had landed
on his feet.

Umpire Davidson came bounding over.

"Do you want to call for a relief pitcher, Prescott?"

"No---Wayland pitched all through with one man!"

Back to the box marched Dick Prescott, but he took his time about
it. He had need of a clear head and steadier nerves and muscles,
for Wayland had a man again at third, and another dancing away
from second. There was plenty of chance yet to lose.

"Prescott ought to call you out," whispered Fred Ripley to Dave.

"And I'd get out there on the dead run, just as you would, Rip.
But you know how Dick feels. Wayland went through on one man,
and Dick's going to do it if he lives through the next few minutes!"

While that momentary dizziness lasted, something happened that
caused the young pitcher to flush with humiliation. Sandwiched
in between two strikes were called balls enough to send the new
batsman to first, and again the bases were full. One more "bad
break" of this kind and Wayland would receive the tie run as a
present. And then one more---it would be the High School pitcher
handing the only lost game of the season as a gift to the visitors!

Dick braced himself supremely for the next man at bat.

"Strike one!"

It wasn't the batter's fault. A very imp had sat on the spitball
that Prescott bowled in.

"Strike two!"

The batsman was sweating nervously, but he couldn't help it.
Dick Prescott had fairly forced himself into the form of the first
inning. But it couldn't last.

Gink! It was only a little crack at the ball, struck rather downward.
A grounding ball struck the grit and rolled out toward right
infield. There was no shortstop here. The instant that Prescott
took in the direction he was on the run. There was no time to
get there ahead of the rolling leather. It was Dick's left foot
that stopped it, but in the same fraction of a second he bent
and swooped it up---wheeled.

Wayland's man from third base looked three fourths of the way
in. Captain Purcell, half frantic, was doubled up at the home
plate.

Into that throw Dick put all the steam he had left in. The leather
gone from his hand, he waited. His heart seemed to stop.

To half the eyes that looked on, ball and runner seemed to reach
the home plate at the same instant. The umpire, crouching, squinting,
had the best view of all.

It was an age before Dick, with the mists before his eyes, heard
the faraway words for which thousands waited breathlessly: