flag-pole.

"It's our game!" howled Spears in my ear, for the noise from the stands
was deafening. "It's our pennant!"

The formidable batting strength of the Bisons had been met, not without
disaster, but without defeat. McKnight came up for Buffalo and the
Rube took his weary swing. The batter made a terrific lunge and hit
the ball with a solid crack It lined for center.

Suddenly electrified into action, I leaped up. That hit! It froze me
with horror. It was a home-run. I saw Stringer fly toward left
center. He ran like something wild. I saw the heavy Treadwell
lumbering round the bases. I saw Ashwell run out into center field.

"Ah-h!" The whole audience relieved its terror in that expulsion of
suspended breath. Stringer had leaped high to knock down the ball,
saving a sure home-run and the game. He recovered himself, dashed back
for the ball and shot it to Ash.

When Ash turned toward the plate, Treadwell was rounding third base. A
tie score appeared inevitable. I saw Ash's arm whip and the ball shoot
forward, leveled, glancing, beautiful in its flight. The crowd saw it,
and the silence broke to a yell that rose and rose as the ball sped in.
That yell swelled to a splitting shriek, and Treadwell slid in the
dust, and the ball shot into Gregg's hands all at the same instant.

Carter waved both arms upwards. It was the umpire's action when his
decision went against the base-runner. The audience rolled up one
great stentorian cry.

"Out!"

I collapsed and sank back upon the bench. My confused senses received
a dull roar of pounding feet and dinning voices as the herald of
victory. I felt myself thinking how pleased Milly would be. I had a
distinct picture in my mind of a white cottage on a hill, no longer a
dream, but a reality, made possible for me by the Rube's winning of the
pennant.

THE RUBE'S HONEYMOON

"He's got a new manager. Watch him pitch now!" That was what Nan
Brown said to me about Rube Hurtle, my great pitcher, and I took it as
her way of announcing her engagement.

My baseball career held some proud moments, but this one, wherein I
realized the success of my matchmaking plans, was certainly the
proudest one. So, entirely outside of the honest pleasure I got out of
the Rube's happiness, there was reason for me to congratulate myself.
He was a transformed man, so absolutely renewed, so wild with joy, that
on the strength of it, I decided the pennant for Worcester was