“O-o-oh, Dick!”

It was a wail, full of despair.  Though he paid no direct heed to it the sorely pressed young pitcher put up his left hand to wipe the old sweat out of his eyes.  His heart was pounding with the strain of it.  Dick Prescott, born soldier, would have died for victory, just then.  At least, that was what he felt.

The Wayland man who now stood over the plate looked like a grinning monkey as he took the pitcher’s measure.

“Go to it, Dickson—–­kill the ball!” roared the visiting fans.  “Just a little two-bagger—–­that’s all!”

Dick felt something fluttering inside.  In himself he felt the whole Gridley honor and fame revolving during that moment.  Then he resolutely choked down the feeling.  The umpire was signaling impatiently for him to deliver.

Dick essayed a jump ball.  With a broadening grin Dickson of Wayland reached for it vigorously.  He struck it, but feebly.  Another of those short-winded, high-arched pops went up in air.

There was no hope or chance for Hazelton to get to the spot in time—–­and Wayland’s man away from third was steaming in while Purcell made the home plate at a bound.

Dick raced—–­raced for all he was worth, though his heart felt as if steam had shut down.

Across the grass raced Prescott, as though he believed he could make history in fifths of seconds.

In his speed he went too far.  The ball was due to come down behind him.

There was no time to think.  Running at full speed as he was, Pitcher Dick rose in the air.  It looked like an incredible leap—–­but he made it.  His hands pulled the slow-moving popball down out of the air.

Barely did Dick’s feet touch the ground when he simply reached over and dropped the ball at Purcell.

The captain of the Gridley nine dropped to one knee, hands low, but he took the leather in—–­took it just the bare part of a second before the Waylander from third got there.

For an instant the dazed crowd held its breath just long enough to hear the umpire announce.

“Striker out!  Out at home plate.  Two out!”

Then the tumult broke loose.

For an instant or two Dick stood dizzy just where he had landed on his feet.

Umpire Davidson came bounding over.

“Do you want to call for a relief pitcher, Prescott?”

“No—–­Wayland pitched all through with one man!”

Back to the box marched Dick Prescott, but he took his time about it.  He had need of a clear head and steadier nerves and muscles, for Wayland had a man again at third, and another dancing away from second.  There was plenty of chance yet to lose.

“Prescott ought to call you out,” whispered Fred Ripley to Dave.

“And I’d get out there on the dead run, just as you would, Rip.  But you know how Dick feels.  Wayland went through on one man, and Dick’s going to do it if he lives through the next few minutes!”