wn things were allowed to run wide open; or at
least winked at by the authorities.

Jack had been too far away to make sure, but he had a suspicion that one
of the pair of betting men looked very much like the party with whom he
had seen Fred Badger in close conversation, and who had offered him a
paper to sign, after which something passed between them that might have
been money, though Jack had not been absolutely certain about that part
of it.

Deep down in his heart, Jack hoped most earnestly that the chance for
Fred to soil his hands with any crooked work might not arise. It would
be all right, for instance, if only Donohue could strike the great
O'Leary out for the third time. Then again perhaps even though the
batter managed to connect with the ball, he might be unable to send it
straight toward Fred. It was liable to go in any other direction, and if
a tally should result from the blow, at least it could not be placed to
a supposed error on the part of Badger.

Donohue delivered his first one wide of the plate. O'Leary laughed, and
nodded his head, as though to tell the pitcher he was too old a bird to
be caught with such chaff.

"Make him put it over, Dan!"

"Knock the stuffing out of the ball, O'Leary!"

"One of your old-time homers is what we need, remember!"

"You've got his number, Dan; don't bite at a wide one!"

"You'll walk, all right; he's afraid of you, old scout!"

All these and many other cries could be heard, but the players were
paying no attention to the crowd now. Every fielder was "on his toes,"
so to speak, anticipating that it might be up to him to save the day. In
the main, the crowd was so anxious over the outcome of the next ball
from the pitcher that they almost forgot to breathe, only watching the
pitcher wind up preparatory to making his throw.

Jack saw Fred give one of his quick looks toward the spot where pretty
Molly Skinner sat. He hoped it meant that he had resolved to be staunch
and true to his team-mates, and loyal to his native town, despite any
terrible temptation that may have come to him in the shape of a big
bribe.

O'Leary had a peculiar crouch at the plate. His odd attitude made Jack
think of a squatty spider about to launch itself at a blue-bottled fly
that had ventured too near his corner. No doubt it accounted in some
measure for his swatting ability, as he would necessarily put the whole
force of his body in his blow. Often when he missed connections he wo