the catch really was.

There was no movement or restlessness of the
audience such as usually indicated the beginning
of the exodus. Scott struck Babcock out. The
game still had fire. The Grays never let up a
moment on their coaching. And the hoarse voices
of the Stars were grimmer than ever. Reddie
Ray was the only one of the seven who kept silent.
And he crouched like a tiger.

The teams changed sides with the Grays three
runs in the lead. Morrissey, for the Stars, opened
with a clean drive to right. Then Healy slashed a
ground ball to Hanley and nearly knocked him
down. When old Burns, by a hard rap to short,
advanced the runners a base and made a desperate,
though unsuccessful, effort to reach first the
Providence crowd awoke to a strange and inspiring
appreciation. They began that most rare
feature in baseball audiences--a strong and
trenchant call for the visiting team to win.

The play had gone fast and furious. Wehying,
sweaty and disheveled, worked violently. All the
Grays were on uneasy tiptoes. And the Stars
were seven Indians on the warpath. Halloran
fouled down the right-field line; then he fouled
over the left-field fence. Wehying tried to make
him too anxious, but it was in vain. Halloran was