step into the batter's box. Something told Phil that
Copley would hit the ball, and in keen apprehension he pitched the
first two so wide of the plate that Eliot was forced to stretch himself
to get them. Copley hunched his shoulders and grinned tauntingly at
the nervous fellow on the slab.

"Aw, put one over," he urged. "Lost your nerve? Going to walk me?
You don't dare----"

Apparently, he had relaxed and was holding his bat carelessly, so Phil
tried to push over a swift, straight one. With a smash Copley landed
on the horsehide, driving it toward right field.

"Ah!" gasped the spectators.

"Go!" yelled Larkins. "Score on it, Whiting! It's a two-bagger!"

Out there in right garden Rodney Grant was sprinting after that ball
almost as it left Copley's bat. There seemed scarcely a chance for
Grant to reach the whistling sphere, but he covered ground with amazing
speed and leaped into the air, thrusting out his bare right hand. The
ball smacked into that unprotected hand and stuck there, as Grant
dropped back to the turf.

A few too eager enthusiasts on the Barville bleachers had started to
blow horns and ring bells when they beheld Copley's drive shooting
safely, to all appearances, into that unoccupied portion of the field;
now, of a sudden, these sounds were drowned by the great yell--almost a
roar--of joyous relief and exultation which burst from the Oakdale
sympathizers. On those seats boys wearing the crimson colors jumped up
and down, shrieking wildly, while they pounded other boys, similarly
decorated, over their heads and shoulders; girls likewise screamed,
waving frantically the bright banners, on each of which was emblazoned
a large white letter O.

At the smash of bat and ball Phil Springer's teeth had snapped
together, as if to guard his heart from leaping from his mouth; and
despairingly he had whirled around to watch the course of the ball,
perceiving out of the corner of his eye Whiting, with a long start off
second, fairly tearing up the ground as he flew toward third on his way
to the plate.

Phil likewise saw Rod Grant stretching himself to get that whistling
white sphere, and even as a voice within the pitcher's brain seemed to
cry, "He can't touch it!" the Texan made that amazing leap into the air
and held the ball.

"Mercy!" gasped Phil. "What a catch!"

He waited for Grant, who came loping in from the field, his face
flushed, his eyes full of laughter.

"Oh, you dandy!" cr