The first five innings went off quickly, neither side scoring.

“It’ll be a tie at dark,” sighed some of the fans.

“Oh, well, a tie doesn’t score against Gridley,” others added, consolingly.

In the five innings Dick Prescott had to run twice.  The first time he was left at first base.  The second time he had reached second, and was cautiously stealing third, when Gridley’s batsman, Captain Purcell, struck his side out on a foul hit.

“How’s your wrist holding up?” asked Purcell, in a low tone, as Dick came in.

“It feels strong.

“Do you think Darrin had better have the rest of the game?”

“Not on account of my wrist.”

“But can you run the bases to the end?”

“If it doesn’t call for any more running than we’ve had,” smiled Dick.

Then he caught the ball, held it an instant, signaled, and let drive.  It was the same Gardiner batsman whom Prescott had struck out at the opening of the game.  This time the young giant got the range of the ball by sheer good guessing.

Crack!  It soared.  Right field ran backward after the ball.  Now the Gardiner fans were up and yelling like Comanches.

“Leg it, Prendergast!”

The runner touched first bag, then darted on for second.  Right field was still after the ball.

“Whoop!  He’s pulverized the second bag!”

“Just look at third, old man, and come steaming home over the plate!”

That runner had been well trained.  He was close upon third base and going with unabated speed.

He kicked the bag—–­then a warning cry told him that right field had the ball.

A swift look over his shoulder, and Prendergast fell back upon third just before the ball dropped into the third baseman’s hands.

“Safe on third!” came the umpire’s announcement.  The ball arched over to Dick Prescott.  Purcell signaled him to let the ball come in over the plate.

Now the air was all a-tingle.  The visitors had a run in sight.  Dick felt the thrill, but steeled himself against any impulsiveness or loss of nerve.  He signaled the drive, then let go.  Three strikes and out, the ball all the while so closely under control that Prendergast fidgeted but did not dare steal far from third.

Then came Dowdy to the bat.  He was far and away the best batsman from Gardiner.  Prendergast began to edge in.

“Strike one!” from the umpire.

Crack!  The leather hung low, a little to the left of shortstop, who raced after it.  Prendergast was going in at a tremendous clip.  As shortstop reached the ball, he swooped down on it, stopped its rolling, and rising quickly, hurled it in across the plate.

Purcell was waiting, and made a good catch.  It looked close.  Everyone eyed Umpire Foley.

“Runner safe home,” he decided.

There was a gasp of disappointment, but the decision was fair.  Prendergast had made good by a fraction of a second—–­and there was a man on first.