ore 1 to 0 and Wiley pitching at his best.
Williams had lost some of his nervousness. Either he had made up his
mind to betray Edwards, and strive to win, or he was pitching, as he
thought, for his life. His fast ball was cutting the plate, and even
when the Blues hit it they popped the ball into the air for easy outs.
The last half of the fifth started. Williams, glancing toward the
stand as he walked out to the slab, saw Edwards. Edwards made a quick
signal with his hand and turned his face away. Williams went to the
slab entirely unnerved. He was wild, and a base on balls gave the
Blues another opening. Instantly Swanson charged upon him and renewed
his threats, and Williams, after pitching two more balls wild, got one
over the plate, and Henderson sacrificed, putting Hickman on second.
Kirkpatrick drove a hard bounder at Norton, who fumbled, recovered,
threw wild and Malone scored.

McCarthy was feeling deadly weary. The racking ride in the automobile,
the injuries received at the hands of Edwards and his prize-fighter
employe, the loss of sleep and the anxiety, added to the strain of the
game, had sapped his youthful vitality. Williams, under the dire
threats of Clancy, Kennedy and Swanson, was pitching steadily. He was
inspired now by a new hope: That he might lose the game and not be
blamed for defeat and at the same time escape the vengeance of Edwards
by pretending he lost it purposely.

"We ought to get at him this time, boys," called Swanson, as the Bears
opened their eighth inning. "We've got to. Look out there--at the
score board--the Panthers are winning, 4 to 1, and it means the
pennant."

Suddenly Noisy Norton, the silent man, sprang to his feet and rushed to
the coaching lines.

"Wow! Little of the old pep, boys!" he yelled.

"Whoop! We've got it won now. Noisy is coaching. Come on, boys--get
at them!" yelled Swanson.

Out by first base, Norton, who had never been on the coaching lines in
the five years he had played with the Bears, was ranting and screaming
like a wild man. The spirit of the thing came over the Bears.
Kennedy, rushing to the bat, cracked the first ball that Wiley pitched
to center for a single. A moment later little McBeth, who had been
fretting his soul out on the bench for three months, leaped toward the
bat like a hound unleashed. He never had played in a major league game
before, and Wiley teased him into swinging at two slow twisters, then
attempted to w