old them," he declared, and with careful deliberation he put
over a ball which the next batter sent sailing right down inside the
right foul line, pulling the first baseman away back almost to right
field. Princeman stood gaping at that bingle in paralyzed dismay; but
the batsman, who was a slow runner and slow thinker, stood a fatal
second to see whether the ball was fair or foul. Almost at the crack
of the bat Sam Turner started, raced down to first, caught the right
fielder's throw and stepped on the stone, one handsome stride ahead of
the runner! Then, as Blackrock, speechless with admiration, waved the
runner out, the first mighty howl went up from Meadow Brook, and one
partisan of the Hollis Creek nine, turning her back for the moment
squarely upon her own colors, led the cheering. Sam heard her voice.
It was a solo, while all the rest of the cheering was a faint
accompaniment, and with such elation as comes only to the heroes in
victorious battle, he trotted back to his place and caught three balls
and three strikes on the next batter. Also, the next one went out on a
pop fly which Sam was able to catch.

In their half Princeman redeemed himself in part by a three bagger
which brought in two scores, and the second inning ended at ten to
three in favor of Hollis Creek.

Confident and smiling, reinforced by the memory of his three bagger,
Princeman took the mount for the beginning of the third, and with his
compliments he suavely and politely presented a base to the first man
up. A groan arose from all Meadow Brook. The second batsman shot a
stinger to Princeman, who dropped it, and that batsman immediately
thereafter roosted on first, crowing triumphantly; but the hot liner
allowed Princeman a graceful opportunity. He complained of a badly
hurt finger on his pitching hand. He called time while he held that
injured member, and expressed in violent gestures the intolerable agony
of it. Bravely, however, he insisted upon "sticking it out," and
passed two wild ones up to the next willow wielder; then, having proved
his gameness, he nobly sacrificed himself for the good of Meadow Brook,
called time and asked for a substitute pitcher. He would go anywhere.
He would take the field or he would retire. What he wanted was Meadow
Brook to win. This was precisely what Sam Turner also wanted, and he
lost no time in calling, with ill-concealed satisfaction, upon his
brother Jack. Then Jack Turner, nothing loath,