He smiled in a tantalizing fashion at the Tuckerton pitcher, who was on the verge of a nervous breakdown because of the many epithets hurled at him, in an endeavor to “get his goat.” He had to watch Bill carefully, for that worthy was playing off as far as he dared, hoping to slip in with the needed winning run. The catcher, too, was fearful lest some ball get by him, and had told the pitcher to be on the alert to run in instantly in the event of a passed ball. “Ball one!” howled the umpire, as Hedden threw. “Oh wow! He’s going to walk you, Pete!” called Graydon. “You’ve got a pass!” shouted Bob Chapin. Pete smiled cheerfully. He thought the next ball looked good, and swung at it, but he had been fooled by a neat trick. “Strike one!” said the umpire, and a breathless silence followed. “Two more like that and we’ve got ’em!” called the catcher to Hedden. “You can do it.” The pitcher nodded. He threw the swiftest ball of which he was capable. It came almost before Pete was ready for it, but with the quickness of light he swung on it. Oh what a “Ping!” followed, and he knew that he had made good. Once more, amid the frenzied howls of the crowd, the ball sailed outward and upward. “Bill, Oh Bill! Where are you? Come in! Come in!” pleaded scores to him. But the pitcher did not need these entreaties. On he came running as he had never run before. The catcher, to disconcert him, stood as though to catch the ball. Bill dared not look around to make sure that it had not been caught and thrown home. Brower was right in his path. “Slide!” some one called to him, and for the second time that day Bill dropped and shot forward on the ground. His hand touched the plate, and he knew that he was safe, for he had not heard the thud of the ball in the catcher’s mitt. Then, he felt some heavy body fall on him, and for the moment the breath was knocked from him, and he lost consciousness. He had knocked the catcher’s feet from under him, and toppled that player in the dust. Cap ran to pick up his brother. “Hurt?” he cried anxiously. “Oh Bill, you did it! We win.” “No—n-not much hurt!” gasped Bill. “Just—just a little—little short—of wind—that’s all.” They gave him water and he felt better, and then he looked out over the diamond. Pete had reached third, and was still running. Around the last bag he swung, but the right fielder far on amid the daisies had the ball now. “Go back! Go back!” howled Graydon, for, though the game was won he wanted to pile up another run against Tuckerton if he could. But Pete did not heed. The ball had been thrown, but the fielder had to run so far back for it, that he could not get it far enough in. There was just a chance for Pete to make a home run, and he took that chance. The horsehide fell short of the second baseman, who ran to get it. By this time Pete was half way home, and running well. “Come on! Come on!” pleaded hundreds to him, and Pete came.