moment she got a runner on. He saw the runner break for second. He got
the ball, drew back his arm, and shot the sphere down without rising
from his squat.

It was a beautiful throw, and the runner was out by a yard.

"Try to get fresh with the kid pitcher, eh?" yelled Tim.

"That's turning them back," shouted Ted Carter. "Get this fellow, Don."

Don "got" him on an in-curve that was hit for a puny infield pop.

Glenrock was out. She had had her first inning and had not scored. Ted
came running in to the bench, calling instructions to Chester's first
hitter. Don drew on a sweater and sat down.

"Well," said Ted, "they aren't giant-killers, are they?"

"Tim saved me that time," Don answered. His pulse was still throbbing.

"Sure I did," said Tim. "That's what I'm there for."

Don tried to tell himself that it was only Tim's way to be so cocksure
and chesty; and yet, in a small corner of his brain, was the thought that
it might have been just as well had the runner not been thrown out. In
spite of himself, he was beginning to resent the catcher's air of
superiority.

He admitted that he was lucky to have escaped during that first inning.
But he was not so lucky in the innings that followed. Two runs were