ut all in, too. He's kept us in the
lead. If he wins today it'll be Rube's Pennant. But that might apply
to all of you. Now, shall we talk over the play today? Any tricks to
pull off? Any inside work?"

"Con, you're pretty much upset an' nervous," replied Spears, soberly.
"It ain't no wonder. This has been one corker of a season. I want to
suggest that you let me run the team today. I've talked over the play
with the fellers. We ain't goin' to lose this game, Con. Buffalo has
been comin' with a rush lately, an' they're confident. But we've been
holdin' in, restin' up as much as we dared an' still keep our lead.
Mebbee it'll surprise you to know we've bet every dollar we could get
hold of on this game. Why, Buffalo money is everywhere."

"All right, Spears, I'll turn the team over to you. We've got the
banner crowd of the year out there right now, a great crowd to play
before. I'm more fussed up over this game than any I remember. But I
have a sort of blind faith in my team.... I guess that's all I want
to say."

Spears led the silent players out of the dressing room and I followed;
and while they began to toss balls to and fro, to limber up cold, dead
arms, I sat on the bench.

The Bisons were prancing about the diamond, and their swaggering
assurance was not conducive to hope for the Worcesters. I wondered how
many of that vast, noisy audience, intent on the day's sport, even had
a thought of what pain and toil it meant to my players. The Buffalo
men were in good shape; they had been lucky; they were at the top of
their stride, and that made all the difference.

At any rate, there were a few faithful little women in the grand
stand--Milly and Nan and Rose Stringer and Kate Bogart--who sat with
compressed lips and hoped and prayed for that game to begin and end.

The gong called off the practice, and Spears, taking the field, yelled
gruff encouragement to his men. Umpire Carter brushed off the plate
and tossed a white ball to Rube and called: "Play!" The bleachers set
up an exultant, satisfied shout and sat down to wait.

Schultz toed the plate and watched the Rube pitch a couple. There
seemed to be no diminution of the great pitcher's speed and both balls
cut the plate. Schultz clipped the next one down the third-base Line.
Bogart trapped it close to the bag, and got it away underhand, beating
the speedy runner by a nose. It was a pretty play to start with, and
the spectators were not close