thing. The fielders were kept busy, and Rockland players chased
each other round the bases till six scores had come in.

"I said Moslof ought to take Woods out," said Merriwell, soberly. "The
game is lost now."

"Woods can't be the pitcher we thought he was," said Diamond, in
disappointment.

"Woods is all right if he doesn't spoil that arm," asserted Frank. "If
he sticks to professional ball and takes care of his arm, he'll be in
the National League before many years."[1]

[Footnote 1: A prophecy that has come true, as Walter Woods was signed
by Chicago several years ago. He can play any position on the diamond,
and is one of the cleanest men in the business. Not long ago he pitched
on the Camden team of the Knox County League, in the State of Maine.
Sockalexis, the Indian player, who was with the Clevelands last season,
and who created a sensation wherever he appeared, also played in the
Knox County League.--The Author.]

At last Woods struck out the third man, and Rockland was retired, but
not till she had secured a lead of five scores.

Dayguild laughed at Williamson as he went into the box.

"It's all over now," he declared. "Camden is buried."

"You can't tell about that," returned Williamson. "You have had your
turn, ours will come."

But it did not come that day, although Woods pitched the game out and
held Rockland down so that she obtained but one more score. The game
finally ended seven to five in favor of Rockland.

A more delighted crowd than the rooters from the Limerock city could not
be found. They guyed every Camdenite they knew. They declared that
Camden was a snap for Rockland, and always would be a snap. They were
insolent in their satisfaction and delight.

Down into town rushed the Rocklandites. They bought every tin horn they
could find, and at least a dozen cow bells. They bought tin pans and
drummed on them with sticks. They bought brooms and paraded with them to
indicate that they had swept Camden clean. They made a frightful racket
in the very heart of the village, and their scornful remarks about
Camden and Camdenites in general were of a nature to arouse the anger
of any inhabitant of the town at the foot of the mountains.

At last the cars from Rockland came, three of them being required to
handle the crowd. They piled on and went out of Camden blowing horns,
ringing bells, beating tin pans and howling derision.

Frank Merriwell stood on the corner near the opera house and he