Two strikes and three balls were called. The two base-runners,
full of confidence in Darry, were edging off daringly.

"If I dared," throbbed Dave inwardly, "I'd refuse and walk to first
on a called ball. But Tozier might call a strike on me---most
likely would. Darry, you idiot, you've got to hit the next delivery,
even if it goes by you ten feet from the line."

Poising himself on tip-toe, Dave awaited the coming of the ball.
Wells, with a wicked grin, signaled for a ball that he felt sure
would catch Dave napping. Earlier in the game it might have done
so, but Ted's right "wing" was now drooping. Hi did his best,
but Dave reached and clubbed the leather. In raced Greg, while
Dick had a loafing time on his way to third. Dave reached first
in plenty of time.

Two men went out, leaving the nines tied. Dick fumed now at third.

"I wish some one else than Henderson were going to bat," groaned
Prescott inwardly.

However, Spoff had the honor of his school desperately at heart.
He did his best, watching with cool judgment and backed by an
iron determination to make his mark. The third strike he hit.
It was enough to bring Prescott in. Dick seemed to travel with
the speed of a racing car, reaching the home plate just ahead
of the ball.

The side went out right after that.