the line, a hit that would easily have scored Rube,
but he ran a little way, then stopped, tried to get
back, and was easily touched out. Ashwell's hard
chance gave the Bison's shortstop an error, and
Stringer came up with two men on bases. Stringer
hit a foul over the right-field fence and the crowd
howled. Then he hit a hard long drive straight
into the centerfielder's hands.

``Con, I don't know what to think, but ding me
if we ain't hittin' the ball,'' said Spears. Then
to his players: ``A little more of that and we're
back in our old shape. All in a minute--at 'em
now! Rube, you dinged old Pogie, pitch!''

Rube toed the rubber, wrapped his long brown
fingers round the ball, stepped out as he swung
and--zing! That inning he unloosed a few more
kinks in his arm and he tried some new balls upon
the Bisons. But whatever he used and wherever
he put them the result was the same--they cut the
plate and the Bisons were powerless.

That inning marked the change in my team.
They had come hack. The hoodoo had vanished.
The championship Worcester team was itself
again.

The Bisons were fighting, too, but Rube had
them helpless. When they did hit a ball one of