in the box awaiting it. There
was a moment's tense expectation, followed by the command that
set all the real fans wild:

"_Play ball_!"

Gardiner High School had put up a husky young giant who stood
beside the plate, a confident grin on his face as he swung the
bat.

Dick moistened his fingers. The batsman saw that, and guessed
what was coming. He didn't guess quite low enough, however, for,
though he stooped and swung the stick lower, the ball went under
it by three inches.

"Strike one!" called Mr. Foley, judicially.

An imperceptible signal told Purcell what was coming next. Then
it came---a jump ball. This time Gardiner's batsman aimed low
enough but it proved to be a jump ball.

"Strike two!"

A howl of glee went up from all quarters, save from the Gardiner
visitors.

Again Dick signaled. His third was altogether different---a bewildering
out-curve. Gardiner's batsman didn't offer, but Purcell caught
the leather neatly.

"Strike three, and out! One out!" announced the umpire.

"Whoop!" The joy from the home fans was let loose. With a disgusted
look, Gardiner's man slouched back to the players' bench.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE GRIT OF THE GRAND OLD GAME

In that half of the inning it was one, two, three---down and out!

Even Fred Ripley found himself gasping with admiration of Prescott's
wonderfully true pitching.

Yet the joy of the home fans was somewhat curbed when Gridley
went to bat and her third man struck out after two of the nine
had reached bases.

So the first inning closed without score. Gardiner had found
that Gridley was "good," and the latter realized that even young
Prescott's pitching could not do it all.

The first five innings went off quickly, neither side scoring.

"It'll be a tie at dark," sighed some of the fans.

"Oh, well, a tie doesn't score against Gridley," others added,
consolingly.

In the five innings Dick Prescott had to run twice. The first
time he was left at first base. The second time he had reached
second, and was cautiously stealing third, when Gridley's batsman,
Captain Purcell, struck his side out on a foul hit.

"How's your wrist holding up?" asked Purcell, in a low tone, as
Dick came in.

"It feels strong.

"Do you think Darrin had better have the rest of the game?"

"Not on account of my wrist."

"But can you run the bases to the end?"

"If it doesn't call for any more running than we've had," smiled
Dick.

Then he cau