akened, went in to pitch and held the
Blues in the eighth, and in their ninth the Bears drew a blank.

McCarthy knew he was very weary. Only by his will power did he make
his tired, aching limbs obey his brain. He ached in every muscle, and
his brain seemed dulled. Gallagher hit a long fly to Pardridge.
Swanson was still shouting, urging Wilcox to cinch the victory,
encouraging, leading, fighting with every nerve for the victory.
Henderson drove a two-base hit to center field, and Swanson redoubled
his efforts to brace the team against a rally that might rob them of
their victory. Kirkpatrick, a dangerous hitter at any time, drove a
fast bounder at Norton. The little second baseman set himself for the
ball. It took a bad bounce, struck his wrist and rolled away only a
few feet. He was after it in an instant, but he knew that
Kirkpatrick's terrific speed would get him to first ahead of the ball.
As Norton's fingers gripped the ball he thought of another play.
Henderson would go to third on the fumble, turn the base, look to see
where the ball was, and if it had broken through the infield far
enough, he would try to score. For an instant, Norton knew, the runner
would halt, undecided, six feet from third, and if the ball was
there---- Without looking, Norton hurled the ball toward third.
McCarthy saw it coming. He realized the play that Norton had attempted
to make to save the day. He grabbed the ball and dived desperately
between the runner and the bag. Henderson, trapped, leaped back toward
the base, feet first. McCarthy felt the shock of the collision, felt
the spikes bite into his arm, and he held his ground, blocking the
runner away. He heard Bill Tascott's cry of "Out!" and, dazed, hurt
and dizzy, he arose slowly and tossed the ball back to Wilcox.
Trentman, the great pinch hitter of the Blues, was sent in to attempt
to snatch victory from defeat. Twice he drove fierce line fouls past
third base, then he lifted a high foul and, as the ball settled into
Kennedy's mitt, McCarthy swayed upon his feet.

"Help me, Silent; I'm all in."

Through the eddying, shouting, scrambling crowd that had swarmed
cheering upon the field, Swanson half led, half carried his exhausted
mate.

They had pressed close to the exit to the club dressing rooms, when
suddenly a great shout smote the air. A tremor of fresh excitement ran
through the crowd.

"What is it, Silent?" asked McCarthy anxiously.

"It's the Scoreboa