"Here!" Don told himself abruptly. "I must stop thinking of this."

Chester scored two more runs. He went out, jauntily, to pitch the fifth
inning. Before he had hurled three balls he knew that something was
wrong. He had lost the razor edge of pitching perfection.

He staggered through the fifth inning without being scored on, but it was
ticklish work. Little Falls hit him hard. With the bases full and two
out, Marty Smith sprang sideways, made a blind stab, scooped the ball and
touched the bag for the third out.

Cries of chagrin came from the Little Falls bench. "Oh, you lucky dubs,"
called one of the coachers. "That was horseshoes."

Don smiled mechanically. It was his turn to go to bat; and after he was
thrown out he came to the bench and fought stubbornly to keep his
thoughts on the game and away from Tim.

Grimly he stuck to his task. When it came time to start the seventh
inning, he was almost master of himself. He found his drop ball working
again.

"Yah!" cried Ted. "Here's where we get in the game again."

Little Falls, following that turbulent sixth inning, expected to go right
on with her hitting. Instead, her batters found themselves once more
helpless. Three players stepped to the plate and were thrown out in
order.

Don's spirits had risen. He walked toward the bench with a springy