r savage wordy attacks on the Rube.
It was a kind of sullen respect, wrung from the bosom of great foes.

Then the ninth inning was at hand. As the sides changed I remembered
to look at the feminine group in our box. Milly was in a most
beautiful glow of happiness and excitement. Nan sat rigid, leaning
over the rail, her face white and drawn, and she kept saying in a low
voice: "Will it never end? Will it never end?" Mrs. Nelson stared
wearily.

It was the Quakers' last stand. They faced it as a team that had won
many a game in the ninth with two men out. Dugan could do nothing with
the Rube's unhittable drop, for a drop curve was his weakness, and he
struck out. Hucker hit to Hoffer, who fumbled, making the first error
of the game. Poole dumped the ball, as evidently the Rube desired, for
he handed up a straight one, but the bunt rolled teasingly and the
Rube, being big and tall, failed to field it in time.

Suddenly the whole field grew quiet. For the first time Cogswell's
coaching was clearly heard.

"One out! Take a lead! Take a lead! Go through this time. Go
through!"

Could it be possible, I wondered, that after such a wonderful
exhibition of pitching the Rube would lose out in the ninth?

There were two Quakers on base, one out, and two of the best hitters in
the league on deck, with a chance of Lane getting up.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" moaned Nan.

I put my hand on hers. "Don't quit, Nan. You'll never forgive yourself
if you quit. Take it from me, Whit will pull out of this hole!"

What a hole that was for the Rube on the day of his break into fast
company! I measured it by his remarkable deliberation. He took a long
time to get ready to pitch to Berne, and when he let drive it was as if
he had been trifling all before in that game. I could think of no way
to figure it except that when the ball left him there was scarcely any
appreciable interval of time before it cracked in Sweeney's mitt. It
was the Rube's drop, which I believed unhittable. Berne let it go by,
shaking his head as McClung called it a strike. Another followed,
which Berne chopped at vainly. Then with the same upheaval of his
giant frame, the same flinging of long arms and lunging forward, the
Rube delivered a third drop. And Berne failed to hit it.

The voiceless bleachers stamped on the benches and the grand stand
likewise thundered.

Callopy showed his craft by stepping back and lining Rube's high pitch
to left. H