"He'll certainly win the game if conceit can do it," murmured Ned Lowe in disgust. It must be admitted that so far Tommy Flanders had done wonderfully well. But there were signs that he was overdoing it by pitching too hard. "I think he'll break before the game is over," said Dan. "Just my opinion," returned Walt Baxter. "No young pitcher can stand up under such a strain as that." The break they had looked for came in the eighth inning. By a supreme effort Longley managed, on a fumble by one of the new players for Colby Hall, to bring in another run, at which the cheering on their side was tremendous. "That's the stuff! Two to nothing! Wallop 'em good and plenty, Longley!" "We'll wallop 'em all right enough," exulted Tommy Flanders. "They are going to get the worst whitewashing they ever had--you mark my words." Alas for the conceited young pitcher! His overconfidence made him a trifle wild, and almost before he realized it the first Colby Hall batter had got a safe hit to first and the second man up went to first on balls, advancing the other to second. "Tighten up there, Tommy! Tighten up!" called out one of the Longley sympathizers. "I'll tighten up, all right enough," answered Flanders, with a scowl. The next player up got another single, the ball being fumbled by the fielder, and as a consequence the bases were filled. "Be careful, Tommy!" cautioned the Longley captain, as he came up to the pitcher. "Be careful! We don't want to spoil the score." "They won't get in. You just watch me and see," answered Flanders, and scowled more than ever. He did tighten up a little, and as a consequence the next batter up went out on strikes and the following player on a foul fly. "Hurrah! Two out! Hold 'em down! Don't let 'em score!" The next batter up was Fred. So far the youngest Rover had been unable to get further than first. "Oh, Fred, line it out! Please line it out!" cried May Powell, and then she blushed furiously as a number sitting near her began to laugh. "Don't you care, May," consoled Mary, and then she called out loudly: "Do your best, Fred! Do your best!" "Go in and win!" cried Martha. There had been a tremendous racket, but now, as Fred gripped his ashen stick and Tommy Flanders prepared to deliver the ball, a deathlike silence came over the field. Every one of the men on the bases was prepared to leg it at the slightest chance of being able to score. The first ball to come in was too high, and the second too low, so Fred let them go by. Then, however, came a straight ball just where he wanted it, and Fred swung at it with every ounce of muscle in his body. Crack! The report could be heard all over the grounds, and then the sphere could be seen sailing far off into left field. "Run, boys, run! Everybody run!" "Leg it for all you are worth!" "It's a three-bagger, sure!" "No, it isn't! It's a homer! Run, boys! Run! Run! Run!"