“Whew!”

And now Sleepy opened the second half of the tenth inning.  He had a little splutter of applause for his magnificent throw when he came to the plate; but he either was dreaming of base-hits and did not hear it, or was too lazy to lift his cap, for he made no sign of recognition.  He made a sign of recognition of the Charleston’s pitcher’s first upshoot, however, for he sent it spinning leisurely down into right-field—­so leisurely that even he beat it to first base.  The Kingston right-fielder now atoned for his previous error by a ringing hit that took Sleepy on a comfortable jog to second base and placed himself safely on first.

Then Reddy came to the bat.  He was saved the chagrin of striking out to his deadly rival, but the hit he knocked was only a little fly that the pitcher caught.  The two base-runners, however, had not had great expectations of Reddy’s batting prowess, so they did not stray far from their bases, and were not caught napping.

Now Tug came to the bat; and while he was gathering his strength for a death-dealing blow at the ball, the two base-runners made ready to take advantage of anything he should hit.  The right-fielder played off too far, and, to Tug’s despair, was caught by a quick throw from the pitcher to the first baseman.

Tug’s heart turned sick within him, for there were two men out, and the only man on base was Sleepy, who could never be counted on to make a two-base run on a one-base hit.

As Tug stood bewailing his fate, the ball shot past him, and the umpire cried: 

“Strike—­one!”

Tug shook himself together with a jolt, and struck furiously at the next ball.

“Strike—­two!” sang the umpire.

And now the umpire had upon his lips the fatal words: 

“Strike—­three!”

For as he looked down the line traced in the air by the ball, he saw that Tug had misjudged it.  But for once science meant suicide; for though Tug struck wildly, the ball condescendingly curved down and fell full and fair upon the bat, and danced off again over the first baseman’s head and toward the feet of the right-fielder.  This worthy player ran swiftly for it and bent forward, but he could not reach it.  It struck him a smarting whack on the instep, and bounded off outside the foul-line; and while he limped painfully after it, there was time even for the sleepy Sleepy to reach the plate and score a run.

And then the right-fielder, half blinded with pain, threw the ball at nobody in particular, and it went into the crowd back of third base, and Tug came in unopposed.

And since the game was now Kingston’s, no one waited to see whether Heady would have knocked a home run or struck out.  He was not given a chance to bat.

CONCLUSION

There was great rejoicing in Kingston that night, much croaking of tin horns, and much building of bonfires.  The athletic year had been remarkably successful, and every one realized the vital part played in that success by the men from Lakerim—­the Dozen, who had made some enemies, as all active people must, and had made many more friends, as all active people may.