offer leaped across and plunged down, getting his gloved
hand in front of the ball. The hit was safe, but Hoffer's valiant
effort saved a tie score.

Lane up! Three men on bases! Two out!

Not improbably there were many thousand spectators of that thrilling
moment who pitied the Rube for the fate which placed Lane at the bat
then. But I was not one of them. Nevertheless my throat was clogged,
my mouth dry, and my ears full of bells. I could have done something
terrible to Hurtle for his deliberation, yet I knew he was proving
himself what I had always tried to train him to be.

Then he swung, stepped out, and threw his body with the ball. This was
his rarely used pitch, his last resort, his fast rise ball that jumped
up a little at the plate. Lane struck under it. How significant on
the instant to see old Cogswell's hands go up! Again the Rube pitched,
and this time Lane watched the ball go by. Two strikes!

That whole audience leaped to its feet, whispering, yelling, screaming,
roaring, bawling.

The Rube received the ball from Sweeney and quick as lightning he sped
it plateward. The great Lane struck out! The game was over--Chicago,
1; Philadelphia, 0.

In that whirling moment when the crowd went mad and Milly was hugging
me, and Nan pounding holes in my hat, I had a queer sort of blankness,
a section of time when my sensations were deadlocked.

"Oh! Connie, look!" cried Nan. I saw Lane and Cogswell warmly shaking
hands with the Rube. Then the hungry clamoring fans tumbled upon the
field and swarmed about the players.

Whereupon Nan kissed me and Milly, and then kissed Mrs. Nelson. In
that radiant moment Nan was all sweetness.

"It is the Rube's break into fast company," she said.

THE KNOCKER

"Yes, Carroll, I got my notice. Maybe it's no surprise to you. And
there's one more thing I want to say. You're 'it' on this team.
You're the topnotch catcher in the Western League and one of the best
ball players in the game--but you're a knocker!"

Madge Ellston heard young Sheldon speak. She saw the flash in his gray
eyes and the heat of his bronzed face as he looked intently at the big
catcher.

"Fade away, sonny. Back to the bush-league for yours!" replied
Carroll, derisively. "You're not fast enough for Kansas City. You
look pretty good in a uniform and you're swift on your feet, but you
can't hit. You've got a glass arm and you run bases like an ostrich
trying to side. That n