rough the stands and bleachers the word went freely that the game
would go to ten innings, eleven innings, twelve innings, with the
chances against the tiring Salisbury.

But on the Wayne bench there was a different order of conviction. Worry
sparkled like flint. Homans, for once not phlegmatic, faced the coaching
line at third. Raymond leaned pale and still against the bench. Ken was
radiant.

Reddy Ray bent over the row of bats and singled out his own. His strong,
freckled hands clenched the bat and whipped it through the air. His eyes
were on fire when he looked at the stricken Raymond.

"Kel, something may happen yet before I get up to the plate," he said.
"But if it doesn't--"

Then he strode out, knocked the dirt from his spikes, and stepped into
position. Something about Reddy at that moment, or something potent in
the unforeseen play to come, quieted the huge crowd.

Salisbury might have sensed it. He fussed with the ball and took a long
while to pitch. Reddy's lithe form whirled around and seemed to get into
running motion with the crack of the ball. Martin made a beautiful pick-up
of the sharply bounding ball, but he might as well have saved himself the
exertion. The championship sprinter beat the throw by yards.

Suddenly the whole Wayne contingent arose in a body, a tribute to what
they expected of Reddy, and rent Grant Field with one tremendous outburst.

As it ceased a hoarse voice of stentorian volume rose and swelled on
the air.

"_Wayne wins!_ WATCH HIM RUN!"

It came from Murray, who loved his great sprinter.

Thrice Salisbury threw to MacNeff to hold Reddy close to first base,
but he only wasted his strength. Then he turned toward the batter,
and he had scarcely twitched a muscle in the beginning of his swing,
when the keen sprinter was gone like a flash. His running gave the
impression of something demon-like forced by the wind. He had covered
the ground and was standing on the bag when Prince caught Conroy's throw.

Pandemonium broke out in the stands and bleachers, and a piercing,
continuous scream. The sprinter could not be stopped. That was plain.
He crouched low, watching Salisbury. Again and again the pitcher tried
to keep Reddy near second base, but as soon as Martin or Prince returned
the ball Reddy took his lead off the bag. He meant to run on the first
pitch; he was on his toes. And the audience went wild, and the Place
varsity showed a hurried, nervous strain. They yelled to Sa