territory, bringing in the first score and causing the
Hartford rooters to "open up."

Jones made a beautiful throw home, which sent Barrows scrambling back to
third, which he reached barely in time to save himself, for Ready had
lined it down to that bag in short order.

Frank was beginning to wonder if all the Hartford men were right-field
hitters, or was there something in Badger's pitching that caused them to
put the balls into that field? Unable to keep still, he walked down
toward first, and Browning found an opportunity to say:

"We ought to have Hodge behind the bat. Badger can't use his speed, for
Ready can't hold him. Are you going to let those fellows lose this game
in the first inning, Merriwell? If you do, I'll kick myself for a week
for being chump enough to get out here and swear for nothing."

"It's a handicap not to have Hodge," admitted Frank.

Browning felt like saying it was a handicap not to have Frank in the
box, but, fancying he had said enough in that line, he kept still.
Badger's face took on a hard look. He motioned for Ready to come down
and advanced to meet him. A few words passed between them, while the
Hartford "fans" guyed them.

This little talk seemed to bear good fruit, for the Westerner fooled the
next batter with two drops, getting two strikes called. Then he tried
"coaxers" till three balls were called on him, and again, with every
runner taking all the "lead" he dared, the excitement was at a high
pitch.

Frank feared for the result.

"Oh, for Hodge!" he thought. "I see now that our handicap means disaster
unless the wind changes." Ready was crouching under the bat, nervous,
but determined. Badger took his time, but put terrible speed into the
next ball, which he sent over the inner corner of the plate. The batter
struck at it, but missed clean.

Plunk! the ball struck in Ready's hand. Thud! it dropped to the ground.
But the bases were filled, and the batter was out, for all that Jack had
not held the ball. He recovered it so that there was no possibility for
the man on third to get home.

Now two men were out, but the bags were filled, and a long, safe hit
meant more scores for the visitors. Fleetwood, the Hartford
third-baseman, took his turn at the stick. He was a good waiter, and he
found just what he wanted, sending it safe over the short-stop, so that
two more scores came in.

Badger was pale round the mouth when the next hitter stepped up to the
plate. He did no