The Charleston catcher was evidently determined to bring in at least one run, or die trying.  He smashed at every ball that Reddy pitched.  He only succeeded, however, in making a number of fouls.  But Reddy shuddered for the score when he realized how well the Charleston catcher was studying his best curves.  Suddenly the man struck up a sky-scraping foul.  Everybody yelled at once:  “Over your head!”

And Heady, ripping away his mask again, whirled round and round, trying to find the little globule in the dazzling sky.  He gimleted all over the space back of the plate before he finally made out the ball coming to earth many feet in front of him.  He made a desperate lunge for it and caught it.  And Reddy’s groan of relief could be heard clear from the pitcher’s box.

The Charleston catcher, in a great huff, threw his bat to the ground with such violence that it broke, and he gave way to the second baseman, who had made a sacrifice hit in the second inning—­which advanced the catcher one base.  The man realized, however, that a sacrifice in this inning, with two men already out, would not be so advantageous as before.  He made an heroic attempt, resulting in a clean drive that hummed past Reddy like a Mauser bullet, and chose a path exactly between Jumbo and Tug.  It was evident that no Kingston man could stop it in time to throw either to first base or home ahead of a Charleston man; but since Kingston could not put the side out before a run was scored, the Charlestonians cheerfully consented to put themselves out; that is, the base-runner on second, making a furious dash for third, ran ker-plunk into the ball, which recorded itself on his funny-bone.

When he fell to the ground yelping with torment, I am afraid that the Kingstonians showed little of the Good Samaritan spirit, for the ball-nine and the Kingston sympathizers in the crowd indulged in a jubilation such as a Roman throng gave vent to when a favorite gladiator had floored some new savage.

The Kingston men came in from the field arm in arm, but it was not long before they were once more sauntering out into the field, for not one of them reached first base.

A game without runs is not usually half so interesting to the crowd as one in which there is free batting and a generous sprinkling of runs.  The average spectator is not sport enough to feel sorry for the pitcher when a home run has been knocked over the fence, or to feel sorry for a fielder who lets a ball through his fingers and sends the base-runners on their way rejoicing.  To your thorough sport, though, a scientific, well-balanced game is the most interesting.  He likes to see runs earned, if scored at all, and has sympathy but no interest for a pitcher who permits himself to be knocked out of the box.

A more nicely balanced game than this between Kingston and Charleston could hardly be imagined, and there was something in the air or in the game that made the young teams play like veterans.  Each worked together like a clock of nine cog-wheels.