The game ran along at two to nothing until the first of the third. Then the Mascots managed to get a run across by a combination of a hit, a sacrifice fly, and an error by the Indians’ third baseman. But the Indians came back in their half with a slugging fest and put two more tallies across. Neither team was able to do anything in the fourth or fifth. George Porter ran his strike-out total up to seven and Dick Barry, while he only fooled one more Indian, somehow managed to escape punishment. Steve Brown made a decision at first that dissatisfied the Mascots, when Dick suddenly shot the ball across to Tom Crossbush and apparently nailed Ned Welch a foot off the bag. But the umpire didn’t see it that way and, anyhow, the decision made no difference in the outcome.
In the first of the sixth inning Sam’s team started off with a rush. Young Fairchild dribbled a weak bunt along third-base line and the throw to first went wild. The runner scurried to second and then, coached frantically to go on, made an apparently hopeless attempt to reach third. But another wild heave saved him. Third baseman blocked the ball, but not in time to make the out, and Terry Fairchild, immensely proud of his feat, sat on the bag and tried to recover his breath and made derisive remarks to the baseman. Sam instructed the next batter, Pete Simpson, to try to bunt, hoping that the ball would be played to the plate and that Pete would get his base. Naturally, the runner on third was not supposed to go home unless the way was clear, for there were no outs.
Pete had a strike and two balls called on him before he found anything he thought he could use to advantage. Then he struck loosely against a high ball and by good luck sent it rolling along the first-base path. Pete raced for first and Pitcher Porter raced for the ball. And, contrary to instructions from the third-base coach, young Fairchild, doubtless desiring to still further glorify himself, sprinted for home. He had about one chance in twenty of reaching it safely, for Porter scooped up the ball on the run, turned swiftly, and threw to the plate. And Jimmy Benson, astride the platter, caught it waist-high, and everything should have been lovely for the Indians. But Terry Fairchild, sprawling on his back, with both legs kicking in the air, arrived a fraction of a second after the ball and, since Benson was in the way, Terry just naturally collided with him, knocked his feet from under him, and went by. Unfortunately, the shock was so disturbing to the catcher that he inadvertently loosed his hold on the ball and the ball followed Terry into the dust. And Steve Brown, who had already motioned the runner out, reversed his decision, and Peter Simpson slid to second.
Jimmy Benson was disgruntled, even angry, and said unkind things to Terry. But Terry, picking himself up with a swagger and patting the dust from his scant costume, only grinned exasperatingly and walked to the bench, there to be hilariously patted and hugged by his team-mates. When, however, he glanced toward Sam, expecting praise, he got a surprise.
“Don’t do that again, Fairchild,” said the junior councillor severely. “Mind what the coach tells you. You made it, but you had no business making it, and if Benson hadn’t dropped the ball you’d have looked pretty cheap. You take your orders from the coach, Fairchild, after this.”
Terry, chastened in spirit, subsided amidst the smiles of the others as Jones faced the Indian pitcher. Porter was in the air now, and, although Mr. Gifford called encouragement and Benson counselled him to take his time and “put them over,” he slammed the ball in vindictively and Jones drew a pass. Porter steadied down then, but the team, especially the infield, was unsettled, and, after Welch, with two strikes against him, hit squarely to first baseman and made the first out, Simpson and Jones tried a double steal and got away with it, the Indian shortstop dropping the throw from the plate. Cheers and jeers rewarded this event. Benson tried to steady the team as Dick Barry went to bat.
“Never mind that, fellows!” called Jimmy. “Here’s an easy one! Strike him out, George! Three will do it! Put ’em right over the middle, he couldn’t hit a basket-ball!”
Possibly Dick couldn’t have hit a basket-ball, but he did manage to connect with one of Porter’s curves and send it just over second baseman’s head. When the ball was back in the pitcher’s hands two more runs had crossed the plate, Dick was safe at first, and the score was a tie at four runs each. But the Mascots were not through even then. Sam, realising that now was the time to win, if ever, urged his fellows to their best endeavours. Tom Crossbush, however, over-anxious for a hit, struck at everything and, after fouling off two good ones, bit at a wide curve, and retired morosely to the bench.
“Two gone!” announced the coaches. “Run on anything, Dick!”
So Dick took a chance and scuttled for second and beat the ball by several feet. Peterson waited while Porter worked a strike and two balls on him. Then he met the next offering fairly and squarely for the longest hit of the game, and sent it far into centre field, at least a yard over Meldrum’s head, and while that youth scampered back for it, raced desperately around the bases in an attempt to stretch a three-bagger into a home run. Fortunately, though, he was held up at third, to score the sixth tally a minute later when Groom’s easy infield hit got by Thursby at second. Peterson reached the plate on his stomach, the merest fraction of an instant ahead of the ball. Then White hit a swift one to Thursby, and that youth, retrieving his previous error, made a flying one-hand catch for the third out.