s time he figured on a curve, but
the boxman out-guessed him with a slow one that floated up to the plate as
big as a balloon.

Larry almost broke his back in reaching for it, but again fanned the air.
The visiting players, who had looked on rather languidly, straightened up
on the bench.

"Some class to that pitcher," ejaculated Willis.

"It isn't often that a bush leaguer makes a monkey out of Larry," replied
Burkett.

"I've seen these minor league pitchers before," grinned "Red" Curry. "They
start off like a house afire, but about the fifth inning they begin to
crumple up."

The third ball pitched was a wide outcurve at which Larry refused to bite.
He fouled off the next two and then swung savagely at a wicked drop that
got away from him.

"You're out," called the umpire as the ball thudded into the catcher's
mitt, and Larry came back a little sheepishly to his grinning comrades on
the bench.

"What's the matter, Larry?" queried Iredell, as he moved up to make room
for him. "Off your feed to-day?"

"You'll find out what the matter is when you face that bird," snorted
Larry. "He's the real goods, and don't you forget it."

Denton, the second man in the batting order, took a ball and a strike, and
then dribbled an easy roller to the box, which the swarthy pitcher had no
trouble in getting to first on time.

Burkett, who followed, had better luck and sent a clean single between
first and second. A shout went up from the Giant bench, which became a
groan a moment later, when a snap throw by the pitcher nailed Burkett
three feet off the bag.

The half inning had been smartly played and the Giants took the field with
a slightly greater respect for their opponents.

Joe had pitched the day before, and it was up to Fraser to take his turn
in the box. He walked out to his position with easy confidence. He was
one of the best pitchers in either league, and it was he who had faced Joe
in that last battle royal of the World's Series and had gone down
defeated, but not disgraced.

But to-day from the start, it was evident that he was not himself. His
speed was there and the curves, but control was lacking.

"Wild as a hawk," muttered McRae, as the first Denver man trotted down to
base on balls.

"Can't seem to locate the plate at all," grunted Robbie.

"He'll pull himself together all right," remarked Brennan, hopefully.

But the prophecy proved false, and the next two men up waited him out and
were also re