Loyal to the core, Lefty was thinking of the pitching staff of the Blue Stockings, weakened by deflections to the Federals, possibly by his own inability to return. For a little time, even Weegman was forgotten. Anyway, the southpaw had not yet come to regard it as a settled thing that Bailey Weegman would be permitted to undermine and destroy the great organization, if such was his culpable design; in some manner the scoundrel would be blocked and baffled. The sixth inning saw no break in the run of the game between the Grays and the Wind Jammers. Bemis, O'Reilley, and Schepps all hit Locke, but none hit safely, while Jones slaughtered three of the locals by the strike-out method. As Wiley had stated was the silent man's custom, he seemed to be seeking revenge on the world for giving him a raw deal. When Oleson began the seventh with a weak grounder and "got a life" through an error, Lefty actually felt a throb of satisfaction, for it seemed that the test might be forced upon him at last. But the Swede attempted to steal on the first pitch to Rickey, and Sommers threw him out. Rickey then lifted a high fly just back of first base, and Colby put him out of his misery. Plum batted an easy one to second. "There's only one thing for me to do," thought Locke. "I've got to work the strike-out stuff in the next two innings, just as if men were on bases, and see if I've got it. The game will be over if I wait any longer for a real pinch." When Jones had polished off Gates and Sommers, Locke stepped out to face the mute the second time. Having watched the man and analyzed his performance, the southpaw felt that he should be able to obtain a hit. "If I can't lay the club against that ball," he told himself, "then that fellow's putting something on it beside speed and curves; he's using brains also." Cap'n Wiley jumped up from the bench and did a sailor's hornpipe. "This is the life!" he cried. "The real thing against the real thing! Take soundings, Lefty; you're running on shoals. You'll be high and dry in a minute." Straight and silent, Jones stood and looked at the Big League player, both hands holding the ball hidden before him. Wiley ceased his dancing and shouting and a hush settled on the crowd. To Locke it seemed that the eyes of the voiceless pitcher were plumbing the depths of his mind and searching out his hidden thoughts; there came to Lefty a ridiculous fancy that by some telepathic method the man on the slab could fathom his purposes and so make ready to defeat them. An uncanny feeling crept upon him, and he was annoyed. Jones pitched, and the batsman missed a marvelous drop, which he had not been expecting. "Perhaps I'll have to revise my theory about him not using brains," was the southpaw's mental admission. The next two pitches were both a trifle wide, and Lefty declined to bite at either. For the first time, as if he knew that here was a test, Jones appeared to be trying to "work" the batter. Locke fouled the following one.