as now among the most concerned.

The band was there, but silent. The leader knew that, in this
state of affairs the spectators wanted to make the noise themselves.

"Oh, you Dick!"

"Strike 'em out as fast as they come up."

"Save Gridley!"

"Aw, let somebody have a game," roared a voice from the Wayland
seats, "and we need this one!"

"Prescott, remember the record!"

"No defeats this year!"

"Don't give us one, now!"

Dick & Co. were in full force on the nine today. True, Dave Darrin
sat only on the sub bench to-day, but he was ready to give relief
at any moment if Gridley's beloved pitcher, Prescott, went under.

Holmes was out in left field; Hazelton was the nimble shortstop;
Dalzell pranced at the first bag on the diamond; Tom Reade was
eternally vigilant on second base.

Gridley's High School girls, devoted feminine fans as any in the
world, were breathing soft and fast now. If only Dick, backed
at need by the outfield, could keep Wayland from scoring further,
then all was well. If Wayland should score even once in this
inning, it would make a tie and call for a tenth inning. If Wayland
scored twice---but that was too nerve-racking to contemplate.

Then a hush fell. The umpire had called for play.

Dick let drive with his most tantalizing spitball. The leather
fell down gracefully under the Wayland's batsman's guess, and
Purcell mitted the ball.

"Strike one!"

A hopeful cheer went up from Gridley seats, to be met with one
word from Wayland fans:

"Wait!"

Dick served the second ball. Swat! There it went, arching up
in the air, a fair hit. As fast as he could leg it went Holmes
after it, and with good judgment. But the ball got there before
Greg did. In a twinkling, the young left fielder had the ball
up and in motion. Tom Reade caught it deftly at second, and wheeled
toward first. But the runner saw his error in leaving first,
and slid back in season.

Turning back, with his lips close together, Dick tried a new batsman.
Two strikes, and then the visitor sent out a little pop-over
that touched ground and rolled ere Harry Hazelton could race in
and get it, driving it on to first base.

"Safe at first," called the umpire, and the other Waylander had
reached second.

"O-o-o-h!"

"Don't let 'em have it, Dick---_don't_!"

The wail that reached his ears was pathetic, but Prescott paid
no heed. He was always all but deaf to remarks from the spectators.
He knew what he was