uddenly fire flashed all over Daddy.

"Hyar! Don't hide that ball!" he yelled, in his piercing tenor.

He jumped up quickly, forgetting his crutch, and fell headlong. Lane
and Sam got him upright and handed the crutch to him. Daddy began to
hobble out to the pitcher's box.

"Don't you hide that ball. See! I've got my eye on this game. That
ball was in play, an' you can't use the other."

Umpire Gale looked sheepish, and his eyes did not meet Daddy's. Then
Bo came trotting up.

"What's wrong, boss?" he asked.

"Aw, nuthin'. You're tryin' to switch balls on me. That's all. You
can't pull off any stunts on Madden's Hill."

"Why, boss, thet ball's all right. What you hollerin' about?"

"Sure that ball's all right," replied Daddy. "It's a fine ball. An' we
want a chanst to hit it! See?"

Bo flared up and tried to bluster, but Daddy cut him short.

"Give us our innin'--let us git a whack at that ball, or I'll run you
off Madden's Hill."

Bo suddenly looked a little pale and sick.

"Course youse can git a whack at it," he said, in a weak attempt to be
natural and dignified.

Daddy tossed the ball to Harris, and as he hobbled off the field he
heard Bo calling out low and cautiously to his players. Then Daddy was
certain he had discovered a trick. He called his players around him.

"This game ain't over yet. It ain't any more'n begun. I'll tell you
what. Last innin' Bo's umpire switched balls on us. That ball was
lively. An' they tried to switch back on me. But nix! We're goin' to
git a chanst to hit that lively ball, An' they're goin' to git a dose
of their own medicine. Now, you dead ones--come back to life! Show me
some hittin' an' runnin'."

"Daddy, you mean they run in a trick on us?" demanded Lane, with
flashing eyes.

"Funny about Natchez's strong finishes!" replied Daddy, coolly, as he
eyed his angry players.

They let out a roar, and then ran for the bats.

The crowd, quick to sense what was in the air, thronged to the diamond
and manifested alarming signs of outbreak.

Sam Wickhart leaped to the plate and brandished his club.

"Sam, let him pitch a couple," called Daddy from the bench. "Mebbe
we'll git wise then."

Harris had pitched only twice when the fact became plain that he could
not throw this ball with the same speed as the other. The ball was
heavier; besides Harris was also growing tired. The next pitch Sam hit
far out over the center fielder's head for a home r