trikes and slammed his bat down. Hucker hit a
slow fly to Hoffer. Three men out on five pitched balls! Cogswell, old
war horse that he was, stood a full moment and watched the Rube as he
walked in to the bench. An idea had penetrated Cogswell's brain, and I
would have given something to know what it was. Cogswell was a great
baseball general, and though he had a preference for matured
ball-players he could, when pressed, see the quality in a youngster.
He picked up his mitt and took his position at first with a gruff word
to his players.

Rand for Chicago opened with a hit, and the bleachers, ready to strike
fire, began to cheer and stamp. When McCloskey, in an attempt to
sacrifice, beat out his bunt the crowd roared. Rand, being slow on his
feet, had not attempted to make third on the play. Hutchinson
sacrificed, neatly advancing the runners. Then the bleachers played
the long rolling drum of clattering feet with shrill whistling
accompaniment. Brewster batted a wicked ground ball to Blandy. He
dove into the dust, came up with the ball, and feinting to throw home
he wheeled and shot the ball to Cogswell, who in turn shot it to the
plate to head Rand. Runner and ball got there apparently together, but
Umpire McClung's decision went against Rand. It was fine, fast work,
but how the bleachers stormed at McClung!

"Rob-b-ber!"

Again the head of the Quakers' formidable list was up. I knew from the
way that Cogswell paced the coaching box that the word had gone out to
look the Rube over seriously. There were possibilities even in rubes.

Berne carefully stepped into the batter's box, as if he wanted to be
certain to the breadth of a hair how close he was to the plate. He was
there this time to watch the Rube pitch, to work him out, to see what
was what. He crouched low, and it would have been extremely hard to
guess what he was up to. His great play, however, was his ability to
dump the ball and beat out the throw to first. It developed presently,
that this was now his intention and that the Rube knew it and pitched
him the one ball which is almost impossible to bunt--a high incurve,
over the inside corner. There was no mistaking the Rube's magnificent
control. True as a plumb line he shot up the ball--once, twice, and
Berne fouled both--two strikes. Grudgingly he waited on the next, but
it, too, was over the corner, and Berne went out on strikes. The great
crowd did not, of course, grasp the finess