For some teams this is held to be a lucky one, but it was not for Randall. Tom was doing his best, but in delivering one ball he gave his arm a peculiar wrench, and a sharp twinge of pain in the region where Langridge had kicked him made him wince. After that he could not control his curves so well, and three men made safeties off him, a trio of runs being registered. The score was 4 to 2 in favor of Fairview at the close of the seventh. Kindlings looked grave and Coach Lighton paced nervously to and fro. "What's the matter, old man?" the captain asked Tom. "Nothing much," was the answer. "I gave my arm a little twist, that's all." "Come inside and we'll massage it," proposed Mr. Lighton, who was always ready for emergencies, and he and Kindlings rubbed some liniment on Tom's joint. It felt a little better, and Tom said so, though when he went into the box, following an inning when Bricktop Molloy brought in one run, the pitcher was in considerable misery. He shut his teeth grimly, however, and resolved to do his best, though to deliver his most effective curves meant to give himself much pain. Tom only allowed two hits and one run came in, making the score at the ending of the eighth inning 5 to 3 in favor of Fairview. How the co-eds shouted and cheered then and there was corresponding gloom among the Randallites until once more that grand old song, "_Aut vincere aut mori_," welled forth and gave confidence to an almost despairing nine. "It's about our last chance, fellows," said Kindlings grimly as he walked to the bat. He waited for a good ball, though two strikes were called on him, and then, with a mighty sweep of his strong arms, he sent the sphere away out into the field. "A good hit! Oh, a pretty hit!" yelled Phil Clinton. "Run, old man! Run!" And how Kindlings could run! On and on he leaped, around first base, speeding toward second, while the stands were in a frenzy of excitement. "Third! third!" cried the coach, for the left fielder was still after the ball. Kindlings was running strong, and he had now started home. Would he reach it? The fielder had the ball now. With a terrific heave he sent it to the third baseman, but Kindlings was half way home. Then ensued a curious scene. The baseman was afraid to throw the ball to the catcher, for Kindlings, who was tall and was running upright, was in the way. The baseman started to trail the captain down. There was a race. Kindlings looked back and decided to keep on to home. The catcher was leaping about excitedly. "Throw the ball! throw the ball!" he yelled. But the baseman thought he could outrun Kindlings. He almost succeeded and then, when he saw it was too late, he tossed the ball over the captain's head to the catcher. Kindlings dropped and, amid a cloud of dust, slid home. Like a flash the hand of the catcher holding the ball shot toward him. There was a moment of suspense. "Safe!" howled the umpire, and one more run went to the credit of Randall.