l was a deceptive drop, but Fred did not "bite." The second
was a low fast one, about knee high, just the kind he was accustomed to
"kill."

With a mighty swing he caught it fair "on the seam." It rose like a shot
and soared into centre field, far over the fielder's head.

Melvin and Ward came in, tying the score, and Fred, who had gone around
the bases like a deer, made it a home run by just beating the ball on a
headlong slide to the plate.

Rally Hall promptly went raving mad.

There was still one more chance for the Mount Vernon lads, and their
best hitters were coming on. But Fred was on his mettle now, and put
every ounce of his strength and cunning into his pitching. They simply
could not hit his slants. The first went out on strikes, Ward made a
dazzling catch of a hot liner, and, when Melvin, after a long run,
caught a high foul close to the left field bleachers, the game was over,
with the score three to two in favor of Rally Hall.

It was a hilarious crowd that met the team at Green Haven when the train
pulled in. The whole nine had played well, and all came in for their
share of the ovation, though the Rushton brothers were regarded as
having carried off the honors of the game.

"Do you know what pleased me most of all?" asked Fred of Melvin.

"That home run you made, I suppose," answered the other.

"No," was the answer. "It was that we downed the 'ringer.' They couldn't
get away with their low-down trick. We put one over on 'voconometry and
trigoculture.'"

But Fred had a chance to "put one over" a few days later that pleased
him still more.

A group of the boys had been down to the post office and were walking
slowly on the road back to Rally Hall. It was a beautiful afternoon, and
they took their time, in no hurry to get home.

Suddenly there was a loud "honk," "honk" behind them, and, looking back,
they saw an automobile coming swiftly toward them.

They scattered to let it pass, but, as it came up it slackened speed and
began zigzagging from one side of the road to the other, making the boys
jump to keep out of the way.

"Can't you look out where you're going?" asked Slim angrily. "What kind
of a driver are you, anyway?"

"By Jove, fellows!" exclaimed Bill Garwood, as he looked more closely at
the face behind the goggles, "it's Andy Shanks!"

It was indeed that disgraced youth, who was making a trip through that
part of the state, and whom some impulse had prompted to go by way of
Gr