“Yes, but he’s improved a whole lot. My! There’s a big crowd out!” added Cap, as he neared the grounds and saw the great throng on the stands, and scattered about the field. “Hear ’em yell,” remarked Bill. “Yes, Vandalia is out for blood to-day. Lucky we won the toss, and have the game on our grounds. It’s a good part of the battle.” The Smith boys were soon out on the diamond with their teammates, doing some hard practice. The crowds increased for not only was there an intense baseball fever in both towns, but, because of the natural rivalry between the places, a game between Freeport and Vandalia, always brought out a record-breaking attendance. “Play ball!” called the umpire, and the game was on. It was a hot contest from the very beginning, when Rube Mantell of the Vandalias knocked out a two-bagger with the first ball Bill delivered. “Oh wow! Pretty one! Pretty one!” yelled the crowd. “That’s a beaut! Take third! Take third!” shouted some enthusiastic one, but the ball was fielded in too quickly. There was a grim look on Cap’s face as he gave the signal to his brother in the box, and Bill nodded. He struck out the next man, who was a heavy hitter, gave the following player his base on balls, and struck out the third. The succeeding man knocked a hot liner which Pete, at short, stopped, almost at the risk of his life, and a goose egg went up in the first frame for Vandalia. “Oh, not so bad; eh?” asked Cap, as Bill came in to the bench. “No, but I nearly had heart disease when Rube whacked it that first time.” “Aw, that was an accident. He can’t do it again.” Then Freeport went to bat and succeeded in getting one run over the plate, much to the joy of her supporters. Vandalia duplicated this in her second chance, and the game ran along to the seventh inning without another run being chalked up. “Here’s where we do something,” announced Jake Jensen, of the opposing team, as he took his place, and swung his mushroom bat menacingly. But he only fanned the wind, as did his successor. Then Flub Madison knocked as pretty a three-bagger as was seen in many a game, and before Bateye could get the ball in, the runner was speeding away from the last bag. But, as he turned, Doc. Lutkin who was covering third, limped to one side with an expression of pain on his face. “Flub has spiked Doc!” yelled Pete, running over to his friend. The ball bounced in front of Doc, and Pete caught it, but Flub had seen it coming, and was back on the bag. “You spiked him on purpose!” cried Pete, drawing back his fist. “I did not!” asserted Flub angrily. “He got in my way! I couldn’t help it!” “I saw you do it on purpose—you want to kill off our men!” went on Pete menacingly, and there might have been a row, had not Cap run down from home, and quieted his brother. “I’m sorry,” said Flub contritely. “Are you much hurt, Doc?” “Oh, I—I guess I can play,” answered the plucky lad, “but I can’t run.”