The New Boys at Oakdale. Scott Morgan

was coming over slightly more than waist high and apparently just where he wanted it, he declined to bunt and swung with all his force, hoping to make a long, sensational drive which would go safe and cover him with glory. Instead of doing this, he smashed a hot grounder straight into the hands of Foxhall, the second baseman.

      Grant, fully expecting a sacrifice, was again racing down the line from first, and now he had no time to turn back. Without delay, yet with a deliberation that made for sureness, Foxhall turned and threw to first, completing an easy double play that was brought about directly through the batter’s perverseness in declining to follow the instructions of his captain.

      CHAPTER II – THE SCORE TIED

      Jack Nelson sprang up from the bench, his face pale, his eyes flashing with anger. Osgood had stopped abruptly on his way to first, realizing that the double play sent Oakdale back to the field, and turned to cross the diamond to his position at third base. Nelson met him near the pitcher’s position.

      “What do you mean, Osgood,” he demanded hoarsely – “what do you mean by disobeying my order? I told you to sacrifice.”

      “But it was a fine chance to hit the ball out and make some runs,” returned the disobedient player defendingly. “Sacrificing with one man down didn’t look like good baseball to me.”

      “It makes no difference how it looked to you; your place was to follow my instructions. Stone has been hitting Leach hard and safely, and, with Grant on second, even a long single might have given us another score.”

      “I beg your pardon,” said Osgood haughtily, “but I played baseball before I ever saw Oakdale, and I know something.”

      “That will do,” interrupted the wrathy captain. “I don’t care how much baseball you know, you’ll have to obey me if you play on this team, and you may as well understand that at once. You can see that you threw away a chance for a run by hitting into that double play.”

      Ned Osgood was not the sort of fellow to relish this style of talk even from the captain of his nine, and for a moment he was tempted to make a sarcastic rejoinder. Something prevented him from doing this, however, and he walked onward toward third, shrugging his shoulders. His manner was so irritating to Nelson that for the moment, even though Osgood had shown himself to be the best available man for the position he filled, Jack was tempted to bench him instantly. This temptation was put aside, but it was followed by an immediate decision to stand no more foolishness from Osgood.

      The alarm that had been awakened in the bosoms of the Wyndhamites by Grant’s safe drive was dissipated in joy over the defensive work of the home team, which had prevented the Texan from advancing further. Boys and girls of Wyndham High cheered in concert and waved their banners, while the crowd of older sympathizers made a great uproar.

      Like Nelson, Grant had been extremely annoyed by Osgood’s pigheaded action, and the Oakdale pitcher was somewhat disturbed as he resumed his position on the firing line.

      “Hard luck, Rod,” said Stone, the somewhat taciturn catcher, as he buckled on the body protector.

      “It wasn’t luck,” denied Grant; “it was mulish foolishness, nothing less.”

      Laughing and well satisfied, the Wyndham lads capered to their bench, where Leach, seeking for his bat, listened and nodded as Captain Baxter gave him a word of instruction.

      “Don’t try to kill that wild and woolly Texan’s speed, Lefty,” said Baxter. “He’s burning ’em over like bullets, and we’re swinging our heads off. Just try to meet ’em, that’s all.”

      Grant’s annoyance was made still further apparent when he opened with a weirdly wild heave over Stone’s head that would have counted against him as a wild pitch had there been a runner on the sacks.

      “Going up,” shouted some one from the Wyndham bleachers; and, in an effort to rattle the pitcher, the crowd redoubled the racket it was making.

      Seeing that the pitcher was unsteady, Stone began to fuss over his mask strap, which had suddenly become unsatisfactory and needed adjustment. The entire Oakdale team felt the tension of the moment, and Stone’s subterfuge met their approval. On the other hand, it led their opponents to protest against the delay and urge the umpire to make them play.

      Apparently getting the mask strap fixed at last, Ben resumed his position behind the pan and squatted to signal between his knees. Rod shook his head, and the catcher changed the signal. Then Grant nodded and pitched.

      Faithful to instructions, Leach took a short grip on his bat and brought it round quickly to meet the ball. There was a ring of wood against leather, and an instant later Nelson, flinging himself to one side, reached for the grounder. It struck his gloved hand and carromed off to the left. He went after it instantly, scooped it up and shot it to Crane at first, but it arrived a bare second too late.

      The Wyndham crowd cheered as madly as if Leach had reached the initial sack on a clean hit instead of an error. Out in center field, Shultz laughed with the satisfaction of a player who, lacking whole-souled interest in his team, feels that his own bad work has been minimized by that of a teammate. In this case his satisfaction was made the greater by the fact that the minimizing error had been contributed by the chap who had criticized him a short time before.

      Nelson stood still for an instant, then held up his hand for the ball, which Crane threw to him. Turning, the captain made a signal, which caused Cooper to take his position on second. Tossing the sphere to Chipper, Jack walked into the diamond and spoke in a low tone to Grant.

      “Don’t let that rattle you, old man,” he said. “I reckon we’re both hot under the collar, and we’d better cool off a bit. Take your time with these chaps; they can’t hit you.”

      “I’d like to punch Osgood’s head!” growled the Texan.

      “So would I, but that wouldn’t help us win the game. Look out for a sacrifice now. They’ve found they can’t steal on Stone.”

      “Play ball! play ball!” howled the crowd.

      “Play ball,” said the umpire sharply.

      On first, Leach was seeking to add to the opposing twirler’s unsteadiness by uproarious laughter and the repeated declaration: “We’ve got him going! We’ve got him going!”

      Nelson was most deliberate about returning to his post, and not until he was there did he nod for Cooper to give Grant the ball. Like a flash Rodney shot it to first, and the laughter of Leach was cut short by a gasp as he barely ducked under Crane’s reaching hand.

      “Almost gug-got him then!” shouted Springer from right field.

      “Here’s the head of the list,” called a coacher, as Crispin squared himself in the batters’ box. “Keep up the good work.”

      In order to make it difficult for Crispin to bunt, Grant put one over high and close – too high and too close. Crispin caught himself in his swing and then pretended that he had been hit on the shoulder; but the pretense was so palpably a fake that the umpire behind the pitcher, who chanced to be an Oakdale man, refused to let him take first. Naturally, the other umpire, who was in charge of the bases, said nothing, but somehow his manner seemed to denote that he disagreed on the decision. This led to a kick by the Wyndham captain, who dropped it quickly, however, when reminded by a fellow player that the delay was giving Oakdale a chance to steady down.

      Again Grant attempted to put the ball over high and close, but he simply got it across the inside corner slightly below the batter’s shoulders, and Crispin made a successful bunt that rolled along just inside the first base line. Jumping over the ball, the hitter sprinted hard for first.

      Grant scooped up the rolling sphere and heard Nelson’s sharp cry to put it to first. It whistled past Crispin’s ear and spanked into Crane’s mitt.

      “Out at first,” said the Wyndham umpire, with something like a touch of regret.

      “Good work, Crispin,” gleefully called Baxter, giving the player a slap on the shoulder. “That was a beauty bunt, old boy. Now we’ve got ’em where we want ’em.”

      Even