“Keep it up, boys!  You’ve got ’em going.”

But that was the end of the run making for Brill.  The next man was put out with ease, and the side retired with the score reading:  Roxley—­ 7, Brill—­ 8.

“Now, if we can only hold them,” was Spud’s comment, as he glanced at Bob and then at Tom.  “How about it?” he demanded, of the pitcher.

“I’ll do what I can,” was Tom’s simple answer.

Nearly all the spectators in the grandstand and on the bleachers were now on their feet.  All sorts of cries and suggestions rent the air.  Amid this great hubbub, the Brill nine took their positions, Sam going down to left field as directed by Bob.

Tom was a trifle pale as he faced the first batter, but, if he was nervous, the Roxley player was evidently more so.  Almost before either of them knew it, two strikes had been called.  Then, however, came a short hit to third, which the baseman fumbled, and the batter got safely to first.

“That’s the way!  Now, keep it up!”

“We only want two runs to win.”

The next batter was one that Tom, fortunately, had studied closely.  This man usually waited all he could in the hope of having balls called on the pitcher.  As a consequence, Tom fed him several straight ones over the plate, and so quickly that two strikes were called almost before the baseman realized what was occurring.  Then, as he swung at a low one, the third strike was called, and he was declared out.  In the meantime, however, the runner on first had made second.  Then came another out, and then a drive to second, which landed the batsman on first, but kept the man on second where he was.

“Two men on base!”

“Bring ’em in, Landy!  Bang it out for all you are worth!”

“Careful, Tom, careful!” pleaded Bob; and even Spud came down to interview the pitcher.

“I’m doing all I can,” returned Tom.

It must be admitted that Tom’s blood was surging wildly.  A miss—­ and the game would either become a tie or be won by Roxley.

In came the ball, and the Roxley player swung at it viciously.

“Strike one!”

“Good boy, Tom, keep it up!”

“Strike him out, old man!”

Again Tom twirled the ball and sent it in.  Just the instant before it left his hand, his foot slipped, and the sphere came in, not on a curve as the young pitcher had intended, but straight.  Crack! went the bat, and in a twinkling the sphere was sailing high in the air toward left field.

“Hurrah, that’s the way to do it!”

“Run, everybody run!”

“Get it, Sam, get it!”

The ball was high in the air and well over Sam’s head.  The youngest Rover was running with might and main down left field.  The eyes of all the spectators were on him.  On and on, and still on, he sped, with the ball curving lower, and lower toward the field.  Then, just as the sphere was coming down, Sam made a wild clutch with his left hand and caught it.