s of Tuttle's skill as a batter, handed up an easy one.
Instead of bunting, the fat lad rapped out a little fly, that sailed
over the heads of the in-drawn infielders, and Cooper, having obtained
a good start, went twinkling over second and on to third.

Wyndham had been deceived, much to the annoyance of the local players,
who looked at one another inquiringly. It was rather remarkable that
Tuttle had not followed his own signal, plainly given. It was
possible, however, that, seeing the infielders prepared to take his
bunt, the fellow had decided at the last moment to do something else.

Nelson followed Tuttle, and he held his bat in a manner that seemed to
proclaim he would "take one," giving Chub a chance to try to steal
second on the first ball pitched. Believing this was the program,
Newbert whipped over a beautiful straight ball for a called strike.

But Nelson did not let that handsome one pass; it was just the kind he
liked, and he fell on it with great glee, smashing a liner into the
outfield, between right and center.

Piper, laughing, scored at a jog trot; while Tuttle, his fists
clenched, his eyes glaring, his cheeks puffed out like toy balloons,
galloped over the sacks with all the grace of a frightened elephant.

"Score, Chub--score!" shrieked Crane, who had pranced down onto the
coaching line back of third, and who was waving his long arms
grotesquely. "Make it or bust! You kin do it!"

Tuttle continued to the plate, where, raising a great cloud of dust, he
arrived on an attempted slide, a moment ahead of the ball, being
declared safe.

The Wyndham crowd was filled with dismay; the Oakdalers with the
crimson banners were leaping and shrieking on the bleachers. The local
players knew something was wrong, and they showed the greatest
confusion and consternation. Dade Newbert was making some remarks that
would not look well in print.

Captain Eliot had instructed his players to abandon the use of signals
for the time being, and to bat and run bases wholly as their judgment
might dictate, and this sudden change threatened totally to demoralize
the Wyndhamites.

Not a man was out, and the visitors, having already secured two
tallies, had a runner moored at third. Berlin Barker stepped forth
briskly, urging the umpire to keep the game in motion, his bat held as
if he intended to try for a safe bingle. As matters stood, it seemed
logical that he should do this, and the Wyndhamites got ready fo