Grant going
into right, while Chub Tuttle remained on the bench as spare man. Phil
Springer had peeled off his sweater and was pulling on his light
left-hand glove as he walked toward the pitcher's position.

"Ladies and gentlemen," called the youthful umpire, facing the crowd,
"this is the opening game of the high school league, Barville against
Oakdale. Battery for Oakdale, Springer and Eliot. Play ball!"

With that command, he tossed a clean, new baseball to Phil, who caught
it with his gloved hand, glanced at it perfunctorily, gave it an
unnecessary wipe against his hip, made sure his teammates were ready,
and placed his left foot on the slab.

CHAPTER IX.

THE FIRST INNING.

A white streak went shooting through the air; something whizzed high
and close past Dingley, who dodged a bit.

"Ball one!" called the umpire.

"Spare him, Phil--don't hit him!" cried Chipper Cooper, moving about
nervously.

"There's speed!" came from Sile Crane. "He can't see that kind."

"Get 'em over--please get 'em over, if you can!" entreated Bob Larkins,
who had taken a position on the coaching line, near first base.

"All right, Phil," said Roger Eliot quietly and reassuringly, returning
the ball. "You've got powder behind them."

Springer's nervousness had returned with redoubled force. He seemed to
feel something quivering somewhere within himself, and, having
forgotten to get a chew of gum, he suddenly realized that his mouth was
dry as a chip. When Roger called for an out, he bent the ball so wide
of the plate that Eliot scarcely succeeded in stopping it.

"Oh--dear--me!" whooped Larkins. "He can't find the pan. Take a
ramble, Ding; wait and he'll walk you."

To Springer's relief, Eliot did not seem disturbed. Roger signalled
next for a straight one, and held up his mitt behind the inside corner
of the plate. Doing his best to be steady, Phil responded by sending
one over that corner; and Dingley, waiting, heard the umpire call a
strike.

"Oh, yes, he'll walk him--not," laughed Cooper. "Let him wait. He'll
have a chance to ramble to the bench in a minute."

Phil saw Eliot smile a bit through the meshes of the catching mask, and
then, nodding at the signal for a drop, he started the ball high, but
gave it the proper twist to bring it shooting down across the batter's
shoulders.

"Two strikes!" declared the umpire, at which Dingley shook his head
protestingly.

"My eye! He is a good waiter,"