uld
whirl all the way around; and then recovering make a humorous gesture
toward his admirers in the crowd, for O'Leary, being Irish, was almost
always in good humor, no matter what happened.

He let the first ball speed past for a strike, and higher rose the
excitement. The umpire called the second one a ball, which evened
matters a little. Next came "strike two," and yet the great O'Leary
waited, while his admirers began to feel fainthearted, fearing that he
would stand there and be counted down when everything depended on his
making a hit.

Then there came an awful crack! O'Leary had picked out just the kind of
a ball he wanted. It must have left his bat like a bullet, and Jack felt
himself turn cold when he realized that the ball was headed straight as
a die for Fred Badger!

CHAPTER VII

THE GAME CALLED BY DARKNESS

A terrible roar broke forth from thousands of throats. Jack had actually
closed his eyes for just a second, unable to witness what might be a
plain palpable muff on the part of the tempted Fred. As he opened them
again, unmindful of the fact that the batter was rushing toward him with
all possible speed, he saw that while Fred had knocked the ball down he
had also made a quick recovery.

Just then, he was in the act of hurling it toward home, where Mullane
had braced himself to receive the throw, and tag the oncoming runner
out. Should Fred veer ever so little from a direct line throw he would
pull the catcher aside, and thus give Clifford the opportunity he wanted
to slide home.

Away went the ball. Jack held his breath. He saw Mullane, reliable old
Mullane, make a quick movement with his hands, and then throwing himself
forward, actually fall upon the prostrate and sliding form of the
Harmony lad.

"You're out!"

That was the umpire making his decision. Not one of the Harmony fellows
as much as lifted a voice to dispute the verdict; in the first place,
they knew Mr. Merrywether too well to attempt browbeating him at the
risk of being taken out of the game; then again every one with eyes
could see that Clifford had been three feet away from the plate when
Mullane tagged him with the ball.

How the crowd did carry on. A stranger chancing on the spot might have
thought Pershing's gallant little army had managed to capture the
Kaiser, or crossed the Rhine on its way to Berlin. Indeed, those
"whoopers" could not have made more noise to the square inch under any
conditions.

And Jac