sted him in finally misjudging a high one on the inside corner.

"You're out!" pronounced the umpire.

"That's the pitching, cap!" laughed Larkins. "They had their fun with
you last year; now it's your turn."

Berlin Barker, regarded as an excellent batsman, was almost as easy for
Sanger. True, Barker did foul the ball once, but that was the only
time he touched it, and he likewise returned to the bench in a much
disturbed frame of mind.

"Mr. Umpire," called Eliot, "will you keep that catcher from talking to
the batters?"

"Go on!" growled Copley. "Who's talking to them? I can talk to the
pitcher if I choose, and I've got a right to have a little conversation
with myself."

"Don't pay any attention to him, Springer," warned Roger; "that's his
trick."

Phil also missed the first ball delivered by Sanger.

"This fellow thinks he can pitch," cried Copley. "He's had a dream."

"There he goes, Mr. Umpire," cried Roger. "He's talking to the batter
again."

"Oh, say, forget it!" scoffed the red-headed backstop. "I'm talking
about our pitcher. He can't pitch a little bit--oh, no! He just
dreamed he could, that's all. Put another one right over the pan, cap;
there's no danger."

But Sanger, taking Copley's signal, bent one wide, and Phil fouled it
off into the first base bleachers, where it was deftly caught by a
spectator.

"He's in a hole," said Copley. "I wonder how these people ever got a
hit off you, Sang."

The batter tried to steady himself. Two "teasers" he disdained, and
then bit at a drop and was out, Sanger having fanned the first three
men to face him; which seemed to justify the Barville spectators in
breaking forth with their horns and bells at last, and they did so
tumultuously.

CHAPTER X.

THE CRUCIAL MOMENT.

On the bleachers Roy Hooker breathed easier. "Len Roberts certainly
told the truth," he thought. "Sanger is a crackerjack pitcher."

"What did you say?" asked a fellow at Roy's elbow.

"I?" gasped Hooker, startled. "I didn't say anything."

"I thought you did. I thought I heard you mutter something about
Sanger. That fellow has developed, hasn't he? But we'll get onto him
yet. When these strike-out twirlers go to pieces, they're liable to
blow up completely. The boys will pound him before the game is over."

"I hope they do," fabricated Roy.

"If Springer only keeps steady," continued his seatmate, "it will be
all right; but I'm just a little bit afra