The high school crowd seemed to be in a state of unusual tension when the game began, and, as it progressed from inning to inning, they relieved their pent-up feelings by uproarious yells. Victor Collins' newly-purchased bugle ably assisted in producing noise. Tony Tippen, as before, was the stumbling-block in the path of success. No matter how desperately the batters tried to land on his varied assortment of curves the result was the same. At the end of the fifth inning the score stood three to nothing in favor of the Stars. "Great Scott, Bob, this is awful," murmured Tom Clifton, wiping his perspiring face, as they flocked out into the field. "The jinx certainly has us again. Honest, Bob, Tony sent in a slow ball that I thought, sure as shootin', I could knock a mile, and it didn't reach me until after I'd swung the stick." "A fraction of a second counts," said Bob. "Don't get worried, Tom." "Oh, I guess I'm no more worried than anybody else," grumbled Tom. "Just listen to Nat Wingate and Hackett bawling! The way those 'Pie-eaters' try to crow over our crowd certainly makes me weary." "Batter up!" called the umpire. "Enter Willie Singleton; exit 'Jack Frost,'" said Bob, his eyes on the new pitcher stepping into the box. "Hope to thunder he can keep down the hits." Singleton, a businesslike lad whom nothing seemed to rattle, put all his energy and skill into the task. Tony Tippen, however, found him for a two-base hit; Nat singled, and both made the circuit of the bases before the third out was recorded. "The same old--old story," remarked "Crackers," disgustedly. "A serial story," supplemented Benny Wilkins. "To be continued in our next, I s'pose?" "You're a nice pair!" exclaimed Dick Travers, secretary of the athletic association. "Haven't the boys put up a mighty good defensive fight?" "Of course!" broke in Harry Spearman. "If it hadn't been for good fielding and some mighty fast throws to bases the score would now be about ten to nothing." "It's only delayed; it's only delayed," said "Crackers." "You don't need a spy-glass to see how Mr. Barry is looking." "Gee! What's up to make you chaps look so sour?" Victor Collins had appeared upon the scene. "Everything, Checkered-Cap," answered Aleck Parks. "Tell your uncle to be at Guffin's to-night. We'd like to hear his opinion of the game." "Strikes me that you're kind of fresh," responded Victor, calmly. "But I've noticed that you're mighty quiet when the captain's around." "Here, Checkered-Cap, don't throw any saucy remarks in this direction," warned Aleck, bristling up. "I chuck 'em out whenever I please, and whoever gets in the way catches 'em." At the same moment Owen Lawrence was saying: "A mighty poor game, Roycroft. They're just as weak as ever on the stick work." "I think it's partly because Tippen's in a class by himself," said Earl. "All the same, I'll bet if you had a chance at bat you'd rip the stitches out of that ball."