yelled Cooper gayly. "He's worked in a
restaurant some time. You've got him now, Phil."

Trying to "pull" Dingley, Phil again used a curve that was too wide,
and the third ball was called.

The batter gripped his club and stood ready, determination in his
manner. The infielders crouched on their toes, and the outfielders
were prepared to run in any direction. Springer leaned forward to get
the signal, then swung into an elaborate delivery which he had
practiced. Another drop was tried, but this time Dingley hit it. Up
into the air popped the ball, and Cooper, yelling "I'll take it!" raced
over behind second, to smother it surely when it came down.

Something like a sigh of relief escaped Springer's lips when he saw the
ball held by the lively little shortstop, and in a measure his
confidence was restored..

"They can't hit that kind out of the infield, Spring, old dandy,"
laughed Cooper. "You've got an elegant collection up your sleeve
to-day."

The home crowd cheered, and Barville sent out Pratt, the second batter.

"Here's the next victim," cried Jack Nelson, from his position near
second. "He'll be easy, too."

Pratt was clever at sacrificing, but without a runner ahead of him it
was up to him to try for a hit, and he fouled the first two balls.

"Now, you've got him sure, Phil," said Cooper. "He's a regular
hen-roost robber; he loves fouls. Don't let him get away, for if he
does he'll crow."

As two strikes and no balls had been called, Pratt apparently expected
Springer to waste the next one, and in that he made his mistake; for
Phil, growing steadier, put over a sizzler on the inside corner.

"You're out!" shouted the umpire, and Pratt turned sadly and
disgustedly toward the bench.

"Wonder what that Barville bunch is going to do with those horns and
cowbells," cried Cooper, as the Oakdale cheer died away.

Whiting, the next batter, poked a hot one directly at Chipper, who
plunged forward to get it on the first bound and made a miserable
fumble. Chasing the ball, the little fellow snapped it up and threw
wild to Crane.

Whiting improved his chance to take second, where he laughingly came to
anchor, chaffing Cooper, who was making some very uncomplimentary
remarks about himself.

"Here we go! Here we go!" roared Larkins. "Now we score. On your
toes, Whiting! Here's the boy to drive you home."

Springer shivered suddenly as he saw the stocky, red-headed catcher of
the visiting team