trying to do, and he was coming as close
as a hard-worked pitcher could get to that idea at the fag-end
of the game.

The fatigue germ was hard at work in the young pitcher's wrist,
but Dick nerved himself for better efforts. Despite him, however,
a third batsman got away from him, and from Greg, and now the
bases were full.

"_O-o-oh, Dick_!"

It was a wail, full of despair. Though he paid no direct heed
to it the sorely pressed young pitcher put up his left hand to
wipe the old sweat out of his eyes. His heart was pounding with
the strain of it. Dick Prescott, born soldier, would have died
for victory, _just_ then. At least, that was what he felt.

The Wayland man who now stood over the plate looked like a grinning
monkey as he took the pitcher's measure.

"Go to it, Dickson---kill the ball!" roared the visiting fans.
"Just a little two-bagger---that's all!"

Dick felt something fluttering inside. In himself he felt the
whole Gridley honor and fame revolving during that moment. Then
he resolutely choked down the feeling. The umpire was signaling
impatiently for him to deliver.

Dick essayed a jump ball. With a broadening grin Dickson of Wayland
reached for it vigorously. He struck it, but feebly. Another
of those short-winded, high-arched pops went up in air.

There was no hope or chance for Hazelton to get to the spot in
time---and Wayland's man away from third was steaming in while
Purcell made the home plate at a bound.

Dick raced---raced for all he was worth, though his heart felt
as if steam had shut down.

Across the grass raced Prescott, as though he believed he could
make history in fifths of seconds.

In his speed he went too far. The ball was due to come down behind
him.

There was no time to think. Running at full speed as he was,
Pitcher Dick rose in the air. It looked like an incredible leap---but
he made it. His hands pulled the slow-moving popball down out
of the air.

Barely did Dick's feet touch the ground when he simply reached
over and dropped the ball at Purcell.

The captain of the Gridley nine dropped to one knee, hands low,
but he took the leather in---took it just the bare part of a second
before the Waylander from third got there.

For an instant the dazed crowd held its breath just long enough
to hear the umpire announce.

"Striker out! Out at home plate. Two out!"

Then the tumult broke loose.

For an instant or two Dick stood dizzy just where he