kingswood rooters had a chance to strain their lungs to the breaking point. Tony Tippen, one of the hardest hitters on the Stars, had reached first in safety. At the instant "Jack Frost" got into action he was off on a wild break for second. A yell rose on the air as Big Bill Steever smashed the oncoming sphere, sending it directly toward Third Baseman Fred Benson. Benson's practiced eye told him it would be impossible to catch the runner at second--Tippen's long legs were taking him over the ground at too great a speed. His gloved hand pulled in the bounding ball. Instantly he whipped it over to Tom, at first, then sprang back to his place on the sack. "Send it here, Tom; send it here!" he yelled. Charlie Blake, shortstop, was keenly alive to the possibilities of the situation. Day after day, Coach Steele had drilled into his men the importance of backing up players. "Even if it proves unnecessary nine times out of ten, on the next occasion it may prevent the scorer from chalking down a run," he said. "When Tom gets excited he's apt to throw wild," reflected Blake. Before Tony Tippen had touched second and was tearing on toward third Blake was off to back up the baseman. A hundred throats poured forth volleys of encouragement to Tippen; and above the shrieks and yells the voices of Nat Wingate and John Hackett could be heard. "Go it, Tippen; go it!" howled the former. "Hi, hi, hi! Come all the way around!" screeched Hackett. Kirk Talbot was dancing up and down in an excess of joy. "Here's where we bring in the first run!" he yelled. "Ha, ha! I thought so!" The ball had beaten Bill Steever to first, while Benson had judged his throw so nicely that Tom Clifton was able to return it without moving an inch from his position. But the horse-hide had no sooner left Tom's hand than he realized, with a sinking feeling, that it would sail over the third baseman's head. The purple and white pennants were not waving now. The Kingswood boys looked on in gloomy silence. The shouts of their opponents soared higher as Benson leaped off the ground in a vain effort to stop the speeding ball. He saw Tony Tippen slipping past and making a break for home. "Gee whiz!" he groaned. The swelling din from the field struck harshly on his ears. But with a frantic dash, Shortstop Blake got into the path of the ball, leaped for it and caught it and, although partly off his balance, sent it whirling toward home plate. Phil Brentall watched the runner and the ball racing toward him. The hot volley of sarcasm and the wild blasts sent up through megaphones in the Wingate camp could not shake his nerves. "Slide for it, Tony; slide for it!" roared Nat. "Slide for it!" echoed Hackett, desperately. For an instant the tumult was stilled.