right,"
laughed Dale, in return.

Then he proceeded to strike Tommy out in short order.

Lawrence Graves, his face as expressionless as a doormat, came up and
batted a weak one into the diamond, being thrown out with ease.

The sixth inning ended, with the score tied.

Hedge returned to the pitcher's slab.

"We're going to trim you to-day, Spark," asserted Walter Shackleton, as
he crouched froglike behind the bat. "There are no quitters on the team
now."

"Don't alarm me--please don't!" implored Dale. "It's most unkind,
Shack."

Fred Hollis was the first one up. He batted a grounder through Bubbs and
reached second. Then came Brooks, who romped to first on an error by
Netterby, although Hollis was held at second.

"Joseph," said Hodge, as young Joe Crowfoot stepped out, "I know your
noble grandsire, and for his sake I'm not going to work you very hard
to-day. I'll let you go right back to the bench in a moment."

"Mebbe so," muttered young Joe. "We see."

Then he picked out a good one and lifted a long fly into the field.

"Hold your bases! hold your bases!" shouted the coachers at Hollis and
Brooks.

Bunderson, really looking something like a balloon with his round body,
made a hot run for the ball and pulled it down close to the foul flag.

A moment before the ball struck in the fielder's hands both coachers
shrieked:

"Run!"

Even as the ball landed in Bunderson's grasp Hollis and Brooks were off.

Abe lost a little time in turning to throw toward second. This lost time
enabled Brooks to reach the sack safely, while Hollis landed on third.

Crowfoot skipped down to first, hoping his fly might not be caught, but
he turned back in disappointment.

"I told you I'd let you rest, Joseph, my boy," said Bart.

"You near make bad mistake," retorted the young redskin. "You near guess
wrong that time."

"I confess it," nodded Hodge. "You gave me a heart throb when you
smashed the sphere."

"We need these runs, Barking!" called Sparkfair, as the next batter
walked out.

"It's a deuced poor game, don't you know," said Barking. "I'm really
getting sore on it, by Jove! I wish they would take up cricket. Mr.
Merriwell ought to introduce some good English game into this school."

"Hello!" said Hodge; "here's a pickle from Piccadilly. Here's a blooming
Britisher--in his mind. What are you going to do to me, Johnny Bull?"

Barking was actually flattered. He enjoyed being mistaken for an
Englishman.